One Tempting Proposal (18 page)

Seb stared past the man, over his shoulder, at a portrait of three women. Lady Clayborne anchored the center, with her swan long neck, rosebud mouth, and discerning eyes. Two blond girls shared the canvas, one leaning into her lap, an easy smile lighting her cherubic face, while the other stood with regal solemnity, one hand balanced on the back of her mother's chair as she stared at the viewer. Her green eyes glowed with hope, intelligence, and determination. Of the three she was the only one who looked as if she wished to break the confines of the canvas, leap out and make her mark on the world. She had all the determination of a prince, and her energy dominated the painting. Aside from her longish hair, there was nothing feminine about the child. Then he noted her hand and the flowers clutched in her fist. Long green spade-­shaped leaves with dainty white bells nestled inside—­lily of the valley. She told him it was her favorite flower, and he instantly recalled how intoxicating it smelled on Kat's skin.

He turned his gaze back to Clayborne.

“I wish to marry your daughter. I'm asking you now for her hand. No feigning or scheming. I want to marry Katherine.”

“Is this more trickery, Wrexford?”

“I don't engage in trickery. I wouldn't be any good at it if I tried.” He glanced up at the painting again, his gaze focused on those fierce little green eyes. “She's an intriguing woman.”

When Clayborne glared, Seb offered the one thing that might persuade the man. “I can make her a duchess, and I know she will excel at running Roxbury.”

“I wouldn't count on that. Katherine has never excelled at anything but defying every expectation I had for her. But how can I refuse you? She won't get a better offer after five seasons.” Seb loathed the man's sneer almost as much as his dismissal of Kat, as if she somehow lost appeal each year of her life. He couldn't regret that she'd gone five seasons without accepting a proposal. He admired her for holding fast against the sort of pressure her father must have exerted.

Clayborne didn't offer his hand, and Seb was grateful for the omission. He turned to leave the man's study, but something in him, some petty defiant part couldn't let the man have the last word.

“You needn't worry about Kat missing her conservatory, Clayborne. I'll build her the most elaborate one in England when we return to Roxbury.” Seb swiveled away from the marquess when all he truly wished to do was strike the man. Anger burned like bile in his throat. He turned back. “Kat
will
excel as Duchess of Wrexford. You may be blind to her merits, but I see them, and I'll remind her of them every time she hears your vitriol in her head.”

Seb didn't wait for a reply before turning to stride from Clayborne's study.

“It made her strong.” Clayborne's voice rang overload in Seb's ears.

He stiffened, turned on his heel, and charged across the carpet in two long strides. Clayborne flinched back, and Seb leaned over the man's desk, lifting a finger to point at the portrait behind him.

“Look at those eyes. I suspect Kat was born with that strength you're so quick to take credit for. You can't nurture a child on cruelty. If you ask me, Kat deserves a bloody medal for putting up with you.”

Clayborne began to splutter, but Seb walked out and breathed deep when he was finally free of the man's presence. Halfway down the hall, he stopped at the sound of conversation in the withdrawing room and walked toward the threshold rather than returning to the dining room. Ollie and Harriet stood together, hands joined in front of them, whispering nervously.

“Where's your sister, Lady Harriet?”

“She's gone out. When Kitty's upset, sometimes she likes to walk, but it's quite late. We were just discussing whether we should go after her.”

“I'll go. Which direction?”

“Hyde Park.”

She wasn't difficult to spot. Tonight she wore a shimmering gown that caught a bit of the waning light as she walked. With a few long strides, he drew up behind her on the otherwise empty pavement.

“I
HEARD YOU
got away.”

Kitty stopped short so quickly at the sound of Sebastian's voice, she pitched forward before raising her arms out to regain her balance.

“I'd had enough.” She turned. A tear pushed, hot and insistent, at the corner of her eye.

He jolted at the sight of it and reached for her, concern shadowing his features, as if he'd do anything necessary to take away her pain and stop her from shedding that tear.

She noticed the direction of his gaze and swiped the bit of moisture away.

“You needn't look so frightened. I'm not the blubbering sort.”

“Thank goodness.” When she didn't reach for his offered hand, he pushed it into his coat pocket.

She narrowed her eyes at his attempt at levity, and tried to ignore the tingling in her fingers where she wished he'd touched her.

“But I will cry if I wish to. I am capable of it when the occasion calls for it.”

“I shall keep that in mind.” He nodded solemnly, as if she'd imparted an essential fact.

She felt shaky and uncertain, and he was a tall enticing wall of strength just within arm's reach. Kitty sensed anticipation in his stance, a readiness to move toward her, as if the same magnet exerted a pull on both of them. If she stepped toward him, he'd embrace her. His scent, his warmth, his arms surrounding her, and she ached for him to hold her as he had in his study.

But tonight he'd almost ruined their entire plan. He'd displeased her father, and if Papa took against Sebastian, he might refuse Mr. Treadwell.

“What did you say to him? I hope you didn't make him angry.”

He jerked back his head as if she'd struck him. As if he couldn't believe she was concerned about him angering a man who'd just insulted her, again, in front of everyone. Her father's manner took some getting used to, not to mention a thick skin. Papa always reserved his harshest criticism for her.

“If we anger him, he may refuse Oliver, and all of this will have been for nothing.” She lifted her hand and made a circular motion in the air, as if to encompass both of them.

All of this. Bantering in the dark. Kissing in his study. Saving an unsalvageable piece of headgear. Holding his hand as they'd explored the Botanical Gardens together. She didn't regret a moment of it.

No, a single regret had lodged itself in the center of her chest. She regretted that none of it had been real, that they were still playing the game, and that the only romance that seemed to matter to them was between Ollie and her sister.

He took a step toward her, so close she leaned back to look up at him. She needed to know what was true between them.

“I know you dislike this subterfuge, Sebastian.”

He shook his head. “Doesn't it seem absurd that we must lie to your father so that he'll give consent for his daughter to be happy?”

They'd need more than a few minutes in the dark for her to explain her father to him.

“And the way he speaks to you. It's intolerable. No one should ever speak to you that way.”

He touched her, pressing his palm to her cheek, and she leaned into his hand, turning her face to savor the slide of his skin against hers.

“I once asked him to be hard on me, to speak to me as he would if I was his son. Never to spare my feelings because I'm a girl.”

Lifting his other hand, he cupped her face and took a step, closing the space that separated them, sealing their bodies together.

“Darling, Kat. You don't need your father's cruel words to make you strong.”

She wanted his mouth on hers, needed his kiss to swallow the cry surging up at the back of her throat. His gaze, too tender and brimming with admiration, threatened to melt all her defenses, to shatter her self-­possession. This might be one of those occasions that called for tears, and yet then he'd know she wasn't strong.

“We should go back.”

Unlike every other time he'd held her, he didn't instantly release her when she pulled away. He slid his hands over her upper arm, staring into her eyes a long moment before releasing her. She sensed he held something back, as if he wished to speak but couldn't find the words.

Finally, he lifted his hands and took one step back.

Though it was a mild night, she shivered the moment he stopped touching her and fought the urge to reach for him again. Pivoting on her heel, she turned and began marching back toward home, trying to breathe past the gnawing ache in the center of her chest.

“Where are you going?”

She stopped to gaze at him over her shoulder.

“We both just walked out. We must go back and make amends with my father.”

He narrowed his eyes a moment and then strode toward her.

Kitty waited for him to catch up and didn't hesitate when he reached to take her hand. His hand in hers had always fit like they'd been molded for the purpose of connecting with each other. No man's hand had ever felt so right against her palm.

He turned as if to speak, but remained silent. She wanted to speak, to tell him that, for her part, none of what had passed between them had been pretense, that she wanted more than their false engagement. But as the moonlight lit the pavement and the gas lamps twinkled in the fog, she gripped his hand tighter, forcing her busy thoughts to quiet. Closing her eyes, she breathed in the cool night air, allowing herself to indulge in one whimsically, ridiculously romantic notion that she could face anything—­her father, the future—­so long as she had Sebastian by her side.

 

Chapter Eighteen

T
O ANYONE PEEKING
through the windows of the fashionable jeweler's shop or passing on the busy Hatton Garden thoroughfare, Seb and Ollie must have looked like two eager grooms-­to-­be in search of the perfect rings for their brides.

Seb mimicked Ollie's behavior, bending to look closer into display cases, staring to assess this ring or that. He'd never felt like more of a fraud in his life. Before Ollie invited him on the outing, he hadn't considered buying Kat a ring. She didn't expect one. At least the task hadn't been among the activities outlined in her detailed list of steps they must take to pull off a believable engagement.

When Seb turned his attention to a collection of simple etched bands, Ollie shook his head and moved toward a corner cabinet.

“I think not, my friend. You'll need quite a large one to impress Lady Katherine,” he said, pointing toward an outrageously grand rock behind glass.

Seb's eyebrow shot skyward at the same moment the jeweler's clerk spluttered and covered his eavesdropping with a bout of coughing.

Ollie seemed to miss all of it. “Don't you think that's the sort of diamond she'll expect?”

“I don't.” The faceted gem gave off a blinding glow, but the diamond was far too large. Seb imagined most women would find its weight and bulk uncomfortable, despite the impressive proof of wealth it was intended to be.

Kat's beauty had struck him with the diamond's blazing quality the first time he'd spotted her across the Clayborne ballroom, but now he'd seen more. A woman whose wit and cleverness and loyal heart were every bit as enticing as her outer appeal. The woman he'd come to know would likely be happier tending her plants than showing off such an ostentatious ring. Then again, she might say it would provide proof of the sincerity of their engagement. Such a stone would make an impression, and that goal
was
on her list.

But it didn't suit her.

Seb cast his gaze around the shop. One ring drew his notice. Nestled against black velvet, it sparked with the same vivid green as Kat's eyes. Seven leaf-­shaped emeralds hugged one central round diamond, a jewellike version of the flower Kat wore in her hair the night he'd waltzed with her.

Ollie noticed his attention on the bauble and stepped near to peer over his shoulder. “Are you sure it's enough for a marquess's daughter?”

“Which would you choose for Hattie? You're planning to marry a marquess's daughter too.” The moment Seb uttered the words, his legs stiffened, his throat tightened, and the sensation spread, a squeezing constriction wrapping around his torso. Shock held him in place, and when he sensed his mouth agape, he snapped it shut.

The words had been easy, too easy. They'd slipped from his mouth effortlessly, not as a ploy, not to convince Ollie of anything. In that moment, he had believed he would marry Kat, just as surely as he expected Ollie to wed Harriet.

All those years of denial and protecting himself, and now he acknowledged marriage to Kat as easily as if it was simply the next thing on his list. And he didn't even keep a bloody list.

Marriage was not how their engagement would end. Jilting, perhaps a bit of manageable gossip, and then Ollie and Harriet's successful nuptials. Those were the items on Kat's list. Those were their objectives. Nothing more.

Some distress must have lingered in his expression.

Ollie watched Seb, his smile slipping down into a worried frown before tipping up again. “Strikes you all of a sudden at times, doesn't it, Bash? Bachelorhood will soon be behind us, and yet I suspect the reward will be worth the sacrifice.”

“The reward?”

“Your wife. My wife.” He quirked his mouth and glanced up at the ceiling of the shop. “I quite like the sound of that. My wife.”

Fanciful. That's how it sounded to Seb. And completely unlikely. He clenched his hand into a fist and released it, sensing some of the tightness in his body beginning to ease.

Without thinking, without reason or logic, he strode to the counter and indicated the flower ring to the jeweler. “That one.”

Ollie chuckled behind him. “That's quite decisive. Does Lady Katherine like flowers?”

“Don't all ladies?” Seb didn't want to tell Ollie about Kat's conservatory. She seemed to share her interest with precious few, and he wished to keep that experience with her to himself.

Ollie went quiet, pensive. “I've never asked Hattie. Perhaps I should.” He crossed his arms, and his brow creased with the effort of fretting. “Good grief, I'm going to marry the woman, and I don't even know if she likes flowers.”

“You'll have plenty of time to ask her, Ollie.” A lifetime, Seb hoped. And if Kat had her way, Harriet and Ollie's marital bliss would commence soon. Her ambitious plans called for the ­couple to exchange vows within a fortnight.

Ollie nodded, seemingly mollified, and turned to examine the main case again.

Seb settled up with the jeweler and clasped the small box. He could envision the ring on Kat's hand, and yet he couldn't imagine presenting it to her. What could he say? Would she call it frivolous, or laugh at him for his sentimental impulse?

Seb closed his fingers around the diminutive square, and then reached up to slide the box into his inner waistcoat pocket. When he settled his jacket and coat, the box's edges pressed into his chest, nudging the line of his scar.

How fitting. The reminder of his past mistakes side by side with a token of his present foolishness.

Ollie made his own selection of a similarly modest ring, and they made their way out onto Hatton Garden, moving toward Oxford Street.

“I am still surprised by . . . how it's all turned out.” Ollie stumbled over the words in completely un-­Ollie fashion.

When Seb glanced over, Ollie shot him a guilty look before continuing. “You did fix on her rather quickly.”

Seb stopped walking. Ollie followed suit. Fashionably dressed ladies and gentleman flowed around them.

“You suggested this.” Seb's jaw felt as tight as his body had moments before in the bauble shop. “Everyone thought a match with Lady Katherine a very fine notion.”

All except Pippa, but she would come around.

Ollie nodded his head. “And I, of all ­people, am pleased by the turn of events. I simply . . .”

Seb held still while Ollie assessed him, searching for the truth. For a moment, Seb considered telling him the whole of it. Why not tell Ollie their plan?
Because the man can't keep a confidence to save his life.

“Simply what, Ollie?” Seb worked to temper the irritation in his tone and failed miserably. None of his anger was meant for Ollie. Every ounce of it was directed inward.

“She truly has turned your head.”

Seb nodded to acknowledge what was impossible to deny.

She'd turned his head, scrambled his wits, derailed his hard-­won peace of mind, and made him yearn for her company each day. There was his list—­all the ways Kat had wrought havoc in his life. And he'd only known the woman a week.

Yet she wasn't the only one to blame. He'd made his choices.

After all, he was the impulsive fool with a four-­cornered bulk dragging down the corner of his pocket, riding the edge of a wound that should have taught him years before about the dangers of making sound choices when a tempting woman was involved.

“T
H
E BOY SHOULD
be down any moment. He's looking forward to meeting you.”

Seb couldn't rally any of the giddiness he detected in his aunt's voice, but he believed the sincerity of her enthusiasm. He would be kind to the lad, of course, and civil to Alecia, if she was present for his meeting with the boy. Whatever she'd been to him, he preferred to leave it in the past, but she was the child's mother.

Queasiness shot through his belly as a thought struck.

“Who does he think I am? What has she told him?”

If this was all true, what rifts would it cause between Alecia and her husband? And between the boy and the man who likely believed he was the child's father? Seb didn't know Naughton well, but he doubted the pompous lord would have married Alecia if he suspected she carried another man's child.

“I believe he's been told only that you're the Duke of Wrexford, a friend of his mother's, and that you wish to make his acquaintance.”

Seb released his white-­knuckle hold on the arms of his aunt's damask chair. He still doubted Alecia's son was his own, but he'd feared she might lie or toy with the child's emotions as she did with everyone else's. He released the breath he'd been holding and felt a moment of gratitude toward the woman who'd caused him such pain. At least she had the sense to protect the boy's feelings.

“I am so pleased you'll finally get to meet him. The rest can be managed. If the boy is your son, he should know his father.”

Her lack of concern for Lord Naughton shocked him, but her willingness to believe Alecia's story did not.

“Aunt Augusta, there's a very good chance this boy isn't my son. You don't know Lady Naughton as I do.”

She shot him a saucy look, clearly investing his words with a double meaning he hadn't intended.

“I've known Alecia for years, from my youth, and used to believe her every word. Bit by bit, I learned she rarely speaks the truth. She's told me lie after lie, about her own family, where she was born, even her age. You can't fault me for doubting her now.”

His aunt tilted her head and her mouth puckered in a sad moue. “Would a mother do this to her own child?”

Alecia was the one person in his life who never behaved as he expected. “I don't know. Does she need funds?”

“If the rumors about Lord Naughton are true, I suspect she might,” his aunt acknowledged. “She claims her life with him hasn't been easy. He's not . . . an ideal husband. The earl drinks, gambles, and pursues his romantic inclinations elsewhere.”

Seb shook his head. “Naughton was her choice, and he's her burden to bear. She had other options, believe me. I was only one of them.” He knew of Charles Page, Naughton, and suspected there'd been others.

Aunt Augusta pinched her eyes in a thoughtful expression, and then stretched up tall, looking very much the poised genteel lady he'd first met when he was a boy.

“If the boy is yours, Sebastian, you must make peace with Alecia, for his sake. But if she's lying”—­she lifted her chin and one dark brow winged up—­“well, let's just say I will see that she regrets her lies. For attempting to wound you, and for entangling an innocent boy in her scheme.”

The drawing room door swung open and her serious expression transformed into an indulgent grin. “Oh look, here is young Master Archie.” There was no mistaking the genuine warmth in her tone. “Archie, may I present my nephew, the Duke of Wrexford?”

The boy strode into the room confidently, his head held high, but the tremor in his slim frame belied his direct gaze.

Seb studied the boy, seeking any signs that might remind him of himself. Then a figure loomed behind Archie, and Seb looked up to find Alecia's ice blue gaze locked on
his
face.

The child's demeanor changed when his mother walked in the room. He dropped his gaze to the floor as if uncertain, stifling all the curiosity of moments before.

Something in Seb rebelled. He didn't want to do this on Alecia's terms, or even his aunt's.

“Would you care to join me for a walk, Archie?”

Alecia's expression turned thunderous. “No, he doesn't want a walk. Why not sit and take tea with the ladies? Lady Stamford and I were just going to ring for some.”

The boy struggled, his eyes darting from the window and then back at his mother's face. Archie seemed snared between his desire to be out in the sun and the impulse to obey his mother.

“It's a fine day for a walk,” Seb added to encourage the boy. “Come, Archie. We must catch the sunshine while we can. What do you say?”

The child nodded his head before slanting another wary gaze at Alecia.

“Very well,” she huffed, “I shall accompany you. Let me just get my wrap.”

“Nonsense, Lady Naughton,” Seb cut in. “I wouldn't dream of interrupting your tea with Lady Stamford. Does Archie have a nanny or governess who might accompany us?”

Archie piped up. “I have Miss Perkins. She teaches me my lessons and looks after me when Mama cannot.” Excitement fizzed up in the boy like the bubbles of a chemical reaction climbing the neck of a beaker. “And she likes to walk too, Your Grace. She walks every day or rides her bicycle.”

“She sounds like my sister Pippa. Shall we see if Miss Perkins can join us?”

Alecia shot him a scowl that in days of old would have left a gaping wound of worry about how he'd offended or displeased her, but today it only sparked an almost pleasant tickle.

“I'm certain she's available to accompany you,” his aunt reassured before arching a brow at Alecia.

After stalking out of the room, Alecia returned a moment later with an extremely tall red-­haired woman in her wake. Beyond her bright hair and height, Miss Perkins seemed unremarkable in appearance, but she exuded a kind of constrained energy, as if her plain blue dress and the very walls around her were keeping her from action.

The governess's eyes popped wide when his aunt introduced her to Sebastian and she stuck out her hand before retracting it and executing a graceful curtsy.

“Then you'll join us, Miss Perkins?”

“I would be pleased to, Your Grace.”

Seb breathed a chesty sigh of relief the minute they stepped out of his aunt's town house, and he was surprised to see Archie take a deep breath too.

“Spring is my favorite season. You can smell everything blooming.” The child turned to him and smiled.

They started onto the pavement and turned the corner toward Hyde Park with Miss Perkins following a few steps behind.