A Well Pleasured Lady (19 page)

A moment of stunned silence gripped the ballroom.

Then someone tittered.

And Lady Valéry, whose hearing had not failed with age, heard Bubb whisper, “God help us.”

Sebastian might have been a statue himself, he stood so still, his face empty of any emotion. Mary, poor girl, understood nothing of what happened, nor
did she seem to care. Instead, she stared at one of the accompanying servants with concentrated horror.

Lady Valéry looked, too.

It was that damned, slippery valet who had spoken to Mary in the corridor. Without knowing his name or who he served, Lady Valéry hadn't been able to find him. Now as she would have nabbed that buffoon, Leslie turned his evil, false-toothed grin on Mary.

He waved at the bronze with expansive theatrics. “Let the statue remind you what a real stallion should be.”

Mary paid him no heed, but Sebastian stared at the old man as if he contemplated murder, and Leslie had the good sense to step behind the bronze for protection.

Then a commotion at the doorway turned heads. Voices trumpeted in indignation or anger, loud in the unnatural quiet of the ruined celebration. A struggling group of footmen tumbled into the room. They looked like bees swarming around a queen, and the queen—or was it a king?—bore them inexorably onward.

Someone broke free, and Lady Valéry recognized him at once.
Disaster,
her mind buzzed.
Danger.
She had to do something, and do it immediately, or Sebastian would find himself sprawled on the floor with new bruises to nurse. She moved toward the young man who bore down on the newlyweds. She caught his arm, but he tried to knock her hand away. Then he realized who held him, and stopped—and
glared. He knew her well enough to know who to hold accountable for these nuptials.

“Hadden!” Mary's glad cry arrested his silent reproach, and she flung herself at her brother.

He wrapped her in his embrace. “Mary.” Holding her away from him, he searched her face. He seemed to find some kind of evidence there, for he said, “Then it's true. You are wed.”

“Not an hour since. Did you come from Scotland?” She clung to him. “You could have been here!”

“He's been here all along.” Sebastian's heart still raced from the challenge Leslie had sent him, and now a new challenge presented itself. He saw the black eyes Hadden sported, and he knew he'd solved one puzzle. “I would say he is responsible for my second set of bruises.”

“And your third.” Bunching his fists, Hadden stepped around Mary toward Sebastian, but Mary caught his arm.

“Not here,” she begged. “Please don't make a scene here. There have already been enough scenes to last me for the rest of my life.”

Hadden glanced around at the rapidly gathering crowd. Whispers of “Fairchild” and “ostler” and “bastard?” were racing through the ballroom. Sebastian heard them, and he knew Hadden must have, too, for he took his sister's arm and marched her toward the door. She desperately glanced once behind her, not at Sebastian, as he expected, but at one of the men who had brought in the bronze.

The man smirked at her most unpleasantly, and Sebastian stopped. Who dared to leer at his bride? He began to walk back to the servant.

Lady Valéry seized him. “Never mind the stallion now. We face a grander crisis.”

Sebastian looked again for the insolent man, but he had melted into the crowd. And Sebastian had to let him go. As his godmother had pointed out, they had Hadden to deal with. He led her through the throng and saw Bubb standing on the sidelines, indecision written on his face.

Lady Valéry shook her head at him firmly, then when with an expression of relief he stepped back, she murmured, “Bubb misses Lady Smithwick. He doesn't know what to do without her.”

“Shoot his uncle comes to mind,” Sebastian said.

Leslie stood sullenly, his rouged mouth pouty as Hadden's arrival overshadowed his cruel act.

Sebastian spoke to the three remaining footmen. “Bring that damnable bronze. I don't want it to encourage more jests at my expense.”

The impassive footmen obeyed, grunting as they lugged the heavy statue into the corridor.

“Here.” Sebastian indicated a convenient chamber, and the butler rushed in ahead of them with branches of candles.

Mary hesitated, then with a tiny shiver walked in.

The footmen brought that dreadful statue and set it on the floor in the center of Bubb's study. Sebastian could scarcely wait until the last one had been ushered
out before indicating the rearing stallion. “I'll have to have it melted down into pennies. A lot of pennies.”

Lady Valéry studied the offending sculpture from all angles. “It's really rather good. You could keep it and put it in the entry by the—”

He glared.

“But pennies
would
be a better idea,” Lady Valéry acceded. Going to the decanters standing in a row on the cabinet, she poured drinks for everyone.

Mary paid them no attention. She had eyes only for Hadden. “Why did you come? I told you I didn't need help.”

“No. You just got yourself compromised by her ladyship's godson.” A blond god, Hadden towered over Mary.

But his sister goddess didn't acknowledge his superiority. “I don't know how your presence could have changed that.”

Hadden looked at Sebastian. “I would have openly beaten the—”

“Fighting!” Mary clasped her hands at her bosom. “And with Lord Whitfield. Hadden, you might have been hurt.”

Hadden closed his eyes for a brief moment of exasperation, and Sebastian came to his rescue. “You're his sister. What did you think he would do when he found out a man had been in your bedchamber?”

“He's too young for fisticuffs,” Mary said primly.

Sebastian subdued a laugh, but he couldn't completely
contain his amusement. “Some”—
everyone
—“might say he has reason for his animosity toward me, and I would like to point out he got the best of me.”

“Don't interrupt, Sebastian. This is between my brother and me.”

Sebastian lifted his eyebrows at Lady Valéry as she handed him the liquor, and she murmured, “This should be entertaining.”

Hadden looked both frustrated and tolerant. “Mary, you're wed and I have a right to question the circumstances.”

“You sound like Uncle Bubb.” Mary waved Lady Valéry and the glass of spirits away.

“I already know how this man forced your hand.” Hadden swallowed his brandy in a gulp. “It will be the talk of England for years to come.” He scowled at Lady Valéry.

She smiled serenely back.

“I have the right to know everything else,” Hadden said.

“Certainly not!” Mary ruffled like an offended peahen.

“I don't think he meant
that.”
Lady Valéry sank into a chair.

Hadden walked to the statue and smacked it. “I want to know why a Whitfield would wish to marry a Fairchild with the memory of
this
standing between them.”

“A statue? What of it?” Mary turned to Sebastian. “What is so special about a horse?”

The study grew quiet, and everyone looked to Sebastian. Should he explain? Now, today, with his wedding night yet to come? “It isn't important,” he said.

Again Hadden considered the statue. Eyes narrowed, he leaned over and plucked a sheet of paper from beneath the prancing hooves. He studied it intently.

“Leslie's calling card?” Sebastian asked bitterly. Then he held up his hands. “Truly, the statue and what it represents is not important. The important thing is that I realize now all Fairchilds are not cut from the same cloth.”

“I wish someone would tell me—” Mary began.

“What of the contracts?” Hadden placed the sheet of paper in his pocket. “I assume, Mary, you did sign a marriage contract.”

Sebastian relaxed a little. Hadden didn't want the old feud retold, either. “We signed contracts,” Sebastian admitted.

“I negotiated on Mary's behalf.” Lady Valéry sipped her ratafia. “She has a substantial allowance and complete control of her fortune. Should anything happen to Sebastian, she acts as his business manager until she desires otherwise.”

“Most generous.” Hadden seemed taken aback.

“To wed your sister was my dearest desire,” Sebastian told him.

“You see, Hadden.” Mary put her hand on his arm. “Nothing dreadful has happened that required your interference.”

“I don't believe I would call a young man's concern for his sister interference.” Sebastian strolled to her and brushed a lock of her hair off her shoulder. “I would call it familial responsibility.”

“You don't understand.” Mary appealed to Lady Valéry. “Shouldn't I be worried about my brother's safety?”

“Of course.” Lady Valéry smiled at her. “As he should be worried about you.”

“He's barely more than a boy!”

Lady Valéry cackled, and Sebastian placed the flat of his hands on either side of Mary's face. He turned her toward Hadden. “Look at him. He's not a boy, he's a man. He can take care of himself now.”

“And he can take care of you,” Hadden said.

“
I'll
take care of my wife.” Sebastian softly put in his claim. “She's mine now, and I swear to you you'll never have reason to come at me with your fists again.”

Hadden looked into Sebastian's eyes, judged him, found him worthy, and held out his hand. “As long as you know that if you hurt her, I'll find you and make you sorry.”

“You're talking in front of me as if I don't exist.” Mary sounded exasperated and disbelieving as the two men shook hands.

Sebastian moved close to her and put his palm on the base of her waist, letting her feel the strength and warmth of him. “Let us go to our bedchamber, and I will talk to you in a manner guaranteed to please.”

She stiffened when he tried to guide her away, and turned quickly when Hadden spoke.

“I would like to ask my sister one question, if I could.”

“Of course you can.” Mary pulled away from Sebastian. “What is it?”

“Has there been any mention of the…problem which we formerly encountered in England?”

Hadden phrased his inquiry carefully. So carefully. Sebastian exchanged a look with Lady Valéry, who shrugged, and they both gazed at Mary.

She stood with her hands folded at her waist, eyes down, a faint flush on her cheeks. “I have scarcely thought of it,” she said.

Hadden stroked his chin and considered her. “Really?” Skepticism colored his tone. “There's been no trouble at all?”

Mary developed a convenient deafness. Resting her fingertips on Sebastian's arm, she said, “You wished to go, Sebastian. I await your pleasure.”

That phrase!
I await your pleasure.
It wasn't true, of course. She wanted only to escape Hadden's questioning, but Sebastian wasn't about to sabotage his own good fortune.

Nor was he likely to forget the slight twitch he saw in the corner of Mary's eye or the tremble of her lip. Some kind of trouble had found her, and he would discover the source of it soon.

Perhaps tomorrow morning. After their wedding night.

Only after Hadden had watched his sister and her new husband leave, and Lady Valéry had gone off to ensure him accommodations in Fairchild Manor, did Hadden remove the sheet of paper from his pocket.
Lady Whitfield,
it said on the outside. A dab of wax closed it, but no seal marred the wax.

He broke it open. He read the message. He cursed. Then he strode out of the study and back toward the stables.

“Is this bedchamber to your liking?” Sebastian
smiled at her as he gestured around the room located in the wing for the married couples. He was, she thought, trying to be charming. “The servants moved us this afternoon…as we were being wed.”

“This bedchamber is fine.”
It's you I don't like.
But she didn't say that, because he would consider it a challenge, and because it was not strictly true. He'd been quite amiable since she'd consented to be his wife…just yesterday.

And why not? He'd gotten his way.

She looked at him as he leaned against the door, blocking any chance of exit. And he would get his way again, if the look in his eyes was anything to go by. He was watching her with all the possessive pride of a new horse owner.

“You look quite panicked.” His voice was soft; her master approaching with bridle and saddle.

“Panicked?” Studiously avoiding his eyes, she went to the dressing table and rearranged the hair-brushes. “I'm not panicked.”

“Really?”

She heard him walk up behind her, his leather soles hushed against the hardwood. She felt his eyes watching her, and when he touched a lock of her hair—she jumped.

Quickly she said, “Everything's fine.” A stupid reassurance when so obviously everything was
not
fine.

“That's not anticipation in your eyes when you look at me—if you look at me.” He touched her hair again, and this time she twirled away and turned to face him. “I'd call it caution, or even fear.”

“I'm not…” But she was. She was torn between watching his every move so she could counter it and just shutting her eyes and steeling herself to accept his touch.

“Virgins are meant to be tenderly initiated, not thrust against a wall and forced to respond. I hurt you.” He stood with his fists on his hips. He looked impatient, but he sounded thoughtful. “The guests will celebrate until the wee hours. The Fairchilds are busy tending their guests.” He tapped his foot. “Would you like to go open the safe?”

The floor beneath her seemed to have dropped away. “Your pardon, sir?”

“I was in your chamber yesterday morning to ask if you would go with me to open the safe. You distracted me.” He stripped off his cravat and his simple, well-made
frock coat. “But there's no reason we can't do it now.”

“Do what now?” she parroted stupidly.

“Open the safe.” Obviously he had mastered his desires. “I had forgotten our mission. But dear Uncle Leslie and that damnable statue reminded me—if we can recover that diary, we can leave here.”

She floundered. How to respond?

He proceeded as if she had agreed. “You should change into that old-fashioned gown you were wearing when you came back from the kitchen.”

Head whirling, she looked down at the green silk gown she wore. “Take off my gown?”

“Behind the screen.” In a wry tone he added, “I promise not to help.” Removing his waistcoat and his snowy white shirt, he strode to the standing closet to rummage inside. Mary had one moment to stare at the corded shoulders and muscular back before he turned around, clutching a simple black shirt and coat. When he saw her standing, hands limp at her sides, he allowed a brief flare of passion to light his eyes. “Hurry, before I change my mind.”

After that threat, Sebastian thought, she moved briskly. The green gown flew over the top of the screen, then the filmy silk petticoat. She stood clad only in her shift, he realized, and if he walked around that screen…But he wanted to give her some time. He wanted to show her he could curb his desires, and he couldn't allow himself to have second thoughts.

Pacing across the floor, he did his best to wrench his mind away from the activity behind the screen,
and when she stepped out, he took her hand and surveyed her dark-clad figure. “A housekeeper to the unobservant only.” With his finger he flicked the mobcap that covered the telltale blond of her hair. “But this makes a good disguise for a Fairchild.”

“I always thought so.”

She even sounded like a housekeeper when she donned that garb. How he would like to help her discard it!

The turned-down bed seemed to grow larger, swallowing the available space in the chamber and his willpower. Sweat broke out on his brow and a circus began performing in his trousers.

“Let's get out of here.”

They passed only an occasional servant and gave the ballroom a wide berth, reaching the study without incident. He glanced around and pushed open the door. As he had hoped, it was dark inside and they slipped in quietly.

“I don't like the dark, and I hate this place,” Mary said. “It gives me chills.”

Her voice quavered a little, and he subdued the urge to wrap her in his arms. If he did that, he would do more.

“Chill? The study gives you chills?” He locked the door behind them. “Why is that?”

“I remember my grandfather in here, dispensing his cruelty with such relish.”

Mary, he realized, still stood by the doorway as if she were afraid to come farther into the chamber. She was only a dark shadow among lesser shadows, and
he wished he could see her expression. Tinder and a candle resided in his coat pocket, but he wouldn't strike a light unless he had to.

“He was nothing but a gut-vexer.” Sebastian's gaze was drawn to the statue, shrouded in dark. “Too bad the old man died in his bed. He deserved much worse.” Striding to the drapes, he opened them and allowed the cool moonlight into the room. “That's better.”

“Yes, I thank you,” she said, but despite the light, the huge room swallowed her.

They needed to get the job done, and at once. At the cupboard where the safe resided, he jiggled the lock. It opened easily, as it always had, and he looked in disgust at the intact safe. To broach it, he had to depend on his new wife, when he would just as soon be slowly stripping her clothing from her, caressing each part as it was revealed, admiring each slim line and delicate curve…

He tried the safe one last time.

He'd never seen her undressed.

His fingers slipped. “Devil take it.” Standing, he gestured to the gray iron box that so perplexed him. But Mary wasn't paying attention. Instead she stood hugging herself and rubbing her hands over her arms.

“Here,” he said. “Do you need light?”

Recalled to her duty, she knelt at his feet. An exciting position—some other time. She ran her fingers along the lock. “No. I should be able to do it with my eyes closed.” She slipped her hand into her
apron pocket. “Charlie made me practice until I was that skilled.”

Sebastian heard the tinkle of something hitting the floor, and Mary's swiftly muffled exclamation. Kneeling next to her, he said, “What have you lost?”

“A small, thin file, much like a needle.” She sighed in relief. “Here it is.” She held it up, then hastily pulled her hand back out of sight.

She was trembling.

“What's wrong?” He caught her hand in his and found it ice-cold. “Don't be afraid. We have the right to open this safe and retrieve the diary.”

“I know.”

She tried to withdraw, but he wouldn't allow that. Instead he slipped the needlelike tool back into her pocket and chafed her fingers. “Tell me what's wrong, then.”

She glanced about her and hunched her shoulders. “I feel like he's still here.”

He glanced around, too. “Your grandfather?”

“He haunts this room. I can see him sitting in that chair and rejecting me and Hadden.” Her mouth, which could be so wonderfully generous and giving, was pinched into a thin line. “He destroyed my life and he never cared.”

Sebastian agreed with her wholeheartedly. The old earl had helped destroy his life, too. He was like a blight on Mary, and on Sebastian, also, and Sebastian would't allow anyone, living or dead, to retain such power. “He sat in the chair behind that desk to reject you?”

“Yes. It's a dreadful chair, anyway, with its high back and its gargoyles.” She looked down at their still-clasped hands. “I still dream of that gargoyle coming at my throat, and I take a fireplace poker and hear the crack of its skull. I see its brains spill out and I see…” She stopped, shivering, apparently horrified by her own recitation.

He understood why she was haunted. “Then come.” He stood and pulled her with him. He towered over her, but she'd never let that stop her from defying him. She'd never let her size stop her from doing what she thought was right. Only now, when she recalled her demon of a grandfather, did she seem in need of a champion.

He would be that champion. He had made a pledge this day, and this Durant always kept his pledges. But right now her fears couldn't be fought with his fists or even with logic. Only exorcism would work. “Let's vanquish this ghost who haunts you.”

She dragged her feet as he conveyed her to the desk. “I don't like this.”

“You will.” They circled the desk until they stood behind it. With his arm around her waist, he turned her to face the room. “Look. The chamber seems different from this angle.”

She seemed uncertain of his intention. “Not really.”

“Of course it does. The power is wielded from here. You're exercising the power now.”

She leaned away from him as if he'd lost his mind.

“Truly,” he said. “Bubb is the holder of the title,
of course, but in the Fairchild family right now, you hold all the power because you have control of the fortune.”

“So you said.”

“I meant it. Your fortune is your own to dispose of in any manner you wish. You have the power.” Then he muttered, “You could make
me
do anything you desired.”

“What?”

He didn't clarify his statement. How could he, when it had taken him by surprise, too? But it was the truth. For whatever reason, the claiming of her body had claimed him, as well. His insistence on marriage had little to do with his reputation or hers, and everything to do with the sight of her blood on him and the knowledge he would never allow another man to get even half so close to her.

Even the comfort she found in her brother's embrace had shaken him, and he wanted her now with a gnawing hunger that stirred him to madness. The man who all his adult life had been cold and unfeeling had just been vanquished by a woman—but she didn't need to know it.

If he could only keep from telling her.

He pushed the chair back, then urged, “Sit.”

She was watching him guardedly, and did as he told her. The chair's tall arms reached almost to her armpits, and its high back dwarfed her. The desk before her was elevated, so she looked like a child sitting at the dinner table.

“That won't do,” he said decidedly, and picked
her up by her waist. Her legs, she kept at a right angle, not knowing what he intended, so he commanded, “Stand.”

She did. Right on the seat of the chair.

“There.” He kept his hand lightly on her. “That's better.”

She didn't seem to think so. She stood unsteadily, her shoes sinking into the purple cushion her grandfather had used to ease his noble ass, and Sebastian half expected her to topple off in a faint. But Mary was made of sterner stuff, and he held her firmly until she gained her balance.

“What do you see?” he prompted.

She looked out over the desk. “The study.”

“And out the window?”

“The estate.”

“You control it all.” He knew this, and he informed her so with pitiless enjoyment. “Make your wishes clear, and the Fairchilds would cower before you.”

She looked down at him in astonishment. “I don't want to do that!”

“But you could. That's power—power your grandfather no longer has. He was a tyrant, easily replaced by another tyrant, should you choose to be one. He's truly dead.” And she looked beautiful in the moonlight, like a fairy who had discovered her wings for the first time. His loins ached with need, and his voice thickened as he said, “But you are alive.”

Now she looked around her with poise and a heightened interest. “That's true. No one mourns my
grandfather. For all the fear he inspired in life, he's left nothing behind but bad memories.” She gave a little bounce on the cushion. “It would be agreeable to be in authority here. I'm good at it, you know.”

“Yes, I know.”

“When I was the housekeeper, my servants were well trained and efficient, and I kept a firm hand on the helm.”

She was gaining confidence, was his wife, and he liked that.

Then she frowned. “But there's the taint in the blood. I would find power addictive, and abuse it to the others' detriment.”

“Did you find power addictive in your stint as housekeeper?”

“I found,” she said gently, “it preferable to being powerless. But there is no pleasure in hurting those less fortunate.”

He didn't say anything. She was intelligent enough to comprehend her own words.

He saw when she did, for she looked down at him with a half smile. “But it seems such a shame to discard this power without using it on some sniveling beast who needs correction.”

She offered him an opportunity to redress his injustices to her, and he would be a fool not to take advantage of it. Slowly he lowered himself to one knee and touched his chest with one hand. “Not a sniveling beast, but a beast nonetheless. Do your
worst, madam. I deserve your punishments, and more.”

She frowned and clutched the chair as if his gallantry alarmed her. “I don't know what you mean.”

“I abused you most dreadfully when last I visited your bedchamber.”

She blanched at his plain speaking.

“I unfairly accused you of dishonor,” he continued, “and took you roughly even though I knew the truth of your purity. You can take your revenge now. I vow to allow any liberty.”

She stared at him strangely, and he supposed he must appear silly—a sinister figure, dressed all in dark colors, kneeling before his wife. But he didn't care how he appeared, he only cared that Mary, his new wife, knew herself safe from harm at his hands.