Perfect Bride (18 page)

Sebastian grinned. “I do believe I would.”

“Since it’s obvious you delight in tormenting me,” Justin announced, “I shall take my leave. Good night, Devon. Good night, brother.”

Neither of them moved when Justin left. Devon felt herself growing tired again. Her eyelids were heavy, but she didn’t want to move. Being so close to Sebastian like this ...it felt so good. He was all solid, heavy warmth. This ...this feeling inside her, surrounding her, she longed to never let it go, to sa
vor it forever. For never had she felt so safe. So se
cure. If she snuggled closer, would he notice...?

The next thing she knew, a muscled arm was slid
ing about her shoulders and under her knees. She felt herself being borne high in the air.

Her lips brushed the side of his throat. A sleepy protest emerged. “I’m watching Dumpling and her babies.”

A laugh rumbled in his chest, beneath the very place where her hand resided. “My sweet, you’ve been sleeping against my shoulder for the last hour.”

My sweet.

All at once her heart squeezed. It was foolish to read more into the words than there really was, she thought with a pang. It was just a careless endear
ment, something he probably didn’t even realize he’d uttered.

“Put your arms around me,” he whispered.

But her arms had already stolen around his neck. She pressed her face into his neck, reveling in his la
tent power.

Her gaze trickled up, past the corded tendons of his neck, to the sculpted beauty of his lips. It never wavered as he carried her with effortless ease up the stairs and into her chamber.

Moonlight seeped in through the curtains, spilling over the stark planes of his features. Her heart aflutter, she took in the raw masculinity of his face. So close she couldn’t stop herself, she placed a fingertip on the cleft in his chin that held such fasci
nation for her.

“You’re very handsome,” she said gravely.

Slowly he lowered her to the rumpled bedcovers. Something flashed in his eyes, and suddenly she felt she could see into his soul. She sensed an uncharac
teristic uncertainty.

“I’m not,” he said with a shake of his head. “Justin’s the handsome one.”

Devon sat up. “So are you,” she said quietly.

He sighed. “Thank you for saying that, Devon, but I see myself for what I am. And I’m too big. Too dark. When I was young, other children used to call me a Gypsy.” Taking her hand, he splayed her fingers wide against his. Next to hers, his were massive. His palm was warm and rough, making her quiver in warm, forbidden places. Even in the dark, the con
trast between their skin was marked.

“You see? Your hands...they’re half the size of mine.” A ghost of a smile crossed his lips. “
You’re
half the size of me.” His hand fell away.

Her regard sharpened. What was this? She sensed an elusive hurt. “You’re the talk of the town, Sebastian. Why, every available miss in London vies to be your bride. I saw it myself, in this very house. All those ladies, practically swooning at your feet. Why, you could have your pick of any woman in London.”

“Well, that’s probably true, but let me enhance your education further, Devon. It’s because they yearn to be a marchioness. Not necessarily
my
mar
chioness. It’s a powerful lure. Marriages founded in love are rare. They’re usually founded in mutual ad
vantage. And I don’t mean to sound petty or small, because I love my brother dearly, but if Justin were the marquess, no one would look twice at me.”

Devon was shocked. Dumbfounded. That this supremely confident man could even harbor such a ridiculous notion was totally unbelievable. But even as she felt the shock settle through her, she was also
touched beyond measure that he had confided such a thing to her. Not many men, she suspected, would have dared to risk exposing themselves so.

“Indeed, he’s known as the handsomest man in all England—”

“Yes, yes, I know about that.” She rolled her eyes. “But what you just said...that if Justin were the marquess, no one would even look at you ...Why, that is absolutely not true,” she informed him stoutly.

“I’m afraid it is, Devon. I do not delude myself.”

“It is not true,” she insisted, “and you shouldn’t think that. Do you want to know why?”

His lips quirked ever so slightly. “I suspect you’re going to tell me.”

She clasped his hands between hers—tightly, let
ting him know she wouldn’t countenance any withdrawal—the way he’d once done with her.

“I am. You say you see yourself for what you are. Well, let me tell you what
I
see. I see a man with a splendid chest and marvelous shoulders—why, I no
ticed it right off! That night when I woke—here in this very bed—I could hardly take my eyes off you. Granted, I speak only for myself, but I can’t imagine it would be so very different for other women. I daresay most would admire a man who stands head and shoulders above all others, a man with great hands like yours, a man who makes a woman feel dainty and small and protected. Every morning I see you sitting at your desk, the sunlight making your hair gleam like a raven’s, and I think I’ve never seen a man so dashing as you.”

With each breath, with each word, her voice gained
fervor, and so did the emotions welling in her breast.

“You, Sebastian Sterling, are strikingly hand
some in a way that...well, quite simply...you steal my breath away...you make me shiver in
side. And your brother has certainly never done
that
.”

It didn’t come out quite the way she intended. Had she said too much? No matter, for it was done. And now she could only pray that she’d managed to convince him.

She braved a tentative glance upward.

The air was suddenly alive with a vibrating ten
sion. Sebastian was staring at her intently. As their eyes collided, something flashed in his, something she’d never seen before. He looked as if he wanted to devour her. Consume her.

She fought an irrational fluttering of her pulse, but it was no use. Everything seemed to stand still, the very world, her very heart. Ah, yes, especially her heart! For one blinding, heart-stopping moment, she was convinced he would kiss her.

She had been cozily warm as he carried her up the stairs, but suddenly she felt hot. They sat so close, a steely hard thigh rode gently against her own. Her breath grew meager. His nearness made her tremble inside. She wanted his touch. She wanted it like nothing she’d ever felt before. Wanted it like misty rain upon sun-parched earth.

His voice came through the charged silence. “Dev
on,” he said, “don’t ever . . .
ever
...tell a man what you just told me.” He leaned forward, his jaw locked tight. “Because the next man will surely ravish you on the spot.”

She wanted
him
to ravish her on the spot.

But his smile had vanished, and confusion churned in her belly. His expression was utterly fierce, his features tense and strained.

Her smile ebbed. Her heart quavered, along with her fledgling courage. She stared at him through clouded eyes. Perhaps she’d been blinded. Blinded by the moonlight. Blinded by him. Blinded by all the pent-up emotion held deep in her breast.

She felt herself flailing. She had made blunders be
fore, but Sebastian had never looked like this . . . never like this.

“Promise me, Devon.” His fingers now gripped her own, his hold like steel.

The hurt was immense, a giant fist crashing down upon her heart. Her throat ached so badly she could hardly speak. “Sebastian . . .”

“
Promise me
.”

She gave a tiny shake of her head. “I promise,” she whispered raggedly. “I promise...”

He released her.

Pierced to the quick, she turned her face aside. She couldn’t watch him leave. When the door clicked shut, she raised a fist to her lips, smothering a dry sob. She didn’t understand! Was it so awful, what she’d said? Had she overstepped her bounds? Been too familiar? When she was with him, she never thought twice about the differences between them. It didn’t matter that he was a marquess, and she was a nobody. He was simply Sebastian . . .

But there was no denying the thunderous whirl
wind swirling inside him. She had sensed it with all that she possessed. What was it? Anger? Disap
proval? She thought of all she’d confided. God knew, it was true, every word. He
was
handsome. Devastat
ingly so. And she’d thought he would be pleased... Clearly she was wrong.

Sebastian was a man who prided himself on his con
trol. Not only by nature, but by necessity. To repair the shambles his parents had made of the family name, to restore the respect earned by previous gen
erations of his ancestors, there had been no other choice.

In that moment, in that room, his control almost shattered.

It was only by clenching his fists, squeezing his eyes shut, fighting the powerful roil of emotions fly
ing inside him, and lifting his face to the heavens that he was able to empower himself to walk away.

Where he found the strength of will, he didn’t know.

He couldn’t do it again.

For a man like Sebastian, it was not an easy thing to face. From the beginning, his every instinct had warned that Devon would turn his household up
side down. He simply hadn’t known how much.

He’d never suspected she’d turn
him
upside down.

He was thoroughly disgusted with himself for feeling the way he did about Devon. He was a man of vigilant deliberation. He hadn’t planned this, and he didn’t like being caught in this haze of conflicting emotion.

Affection was one thing. He didn’t mind that. But this twisting in his vitals, this burning in his soul...

I don’t need this
, he thought.
I don’t.
She had his heart, mind, and body ensnared in ...what? Infatu
ation? Surely not. He was far too old. Far too smart.

Yet what other explanation was there?

When she was near, he felt wholly out of control, his entire being in upheaval. When he woke in the morning, he thought of her. Only of her . . .

She was the last thing on his mind when sleep drifted in, each and every night.

Christ, she even consumed his dreams! Many a night his traitorous mind swam with searing, bla
tantly erotic visions of Devon. How many times had he awakened, he wondered, panting and sweating, his rod stiff and swollen like an iron pike?

Always
she was naked.
Always
in his arms. He saw her molded against him, his tongue buried in the moist cave of her mouth, a silken leg caught between the hardness of his, their limbs questing restlessly, her breasts burning like a brand against his chest. He saw his hands fill with the luscious globes of those soft, ivory mounds, his fingertips playing a maddeningly elusive rhythm around delectable, sunrise-colored nipples until she cried out and begged for the taste of his mouth. Sometimes she lay beneath him, her legs parted and wide, the clasp of her body hot and wet and tight around his rigid shaft as he drove inside her again and again.

Once the night sky cast a hazy glow about her form, her hair a tangle of gilded moonlight; it spilled over his belly as she pushed herself upright ...atop him. He couldn’t tear his eyes away as she braced herself on his chest and slowly came down on his hardness...this, the most startlingly vivid image of all.

He woke with the sheets wet from his seed— Christ, he hadn’t spilled himself in his dreams since he was a stripling green lad dreaming of bedding his first woman. Even now he could feel his blood
rush hot and thick, a twisting, fisted heat unfurling in his gut.

God, what a joke!
He
was supposed to be teaching her to be a lady, a proper, refined lady of quality.

But there was nothing proper about his thoughts when he was with her. And Sebastian did not like this unreasoning desire. He wasn’t sure how to stop it—or even if he could.

alking into Sebastian’s study the next morning was difficult. Facing him, she suspected, would not be easy, for she was still smarting from his re
buke. In fact, she did an about-face at least three times before she was even halfway across the floor of her room. Regardless of what had occurred the night before, she was going to have to face him again sometime. She dreaded it with every fiber of her be
ing, but what would be served by prolonging her agony? Thus reasoning, she threw open her bed
room door and marched down the stairs.

She paused at the door to his study. He was seated behind his desk, busily writing. The morning light cast his profile in stark relief, arresting and noble and proud. Her heart went out to him, for he ap
peared tired; there were faint grooves beside his mouth.

Her eyes slipped to his hands, so lean and strong. Her pulse gave an odd little flutter. For an instant,
she remembered the way he’d fitted their hands to gether last night. It made her ache inside—and nearly sent her fleeing before he saw her.

But something held her there, some force beyond her control. And when he glanced up and saw her, she didn’t look away. She couldn’t.

For the span of a heartbeat, their eyes tangled. Se
bastian didn’t shrink from her regard, but she could detect nothing of his thoughts. She held her breath and braced herself inside, waiting tensely for what would come next.

A heavy brow slanted. His mouth carried the faintest hint of amusement as it curved into a faint smile. “There’s no need to stand there,” he said al
most lightly. “You hardly need an invitation.”

Swallowing hard, Devon stepped forward. His de
meanor was...well, quite normal. It was reassuring...and yet
not
so reassuring. He acted as if nothing had happened the previous night.

She didn’t know what to make of it. She didn’t know what to make of
him
.

So it was that beneath the roof of the Sterling resi
dence, matters continued much as before. The days turned into a week, a week turned into several.

More than ever, Devon was determined not to fail in her studies. She
would
find a post as governess or companion. No matter that she had entered late in the game, she
would
succeed.

And learning to read had opened up the world, in a way she had never dreamed it would. History was a favorite. To her it was never dry or boring. She loved stepping into a world of faraway places and distant times. She had a definite dislike for mathe
matics, but she applied herself prodigiously, and Se bastian was pleased.

Given her newfound interest, she had taken to reading every night. As long she was here, she was determined to avail herself of Sebastian’s library.

On this particular night, just after midnight she closed a small, leather-bound book. Sebastian had found another book of folklore, and she had enjoyed it immensely. She wasn’t tired, and she knew she wouldn’t sleep if she tried, so why bother?

A visit to the library was in order, she decided. She glanced at Dumpling, sitting in a box next to the fire
place. Her ears pricked up when Devon pushed aside the coverlet and started across the rug, but she remained where she was.

Not so with the General, aptly named and ever the leader. On seeing her rise, he scrambled over the side of the box and bounded forward. The Colonel toddled but a tail behind, and now the Major and the Captain peered sleepily over the side of the fortress, their little heads cocked to the side. Chuckling, Devon scooped up the adventuresome pair, one beneath each arm. Briskly she tucked them back beside their brothers.

“You two stay where you are.” Carefully she closed the door behind her. Playful and curious, every day the puppies ventured further from the box and their mother.

It was a ghastly night. Outside the wind howled and rain ran in rivers down the windowpanes.

The library door was open. Light flickered from within. Devon hesitated. Was Sebastian home early from the opera? She didn’t want to disturb him if he was working.

“Come in, Devon. Don’t be shy.”

It was Justin, sprawled in the wing chair beside the secretaire, a glass of finely cut crystal in one hand. From the look of him and the pungent fumes in the air, he’d been imbibing quite heavily.

He saw the way her gaze encompassed the bottle of brandy on the rosewood side table. “An excellent year. Nothing but the best for my brother, you know.” In one swallow he drained the contents of the glass.

Devon eyed him. If he relished the spirits so, then why did he grimace?

His voice rang out heartily. “Will you join me, De
von? No? Well, then, stay as you like. Or leave as you like.” He reached for the bottle.

“Justin,” she said levelly, “I think you’ve had enough.”

“No, I have not. I have not had
nearly
enough.”

Devon frowned. “You’re rather disagreeable to
night.”

“I’m always disagreeable when I’m drunk.”

“Then why do you drink?”

“Why does any man drink? To escape life as he knows it.”

“Why would you want to escape?” Devon was to
tally baffled. “You have everything. You’re rich and—”

A black laugh erupted. “Devon, you are remark
ably naive! Don’t you know the life of the privileged is not always so privileged after all?”

“I don’t know what you mean, Justin. This isn’t like you—”

“Oh, yes, but it is, Devon. It is. Do you mean to tell me you don’t see me for what I am? I’m not a do
gooder like Julianna—poor girl, look where it’s got her! She’s off hiding in Europe!”

Devon stared. She knew Julianna was traveling on the Continent, but . . . hiding?

Only a few days ago Sebastian has received a mis
sive from his sister, stating she’d decided to extend her stay awhile longer. Sebastian hadn’t looked pleased. Indeed, there had been a faint worry in his eyes.

“And I’m not like Sebastian. I never was. I never will be.”

Taken aback by his abrasiveness, Devon stared.

“I can’t live up to my brother’s standards of per
fection, Devon. My God, how could anyone, so why should I even try? I’m a wastrel. A rogue. Nothing I do pleases my brother, just as nothing I did ever pleased my father. Even Sebastian couldn’t please our father.”

Devon was too stunned to move.

“I remember hearing Father tell Sebastian that he must never forsake his duty. That he would someday be the marquess. Therefore he must always do what is right and proper. And if Sebastian didn’t, Father took out the cane and whipped him. He must be schooled, Father said. He must be groomed. I re
member once I tried to stop him. I thought he would kill me. I thought he would kill us both. And then Se
bastian whipped me for daring to interfere. He said he could bear it, for it was his duty.”

Devon scarcely heard this last. Her mind was still reeling. Their father had beaten Sebastian.
Beaten
him. She wanted to heave.

Justin was right. The life of the privileged wasn’t so privileged after all.

“It’s a good thing my brother isn’t here,” Justin finished with a dark smile. “He might disapprove of my drinking.”

“Your brother
does
disapprove of your drinking.”

Sebastian advanced into the library, fastidiously dressed in a crimson-lined opera cloak and evening clothes. His skin was tightly drawn over his cheek
bones, his lips thin.

He looked absolutely ominous.

Justin was oblivious. Or perhaps he simply didn’t care. Devon strongly suspected the latter.

With a clink the bottle connected with the rim of the glass.

“Let the tale continue then...”

Sebastian turned to Devon. “Please excuse us,” he said curtly. “I should like a word with my brother.”

“Oh, let her stay,” Justin drawled. “It’s only right she should be privy to the Sterling family secrets— why, she’s practically family.” He cocked a brow. “Does she know about Mama running off with her lover and turning her back on her children? No? I thought not.”

Justin continued to address Devon.

“The scandal was atrocious, as you can imagine. What kind of woman would desert her children? It was hardly Mama’s first infidelity, of course. Though to her credit, she waited until after we children were born. She and her companion, shall we say, were killed crossing the Channel.”

“Justin—”

Justin paid no heed. “When Father died, Sebastian gathered up the reins of authority and took up where Father left off. He patched things up so we’re received by society in the best drawing rooms in En
gland. No more scandal, except for Julianna’s. No one breathes a word of it, though. Why, it’s almost as if that scandal too has been forgotten... except by poor Julianna, of course.”

“That’s quite enough,” Sebastian warned icily.

An unpleasant smile rimmed Justin’s mouth. “Is it? I don’t need you to tell me how to run my life, Sebastian.”

“Nor do you need me to tell you how to ruin it.”

Devon had the feeling she’d been forgotten.

“Spare me the lecture. I’m a man, not a boy.”

“Then perhaps it’s time you acted like one. You have no sense of duty whatsoever. No sense of re
sponsibility—”

“That’s because you have enough for both of us.” Justin’s mouth twisted. “You’re just like Father, you know. The title must come first. Duty must come first. Oh, yes, you fill his shoes quite tidily. Everything in or
der, always in its proper place...every
one
in order.”

Sebastian took a step forward. His spine was in
flexible, his posture rigid.

“By God,” he said tautly, “I should like to—”

“What? Beat me?” Soft, mocking laughter filled the air. “Ah, yes. Oh, but that would make you Fa-ther’s son indeed...”

There was a ringing silence. Justin’s eyes locked unflinchingly with Sebastian’s. Devon held her breath. For a timeless moment, the Sterling brothers engaged in furious, silent battle.

It was Sebastian who ended it. Turning on his heel, he strode from the library, his face an inscrutable mask.

His shout brought the footmen scrambling from their beds.

“Bring the carriage around,” he ordered.

He continued toward the back entrance and the carriage house.

Devon flew after him. “Sebastian, wait!”

He gave no sign he’d even heard.

Damp, moist air rushed in as he flung open the door.

Somehow Devon managed to wedge herself be
tween the frame of the door before he could step through.

“Step aside, if you please.”

He was faultlessly polite, his façade one of utmost control. He didn’t even look at her.

“Sebastian, where are you going?”

“Away,” he snapped.

From the sound of him, he longed to tear someone apart.