They sat down for the meal, Leah at the side of the empty head of the table—another tribute to Ian—and Sebastian across from her. He watched as she conversed with Lord Elliot and Lady Elliot.
During the house party she’d begun to show a little of herself to the others, but not everything. They’d glimpsed her kindness and her quick wit, but he alone had measured her strength, her vulnerability. It was an interesting feeling, to contain someone else’s secrets and to know that they kept yours. Not just the knowledge they shared of Ian and Angela’s affair, but an understanding of the layered depths hidden from the rest of the world. It was likely that he knew more of Leah than he’d ever sought to discover in his own wife. And whether he liked it or not, she knew more of him than he’d ever wished to reveal to anyone else. His every emotional state: his anger, his sadness, his offenses and curses brought on by despair. And now she knew, though he would have chosen otherwise, how he hungered for her.
A footman moved forward to pour more claret into Leah’s glass, and she sat back, her hands folded in her lap. She made the mistake of looking across the table and meeting Sebastian’s gaze. Lifting his own glass, he gave her a silent toast before bringing the wine to his lips. He stared at her over the rim as the footman stepped away. And he was glad he studied her so closely, for it was in that moment that everything changed.
He saw it in her eyes. Not hidden, not buried, not rejected by fear. It was there, plain when she should have kept it secret from him, a truth acknowledged by the stark craving in her gaze.
Leah George desired him as well.
After dinner, Leah rose from her chair and spoke to her guests. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll follow you back to the drawing room shortly.”
“Is something wrong?” Lady Elliot asked, her gaze sliding from Leah to Sebastian.
“No, just a small household matter,” Leah assured her. She smiled as everyone left—including Sebastian.
A moment. She just needed one minute of reprieve before she had to return to the drawing room and endure being stripped bare by Sebastian’s eyes again. Any enjoyment she’d received from the house party was gone; all she looked forward to now was seeing him depart. She couldn’t bear being near him any longer. The unspoken questions between them, the inclination her body seemed to have in leaning toward him whenever he stood beside her, the way her pulse rebelled against her attempts to act calm and unmoved.
Leah asked Herrod to summon Mrs. Kemble. At the sound of her footsteps approaching from the hall, Leah left the dining room to meet her.
Sebastian was there, against the far wall, his arms crossed over his chest. Waiting for her.
With her heartbeat thrumming in her ears, Leah gestured to Mrs. Kemble. “I remembered an item that needs to be changed on the menu for the dinner party,” she said. “Instead of the quail, ask Chef to cook a duck in a raisin compote.”
“Yes, madam.” Mrs. Kemble scribbled a note on the little book she carried around with her everywhere, as much a part of her person as the round of keys she wore at her waist.
Leah moved slightly until her back was fully turned toward Sebastian and she could no longer see him in her periphery. It didn’t matter, however; her body was still attuned to his presence, aware of his gaze on her. Another blush heated beneath her skin. “Oh, and one more. For dessert, add a blackberry tart.”
“Is there anything else, madam?”
Leah shifted from one foot to the other. Perhaps if she changed the entire menu, enough time would elapse that he would leave. “No, that will be all.”
“Very good. I’ll alert Chef to the changes immediately. Thank you, madam.” With a curtsy, Mrs. Kemble turned and bustled away, her notebook tucked beneath her arm.
Taking a deep breath, Leah turned and faced Sebastian. Though tempted to sail straight past him without a word, she cloaked herself in the polite control to which she was accustomed and gave him her most winsome smile. “Have the guests become impatient? Did they send you out to find me?”
He ignored her questions and stepped forward. Only a foot away. “I wanted to speak to you alone.”
Leah raised her brows and started walking, creating a more comfortable distance between them. “Perhaps another time. The others are waiting, and it’s sure to be a long evening. You have to change into your costume as Julius Caesar, do you not?”
Oh, God. And now an image of Sebastian clothed in nothing but a toga seared her mind.
“You’re trying to avoid me.” His strides matched hers, making her attempt to preserve distance between them impossible. “I’m disappointed, Leah. You did so well earlier today.” His voice deepened, taunting her.
She stared straight ahead. Had she not made it clear enough the night before? She didn’t want him. “On the contrary, my lord. I shall be happy to speak with you in the drawing room, but I refuse to be rude to everyone el—”
He grabbed her arm and whirled her toward him at the foot of the stairs. “Allow me to apologize for last evening’s mistake. You have no need to fear me, Leah.”
She glanced up the staircase, toward the voices she could hear coming from the drawing room, then back. “I don’t fear you,” she said, steadily meeting his gaze, daring him to repeat it again.
“Then why did you run away?”
“Please remove your hand from my arm.”
He looked down and stared at the place where his fingers wrapped around her wrist. Instead of releasing her, he turned his grip into a caress, easing beneath the sleeve of her widow’s gown to stroke her skin.
Leah yanked away, trying to ignore the fire spreading from the inside of her wrist to her chest, the inside of her thighs. “Damn you, Sebastian,” she breathed, then turned and began climbing up the stairs. Her spine was straight, her steps steady and graceful. A dignified departure, but they both knew she was running away again.
Halfway up, Sebastian’s voice, hushed but still strong enough to set tremors racing through her body, carried to her from below. “I lied last night, Mrs. George.”
Clutching her skirts more tightly, Leah continued up the stairs.
“I didn’t kiss you because I wanted revenge on Ian or Angela.”
Leah faltered, almost losing her balance as her slipper caught the hem of her dress. Reaching out toward the banister, she kept her eyes on the landing above. On the landscape Ian’s great-grandmother had painted of Linley Park, on the two rose-patterned chairs positioned below.
His voice followed her, unrelenting. Defiant. “I kissed you because I wanted to. Because I wanted
you
.”
Her legs trembling beneath her, Leah ran to the top. Her breath shuddered as she turned toward the drawing room.
“Leah.”
She glanced down at the sound of her name, long enough to meet his eyes, to see the desire written clearly across his face. Then, with a low gasp, she fled—away from Sebastian and the reflection of her own need.
Chapter 12
I will send you a reply tomorrow. I found this two days ago, and thought of you. No matter what happens—I love you. “My bounty is as boundless as the sea, my love as deep; the more I give to thee, the more I have, for both are infinite.”
The next day, Leah changed the structure of the house party. Instead of the group activities she had scheduled, she encouraged the men to go out and enjoy the more traditional amusements of a country house party: fishing, hunting, riding. She let them choose, as she didn’t care what they decided as long as it kept Sebastian far away from her. The ladies stayed mostly indoors: chatting, knitting, and playing instruments in the music room. When they did venture outside in the late afternoon, it was to take long walks in the gardens, areas where Leah knew the men would not be.
At dinner Leah urged the most talkative of the guests—Lady Elliot and Mr. Dunlop—to regale the rest of the table with gossip they’d heard toward the end of the Season, and bits that were currently making the rounds from house party to house party.
Afterward, when she suggested an evening of cards, Leah made certain she remained occupied on the opposite side of the room from Sebastian. Though they both knew she was avoiding him, he surprised her when he made no effort to stay close or even to make sure she didn’t have an opportunity to be alone with the guests.
Apparently he trusted her now, although he would soon learn it to be a mistake.
The following morning, the day of the dinner party and the last day of the house party itself, Leah finally rose early enough to find everyone else still at breakfast. However, instead of having a plate readied for herself, she stood before the table and made an announcement.
“I apologize for my absence, but I’ve prepared a surprise for the dinner party tonight which requires me to journey to Swindon.”
“Oh, I do like surprises,” Mrs. Meyer said, looking at her husband. He nodded in agreement.
“Unfortunately, I’ll be gone for several hours.” Leah motioned to Herrod. She gave him a list she’d penned the night of the
tableaux vivants,
one which had kept her busy from thinking of Sebastian’s words that evening . . . and the handsome tragedy he’d presented as Julius Caesar. “But I encourage you to look at the paper I’ve provided Herrod. It lists several more activities which Ian enjoyed.”
Though the expressions of the guests were curious, no one pressed her for further details. Even Sebastian abstained from questioning her, though she could feel his gaze on her back as she excused herself and walked out the door.
Once inside the coach, Leah tried to relax in the seat and prepare for the ride which would take well over an hour. She glanced across to the opposite side, where the black organza gown she’d never intended to wear in front of anyone else now lay neatly folded inside a long, rectangular box.
Leah—recent widow, self-made rebel—had decided to dance.
A test, that’s what she’d told Sebastian the other evening. The entire house party, from the beginning when she first thought of hosting it, to sending out the invitations, to planning events which pleased her and her alone, was meant to be a test to her new determination to live as she wanted. Her choice, to not bow to the expectations of others, but to find her own happiness through the independence she’d gained after Ian’s death.
And if she wanted to dance at her dinner party when most of society would agree that such a thing was wholly inappropriate for a widow in mourning, she would do it. And if she wanted to not only wear the black organza dress that was more a mockery of her widowhood than a symbol, but also to alter it into a scandalous style, then that was her choice. As she’d told Lady Elliot before, the happiness she created for herself now was for more important to her than the prison of her own reputation.
There would be consequences—she wasn’t naive to think she could escape unscathed—but for the first time in her life, Leah wasn’t afraid to discover what those consequences might be.
Watching the hills roll by, with the thickets of trees few and far between, Leah idly wondered at Sebastian’s response to the news that there would be dancing after dinner that evening.
She’d meant to tell everyone that morning, as she knew the ladies would be thrilled at the prospect, but after Sebastian’s kiss in the garden and their subsequently frayed relationship, she thought better of it. Instead, she would tell them later this afternoon, before they began preparing to dress for the meal. Then it would be too late for Sebastian to try to cancel the party, as the other guests from the surrounding area would already be preparing at their own houses.
The more interesting thought, of course, was what Sebastian would do when he realized she meant to dance along with the other guests, especially when he saw what she wore.
He would be furious, that was certain.
But no matter his reaction, she didn’t plan to dance for him, and she didn’t intend to wear the gown for him. If she’d learned nothing else from the garden incident and the way she kept running from Sebastian, it was that part of her was still locked away with Ian in the past. And tonight, at last, she meant to be free.
The coach swung roughly around a corner, sending the dress box sliding across the opposite seat. Leah stretched forward to save it from falling to the floor. Catching it with both hands, she dragged it onto her lap. It remained there, held tightly beneath her arms, until they reached Swindon.
The dressmaker, Mrs. Neville, met her at the door of the shop. Much smaller than any modiste’s shop in London, Mrs. Neville’s business had only one assistant, and Leah saw her head bent low over a skirt as the dressmaker escorted her into the back room.
Mrs. Neville looked Leah over from head to toe, taking in her veil, dusty black skirts, and no doubt wondering at her widow’s weeds. Soon, however, the dressmaker held out her arms. “I assume this is the gown you mentioned in your note?”
Leah hesitated, almost reluctant now to give her the box.
“Madam? You do still wish me to make the alterations by tonight, yes?”