He desired her.
Of all the love words Ian had ever murmured in her ear, none had ever been as powerful as Sebastian’s declaration.
Leah pinched the next page of the book between her fingers, watched it shake as she turned it. One thing was certain: she must never let him know how much his words affected her. If he continued speaking to her in such a manner as before, she wasn’t sure she could trust herself with him again.
Sebastian resigned himself to the fact that he would be eating alone at the dinner table that evening. He hadn’t seen Leah all afternoon, and she didn’t come to the sitting room before the meal was served so he could escort her inside.
He sat down at the table, alone, as he’d eaten nearly every meal since Angela’s death. A footman placed a bowl of soup in front of him. Sebastian picked up his spoon, not even caring that he couldn’t identify most of the contents. It was warm and it was good. That’s all that mattered.
Then the door to the dining room opened and Leah swept in. “My apologies for being late,” she breathed, smiling as the butler held out her seat.
Sebastian stared. No longer was she wearing black, or even the gray she’d worn as a wedding dress that morning. Instead, she was dressed in a dark blue evening gown. Finally free of Ian. Finally his.
“You’re forgiven,” he said, and ate another spoonful of soup. “Is that from your new wardrobe?”
“Yes.”
She didn’t say anything else as she, too, began eating the soup, and Sebastian alternated between watching to make sure his own spoon made it to his mouth and sneaking glances at her.
“Do you like it?” she asked a minute later. “I must admit, it feels a bit odd to be wearing something not so dreary. I almost feel guilty. Perhaps I should have waited a little longer—then I might have actually become accustomed to the role of widowhood.”
“It’s beautiful,” he said, wishing he could say more, hating the fact that so much uncertainty existed between them now that they were more than simply Ian’s best friend and Ian’s wife.
But she wasn’t Ian’s wife any longer. No, she was his.
“Tell me, my lady, what does an independent married woman long to do with her time? Do you have any specific plans yet for when we reach Hampshire?”
She smiled at him over the table. “I don’t know. I think that’s part of freedom—not knowing what the future holds, but realizing that so many possibilities exist for you to take advantage of.”
“How do you mean?”
“For example, when I was younger and living with my parents, Mother had every minute of the day planned for us, down to the exact hour. Getting dressed. Breakfast. Tutoring lessons—only the subjects varied from day to day. Lunch. Practice at the pianoforte. Singing. Dancing. Knitting. Afternoon calls—”
“But surely that must have changed after you married.”
“It could have, I suppose. And the actual activities were altered. But the pattern of plotting out my day to the last detail had become so ingrained that it seemed easiest to continue it. After I found out about Angela, I even scheduled each evening to include—”
She cut herself off and stared down at the soup.
Sebastian’s grip tightened on the spoon, his jaw clenching. If it had to do with Ian at night, there could only be one thing she was referring to. “You don’t have to tell me if you prefer, but I’d like to hear what you have to say whenever you’re ready.”
She nodded, glancing up at him briefly, then continued eating.
“As for routines,” Sebastian said, “the only person who has a regular routine is Henry, and that’s only for the mornings and the evenings. In the afternoons, he and I usually spend time together.”
“What do you do?” she asked.
She sounded distracted, the question more polite than interested. Still, if it would help her become better adjusted once they reached the Hampshire estate, then Sebastian would tell her everything.
He smiled. “We play with blocks. We go on picnics and walks. He sits on his pony—”
“He has a pony already?”
“Yes, for him to get used to. If he wants to truly ride, he goes with me.”
“Is he speaking yet?”
Sebastian frowned, realizing that the last time she’d seen him was before the carriage accident, when he’d had only a few words in his vocabulary, and most of those weren’t clear. “A few sentences, nothing too complex. Let’s just say that he knows how to get his way.”
“You spoil him,” she said, her tone indulgent.
“Perhaps.” Sebastian set his spoon aside. Soon, a footman came to remove the bowl. “I suppose I find it difficult to be too harsh with him now.”
He forced himself to remain still as she studied him, wondering what she saw when she looked at him. A man of strength or a man too easily given to sentiment?
After a moment, she too put down her spoon and said, “I think we all shall get along wonderfully.” Then she added, “As long as you can keep up with mine and Henry’s adventures.”
“Adventures?”
“Oh, yes. I already have quite a few planned.”
“I thought you said—”
She waved him away. “That was in regards to myself. I’ve been thinking all month how best Henry and I might get along.”
She leaned forward, the table pressing against her bodice and revealing the lithe curve of her chest. Sebastian looked away, then back, then away again, clearing his throat. He signaled to the butler, and the next course was brought in.
“Of course I don’t have any brothers,” she continued, “so I might need your help in a few things, but I’ve always wanted to learn how to climb trees.”
“It’s too dangerous.” The words spilled from Sebastian’s mouth before he could think them through.
Her gaze narrowed. “I believe our agreement was that I might do whatever I wish.”
Their first evening together, and they’d already begun arguing.
“First of all,” he said, “Henry is my son, and if he’s too young to ride a pony, he’s certainly too young to start climbing trees.”
“Well spoken, my lord. But if I still want to climb trees by myself?”
The subject of the conversation might have been comical, if Sebastian didn’t think that she would do it just to prove a point to him. Still, even though he would try to restrain himself from giving her orders as much as possible, he couldn’t imagine any sort of relationship where he didn’t try to keep his wife from harm. “Your skirts are also a hazard. If they became tangled, or caught in a branch—”
“As I said, I will need your help for a few things. Finding a pair of trousers is the first task.”
Sebastian tapped his fingers against the table. “If I provide a pair of trousers for you to use, will you agree that I must accompany you? In this, and any other dangerous endeavor you have in mind?”
“But you will have to suffer my company, my lord.”
“I’m suffering it now, aren’t I?”
She laughed, and Sebastian couldn’t help but wonder if he’d somehow passed a test. It was the same as before, at the country house party; the more he thought he understood her, the more he came to realize that each layer he peeled back revealed a deeper mystery beneath.
He longed to ask her about the evening schedule with Ian that she’d alluded to earlier, to know every secret she tried so hard to keep hidden from him. But instead, he smiled along with her and attempted to think of another, easier topic of conversation. Then he realized that beyond the subjects of Henry, Ian, and Angela, there wasn’t much that they had in common. This wife that he desired, that he felt a need to protect, was still little more than a stranger to him.
Leah shifted in her seat and pushed around the veal cutlet on her plate. “Why do you look at me so?” she asked.
His mouth curved upward on one side, but the attempt at a smile did nothing to mask the frank intensity of his eyes. He stared at her as if she were a puzzle and he were trying to figure out how best to solve her. She could tell him there was nothing to solve; she was simple, plain. All she wanted was to have a chance to pursue her own desires, and even those were mostly ordinary.
“I was thinking about how you would look in a pair of trousers,” he said.
“Much like a boy, I imagine.”
“No.” His gaze dipped from her face to her bodice, then back up again. “Somehow I doubt you could ever look like a boy.”
Leah struggled not to blush. Reaching forward, she lifted her glass and swallowed a mouthful of sherry. Perhaps she shouldn’t have come down, after all. But something had seemed wrong with the idea of staying in her bedchamber all evening, almost as if she was ignoring him.
If truth be told, she was as curious about her new husband as he seemed to be about her. That curiosity began with his relationship with Henry and the time he spent with him when other fathers would have simply consigned Henry to the nursery all day long. But she also found as she watched across the table that her gaze drifted to other, more masculine aspects of him. The wide breadth of his shoulders, the formidable wall of his chest—it was nearly incomprehensible how he sat in his chair and didn’t somehow make it appear as if he were a giant playing on a dwarf’s stool.
Leah swallowed more sherry, determined to keep her eyes on her plate for the remainder of the meal. If nothing else revealed the awkwardness of their situation, it was this: the silence that descended over them, the realization that she didn’t know what to say to him now that they’d spoken of Henry. Apparently he didn’t know what to say, either, for he remained silent. Watching her, she assumed. She didn’t look up, but she could feel his stare on her, warming her cheeks.
It had never been this way with Ian. He’d been talkative—but not in a manner where he dominated the conversation. He made observations about the weather, the latest society
on dit
, his own personal foibles—anything to put the other person at ease. He asked questions, eliciting information which the other would probably never have been comfortable telling anyone else. He had a way of making one feel like the only person in the room—whether there were a hundred other guests present or simply a footman waiting at the sideboard.
At first, Leah had been grateful for Ian’s gift of conversation, seeing as how she was more comfortable listening and observing than participating herself. And when he concentrated on her, she’d felt like the most beautiful woman in the world. After a while, though, she saw his charm for what it was—an attempt to ingratiate himself to the other person, to make them feel charitable toward him. Above all, Ian always wanted to be liked.
Apparently that wasn’t the case with Sebastian . . . her new husband. He engaged in conversation well enough, of course, but he didn’t seem to care that an uncomfortable silence had descended over them.
Leah glanced up and met his gaze. From the way he looked at her, she almost wondered whether he used the silence to his advantage, just as Ian had used words to his. For even though he didn’t speak, the message in his eyes repeated what he’d said before, intimidating and arousing at the same time without one word being said: he desired her.
She didn’t understand it, but she couldn’t deny it, either. And while she believed he would keep his promise not to try to consummate their marriage unless she asked him to come to her bed, how soon until he began to chafe at their agreement, to resent her for refusing him? Better to be straightforward now and repeat her requirements, than for him to hold to the mistaken hope that one day she might weaken and go to him.
“Would it be possible to have the servants excused for a moment?” she asked.
He made a gesture, and soon they were alone in the dining room.
“I would make a request of you, my lord,” she said.
“Sebastian,” he corrected.
“Sebastian, then.” Though she’d said it aloud before, he hadn’t been her husband then. It felt different now, heavy and thick upon her tongue, almost exotic.
“Yes?”
“Sebastian,” she repeated, simply to be able to say his name again. “As I said, I wish to make a request of you.”
“Yes? Go on.” He smiled, as though amused by her dawdling.
“I would like to expand my earlier condition of a marriage in name only to include that you will not look at me or speak to me as you’ve done today. It is—” Disarming. Terrifying. “Offensive.”
Sebastian sat back, his gaze shuttered. “I apologize if I’ve offended you, my lady.”
She opened her mouth, paused, then shut it again.
“No, please,” he said. “Tell me what you were you about to say.”
“If I call you Sebastian, shouldn’t you address me as Leah?”
“I’m not certain,” he said, and although his tone was polite enough, there was an undertone of emotion she couldn’t identify. “We are married, yet it seems that you would have us remain as strangers. Should we not address each other as such, as well?”
“All I ask—”
He planted his hands on the table and rose to his feet. “I know what you ask, and I will respect it. You agreed to the marriage. We will each keep to our end of the bargain. However, I would ask your forgiveness in advance, my lady. I will attempt to control my speech and the way I look at you, but I don’t know if I’ll be able to control my thoughts. Would it offend you if I admit to fantasizing about stripping you bare, even here on this table, and kissing my way across the length of your body?”