Sebastian awaited his party in the private dining room the innkeeper had shown him with great aplomb. He couldn’t quite believe Rebecca’s nerve in dousing Sebastian in the face with a full cup of dirty bath water. Even more astounding was his reaction—not one of outrage or frustration—but one of… fun. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed for no reason. Even more astonishing was that he’d been the one who’d instigated the situation, jumped into the fray with both feet. Most definitely out of his well-ordered, pragmatic character.
The door opened and two tow-headed boys enthusiastically entered, followed by their larger than life mother, looking no worse for the wear after their water-ridden warfare.
“I’m thrilled to see you survived your unfortunate ordeal,” the duke said to the children.
The boys grinned. Peter’s full-fledged, Percy’s shy and sweet.
“You got her good, Your Grace,” Peter said.
Percy, of course, said nothing.
Rebecca’s grin was more grim, but still coiled Sebastian’s insides.
He didn’t like that. He straightened and poured her a glass of wine. “You realize the proprietor and his wife believe you’re my wife?”
Rather than being stricken with his words, her features twisted in annoyance.
He wondered briefly if she would still be annoyed if she truly was his wife. Stunned by that incongruent thought, he shoved it away. Did nothing rattle this woman? He desperately wished to throw her off her game. If only to ascertain her as human and not some life form conjured from the constellations.
He doubted she was reviving her plan from seven years ago on the night of her season debut. The plan that had included her search for a suitable marriage. These recurring thoughts grew tiring.
He couldn’t very well ask such a thing with her in front of her children. He suspected his suspicions were unfounded. What drove him mad was the not knowing, not after what he’d overheard her telling Percy. The conundrums were hitting him from all sides.
He came around the table and held out a chair for Rebecca. “Shall we sit?”
“Thank you,” she murmured.
The boys scrambled into their own chairs.
For a small inn, dinner was spectacular. It appeared the owner’s wife had taken a liking to Sebastian’s “duchess.”
Percy couldn’t take his eyes off his mother. It was if he’d never seen her before. It was both touching and confusing.
Sebastian listened as Peter carried most of the conversation through dinner, explaining how Duke had gotten away from him and the maid in the yard and had ended up needing another thorough rinsing. His rendition had Rebecca laughing until tears streamed down her face. There was nothing coquettish or pretentious in her joy, and Sebastian found he couldn’t tear his eyes away from her. Even while her conversation with Percy replayed in his head.
“You realize you’re safe now, don’t you?”
“Can you tell me what happened?”
“I know this might not make sense, darling, but talking about bad things will help dispel the nightmares.”
“It’s true,” she insisted. “When I was young. Somewhere near your age, I believe. I witnessed something truly horrid.”
Sebastian hadn’t heard Percy’s response. He’d whispered.
“My governess, Miss Velinda. She had taken me to study some plants near a creek. I ran ahead of her—” A long pause had followed. “Some bad men came upon her. They attacked her.”
Again, his whisper was undecipherable. Then Rebecca’s.
Her voice rose once more to something audible. “I ran to the village for help, but by the time I arrived with help, the men were gone. I had nightmares for years until my Aunt Isolde took me aside and dragged the whole terrible ordeal out of me. I felt guilty because I was too late to help her.”
Percy’s voice was louder now. His words stopping Sebastian. “Did she die?”
“Not for a long time,” she’d answered softly.
Laughter broke into Sebastian’s thoughts, jarring him back. Percy was nodding and mumbled something that sounded similar to yes, but not quite.
Rebecca beamed the child with the brightest, proudest smile Sebastian couldn’t believe he envied. At the same time, he felt somewhat thrilled and proud of Percy himself.
Supper dragged on for another hour with giggles from the boys. Despite Rebecca’s elation over Percy recovering his voice, Sebastian couldn’t help noticing her preoccupation. She did well hiding it from the boys, but he could see it as if were engraved in leaf gold and headlined in the Gazette.
Rebecca rose from the table. “It’s time I got these two to bed. We have a long day tomorrow.”
“Actually, the day mightn’t be all that long,” Sebastian said. “If I could have a quick word…”
Clearly, she was looking for any excuse to avoid him, but something primal snapped in Sebastian and he refused to let her maneuver out of a private tête-à-tête.
He gave her as bright a smile as the one she’d graced Percy, only it held none of the warmth. She was hiding behind those boys… she thought she could sneak out behind them? He strode to the door and slammed his palm against the oak. “Not so fast, Lady Rebecca.”
“What are you doing?” she hissed. “I told you—”
“I know what you told me.” He spoke gently to the boys, cognizant of their shocked expressions. “I must speak with your mother. Can you make your way to your chamber on your own?”
Peter stood back, every hackle appeared raised on his small body. “Are you going to yell at her again?”
Sebastian’s insides bristled at insolence he never tolerated from underlings—only the king could get away with such behavior. He should be knighted for the innate calmness that quickly dissipated when Rebecca Thatcher was in the vicinity. “I am a duke. I do not yell.”
Peter narrowed his eyes on Sebastian. “Are you going to kiss her again?”
“Am I—” Sebastian stopped, rendered speechless momentarily. Annoyance pricked him and he glanced at Rebecca, whose face registered shock with a deep shade of scarlet coloring. “She’ll be along shortly,” he told the crafty little imp. His words didn’t keep Peter from backing down. He sidled alongside his mother, taking her hand as if to protect her. From him!
Even more insulting, Percy stepped up to her other side, taking her other hand. Sebastian was so struck by the sight, his chest tightened, stealing his breath. He’d never hurt a woman in his life.
Rebecca’s eyes flashed fire, but she managed to hide her ire from the children. “Go on. I’ll be up in a moment,” she said softly. She kissed each boy on his forehead. But then, in true Amazonian fashion, her voice firmed. “No detours. You understand?”
There was a slight standoff that Sebastian didn’t quite understand. A second later, Peter’s shoulders fell. “Yes, ma’am.” His mother had bested him in their silent battle.
Sebastian opened the door. “Good night. I shall see you in the morning. Stay out of the stable yard,” he added quickly before shutting the door with a distinct click. He turned and faced Rebecca with his arms crossed over his chest. “Would you care to enlighten me as to what is afoot?”
She spun on her heel and strolled across the room; poured herself another half glass of wine. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”
“Don’t you?” He followed and did the same, only he filled his glass to the brim—with brandy. Dealing with an Amazon required more than half a glass of fortification. He wanted to rail at her. Demand she answer his questions. Kiss her until she couldn’t think clearly. He wanted her but he didn’t want to want her. Instead, he fell back on old history. It was familiar and gave him the advantage. “Your ploy won’t work, you know.”
Her brows creased. Surely she didn’t expect him to believe she was confused. “What ploy?”
“The one in which you attempt to entrap me into marrying you. It didn’t work seven years ago, and it won’t work now.”
Her face paled with her surprise, then flushed with outrage. She took in a deep breath, narrowing her eyes on him. It was if a veil settled over her, effectively barricading her emotions. Her lips curled, and not in an attractive fashion.
He swallowed a groan, wishing he’d never brought up the debacle from her season debut. He could be kissing her right now, or more, but for his own stupidity. They were alone and unchaperoned. What the devil happened to his brain when this woman was within touching distance?
She crossed an arm over her waist with her elbow resting on it, holding her glass. She took a sip and shook her head. “Ah, I see you’ve found me out, Your Grace.” She lifted her glass in salute. “Consider my lesson learned.” Then tipped back the rest of her wine, plopped her glass on the table, and with her nose in the air, went to the door. “I’ll say good night then.”
Before he could raise an objection, she was gone.
Damn. He’d wanted a fight. Not some melodramatic exit. Rebecca was reckless and forthright. She didn’t fear offending him like others ready to kowtow to his every whim. She wasn’t one who fabricated things in an effort to placate. It was as astonishing as it was disconcerting. He disliked and admired her verve.
But what the devil was he to do about it?
Being angry would do her no good. All anger did for anyone was elevate their heart rate until they swooned. Not her, of course. The man had more nerve than a patroness at Almack’s. Her pulse throbbed. Not that she’d ever been invited or wanted to attend. She’d never met a man who infuriated her more. The egotistical, arrogant arse. Why, if it wasn’t for her promise to Owen and Oliver, she would hire a horse and gallop all the way to Exford without a second look back.
Rather than heading to her chamber, she found a side door that led outside for a desperate measure of air. The breath escaping her dropped her shoulders. Of course, she couldn’t just dump her charges off on their unappreciative father and leave. There was still the little matter of Gabby. Her one true friend in the whole world who’d decided she didn’t wish to be a countess anymore. Gabby obviously needed to talk, and Rebecca could never desert her friend. Just as she told Owen perhaps in not so many words, Gabby had saved Rebecca’s life as far as Rebecca was concerned.
What was it about Ryleigh that flipped her rational life to a jumbled mess? How gentle he’d handled Duke? How he spoke to the boys as if they were intelligent beings rather than in the way and underfoot? His attitude toward her could use an adjustment, but that was nothing she wasn’t accustomed to. If he’d treated any of the others with the slightest amount of disdain, she couldn’t—wouldn’t—have tolerated it.
She let out a sigh, terrified her feelings of long ago were making a grand resurgence. And if he ever learned that horrifying fact, well, she might as well throw herself off the cliffs of Dover.