Romancing the Countess

As Leah stood before Sebastian on their wedding day, it was difficult not to think of her first wedding. It had been only a little over two years ago that she’d stood in front of a crowded church at St. Michael’s, pledging to love and obey her husband until death should part them.

Leah looked up at Sebastian. Although his hands held hers, he was watching the priest, his expression solemn. Was he thinking of his wedding to Angela? How strange it was, to realize she’d once thought she and Ian would grow old together, have children and grandchildren. Yet here she was, not three years later, marrying his best friend. A man whom she knew only little better than she’d known Ian at the time.

He was dressed in a dark charcoal jacket and trousers, his black waistcoat threaded with silver, his cravat black as well. His hair had been combed straight back from his forehead, leaving his eyes all the more intense.

No, he wasn’t as handsome as Ian, and he wasn’t as charming, but for some reason she felt secure as he held her hands. And although she should know better, the fact that he hadn’t lied about loving her made her trust him. She might regret that later, but for now it was a wonderful feeling, to look up at the man whose ring she would soon wear and realize that he deserved her faith.

The priest began reciting the vows and Sebastian held her gaze, his expression inscrutable. She tried, but she couldn’t look away. The moment felt surreal, that she should surrender to another marriage so quickly.

Then it was her turn, and all she could think as she looked into his eyes was that he desired her. Suddenly the security of his hands disappeared, the comforting warmth turning into a blistering heat which nearly scorched her skin. She felt her fingers tremble with the urge to pull away, out of his grip. Perhaps he felt it, for his hands tightened around hers, holding her in place.

Her voice wavered. “I take thee, Sebastian Edward Thomas Madinger, to be . . . my husband.” The last two words were nothing more than mere whispers. He squeezed her hands, and she looked down. How large his hands were; she’d never noticed before. Clad in dark gray gloves, they covered hers completely, his palms nearly twice the size of hers, the tips of his fingers brushing against the inside of her gloved wrists.

Leah took a deep breath and continued repeating her vows. With the rings exchanged, the priest announced them as wedded. Sebastian leaned forward, and Leah tensed; although they’d discussed this beforehand, talked about how they would make a show of it to convince their audience that theirs truly was a torrid affair, and although she’d tried to prepare herself for the past month, she still wasn’t ready.

She closed her eyes as she waited for his mouth to meet hers. And then it did, warm and firm. And quick. Her gaze flew to his face as he withdrew, but he’d already turned toward their guests, tucking her hand in the crook of his arm.

“Thank you,” she whispered, but she didn’t think he heard. Or, if he did, he ignored her. Instead, he drew her down the steps with him and through the church, to the carriage that would take them to the wedding breakfast prepared at his house. Once he’d helped her into the vehicle and sat across from her, she realized just how close a carriage could be. Much closer than this particular one had ever seemed before. She looked out the window.

As the carriage started toward his house, Sebastian glanced at Leah. He couldn’t help but feel like a voyeur as he studied her, the knowledge that she was now his wife something which seemed too far-fetched to be real.

She was indescribably beautiful in her wedding gown, a light gray which reminded him of the gleam of a pearl. Even though it wasn’t black like her mourning clothes, he wished she would have decided to wear another color instead. Blue perhaps. Something vibrant and joyful, something separating her from her life with Ian.

The gown accentuated her slender figure without making her appear overwhelmed by the yards of cloth. He longed to fit his hands about the curve of her waist, to see if she really would fit their span as it appeared. The bodice covered her chest so there was just a hint of soft flesh beneath, making it seem a mystery that waited to be discovered. And although he might have chosen a different color for her to wear, the shade complemented her fair skin, making her appear ethereal rather than fragile.

For a moment, Sebastian allowed himself the fantasy of moving across the carriage and taking her mouth as he’d dreamed of doing ever since she’d first accepted his proposal. Without his permission, his eyes lowered to her lips, and he felt his heart begin to thud within his chest. “Tell me, Lady Wriothesly, is that an invitation?”

It might have been a seductive moment, if the sound of her new title hadn’t stunned both of them. Lady Wriothesly. The name no longer belonged to Angela, but Leah. This time, Sebastian was the first to look away. But he heard her repeat the words she’d said inside the church.

“Don’t paint me as a good man for not kissing you as we’d planned. You simply appeared as if you might faint were I to do anything else.”

“No.” Well, only to the extent that he’d feared she would turn and bolt out the church door. After her hands had trembled, he’d made sure to keep a tight grip on her.

“Ah, but now it’s too late, Lady Wriothesly.” He said it again, purposefully, testing the sound of her name on his tongue. Somehow, it felt . . . perfect.

She stared at him for a moment, then looked down at her gloved hands, clasped together in her lap. “What will you do if the rumors about Ian and Angela don’t abate now that we’ve married?”

“They will. I find it hard to believe that the gossipmongers would continue with that line when we’ve proven to them their first speculation about us.”

“I don’t know,” he bit off, then immediately regretted his tone. “I don’t know,” he said again, softer this time. “We’ll ignore them, I suppose. After all, there’s no evidence to confirm that they were having an affair.”

Leah didn’t say anything for a moment. Then she lifted her gaze. “Will we be leaving for Hampshire after the breakfast, or will we be spending the night and departing in the morning?”

He’d spent the past month readying for the wedding once she’d accepted his proposal. This included finally venturing into Angela’s room, looking for any letters from Ian, sorting through things he thought Henry might want later on. He’d instructed the maids to pack everything else and distribute her clothes as they saw fit. The room had been painted, new furniture purchased, aired out until he could no longer smell any trace of lavender and vanilla.

The carriage arrived shortly afterward at his town house, and they entered to a fete where all of the people who had once whispered about a supposed affair now celebrated their marriage.

Sebastian was aware, of course, that all of the whispers hadn’t yet been silenced. Many of the guests sent them sly looks during the breakfast—probably confirming to one another their original suspicions. But that was as he’d expected, and as it should be.

To assist with the idea, he made sure to stay by Leah’s side as much as possible. Although he never touched her, he would lean in toward her and murmur in her ear. He said things to make her blush while knowing his suggestions might never come to pass. These earned reproving glances from her, which pleased him to no end, as her eyes seemed to sparkle brighter and she laughed as a defense to her embarrassment. When her mother and sister approached them with their congratulations, she blushed even brighter. By the time the breakfast reception ended, Sebastian was certain most—if not all—of their guests believed the newly married couple to be shamefully in love. Or, at the very least, gloriously in lust.

As the guests made their way out four hours later, Lord and Lady Elliot approached, the last ones to leave. Lady Elliot wore a smile of knowing satisfaction. “Lord Wriothesly. Lady Wriothesly.”

She edged closer to Leah, and although she made a pretense of lowering her voice, Sebastian could still hear every word she spoke. “Do you remember at the house party when I asked if you imagined Lord Wriothesly on your target?”

“I see I was correct,” Lady Elliot said, peeking at Sebastian from beneath her lashes. “There’s not much difference between anger and passion. Is there, my lord?” she asked her husband, elbowing him in the side.

Sebastian followed the man’s gaze to a nearby plate of apple tarts. Lord Elliot started, disrupted from his reverie. “No, my dear, not at all. Anger and passion are very good things.”

Lady Elliot sighed and gave Leah and Sebastian an exasperated look, then smiled fondly at her husband. “Let’s go, my lord, and leave the newlyweds to themselves.”

Sebastian watched her stroll down the hallway and turn toward the stairs, realizing that she meant to exert her independence immediately. Wishing that she would have preferred to stay and talk with him.

Leah tried to read. But every time she began a sentence, the memory of Sebastian whispering inappropriate words in her ear returned, and she couldn’t focus on the meaning, the construction of the sentence, let alone the spelling of the next word. The text was nothing more than black lines and dots, the memory of his voice much more real, as if he were there in her room with her.

She tried to take a nap. She convinced herself that if her mind could drift off into sleep, at least then she would escape him. But as soon as she lay upon the mattress, she began to remember his words about how he would lie her down on his bed, how he would undress her and cover her with satin sheets, how he would enjoy watching her move beneath him.

Even though she knew he’d said such things only for the benefit of their guests, to provoke blushes that would help solidify belief in their alleged affair, that knowledge didn’t matter.

No more than two minutes passed before she leapt from the bed, her breathing heavy, her heart racing, and went to the window. She pressed her palm against the glass, then her forehead. Her cheek. Slowly—eventually—she could feel the flush on her skin begin to fade.

Who was this man that she’d married? When she believed him to be the gentleman earl, he defied her expectations and showed her another man, one who wasn’t so refined, one who insisted on invoking passions she sought to keep buried. Yes, she knew she was attracted to him, and he’d made it clear he desired her, but to think that he had such power over her, that he could speak only a few words and leave her wanting, then desperate to escape him for fear she’d turn to him in need . . .

Leah sat on the settee before the hearth, holding the book once again. She started to read aloud, trying to force her mind to focus on the words that came from her lips.

Although they both knew there would be no consummation, she couldn’t help the image that came to mind of Sebastian lying in bed that evening, only a few steps down the corridor. Would he be thinking of her? Would he be imagining all those things he had said?

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.

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.

“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.”

“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—”

“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—”

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.”

“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.”

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.

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.”

“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.”

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.”

“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.”

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—”

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?”

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.

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.

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.

“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.

“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.”

“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?”

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?”

“No, I don’t mock you,” he said, a self-derisive smile curling his lips. “I mock myself. I loved my wife, more than I’ve ever loved anyone else. She betrayed me. She died. I should be raging at the heavens, cursing her name, wallowing still in the misery that you first saw me in. Instead, it is you I can’t stop thinking of, you who haunts my dreams, you who have somehow managed to erase her face from my memory. By all rights I should despise you—not only for that, but also for your behavior which risked so much for Henry—and yet I married you.”

He paused, and she watched as he appeared to collect himself, drawing his arms to his sides and straightening to his full height. He stared down at her, his eyes hooded, no emotion betrayed in their depths.