Romancing the Countess

I can’t help but think America is too far. It might be more difficult for him to find us, but my heart aches at the thought of Henry living an ocean away.

They arrived at Sebastian’s country estate in Hampshire late the next afternoon, tired, dusty, and wrinkled. However, looking at the estate, which she’d visited only once before, Leah still felt an overwhelming sense of awe.

It wasn’t that the house was much grander than Linley Park; indeed, they appeared to be about the same size. No, it was the surrounding grounds that took her breath away. From the front circular drive, she could see a garden maze to her right, the greenery and shrubs interspersed with autumn flowers. To the left, a large rolling meadow. And all around, in every direction beyond, trees. Towering up to the sky, encroaching upon the civilized landscape, there were trees.

Viewing the estate as a visitor was entirely different than viewing it as Sebastian’s wife, with the realization that this was her home now, too.

“Come,” Sebastian said in a low voice. It was the same polite tone he’d used throughout their journey, the same brevity. Since the previous evening, he’d spoken as few words as needed to communicate with her.

He escorted her up the front steps and inside the great door, where the servants had lined up in the entrance to greet them. Sebastian moved Leah along the row, introducing each servant by their name and position in the household. She nodded her head and murmured words which she couldn’t remember a moment later.

Once they completed the line of servants, Sebastian directed a few of the footmen who were bringing in her things to take them to the southernmost guest chamber.

“I assume you do not wish to take Angela’s bedchamber here, either?” he said when she raised her questioning gaze to his.

“No. Thank you,” she answered, and looked quickly away. He’d held true to his word. Nothing today in his expression or his comments had made her believe he desired her—had ever desired her. Rather, he addressed her with as much distant courtesy as if she’d been a relative to the queen, and he a lowly courtier.

“May I see Henry now?” she asked. If there could be no middle ground between Sebastian and herself, then at least she could seek out the little boy’s company.

Turning, he strode up the stairs, Leah only a few steps behind him. Henry’s nursery was on the third floor. Rather than the narrow room which she’d been expecting, Sebastian guided her to a chamber which was at least the same size as her guest chamber at the Wriothesly town house in London, if not larger. The room was painted a bright, cheery yellow, and toys stacked end upon end littered two sides of the room. The other side was devoted to the boy’s bed, a small table with childrensized chairs, and a rocking horse.

Leah found it difficult to drag her gaze away from him as Sebastian sought to introduce her to Henry’s nanny, a Mrs. Fowler.

“He seems to play very well by himself,” she said a few moments later, admiring the short blond crop of his hair, which made him appear a little gentleman. His legs were tucked beneath him, his hands sure as he guided the wooden train around the tracks with an enthusiastic imitation of a train whistle.

It was the expression of stern determination on his face as he played that made Leah smile; except for his coloring, he was almost an exact miniature of Sebastian.

But then Sebastian called to him. “Henry,” he said, and the boy looked up, his concentration broken by a wide smile of delight, and hurtled toward his father’s legs.

Sebastian picked him up and spun him around, then set him down and crouched before him. “Do you remember how to bow like I taught you?”

The boy turned toward Leah. “How do you do?” he said, his voice small and more than a little uncertain, and gave a short bow. Then he turned back to his father, almost hiding behind his shoulder.

Sebastian smoothed his hand over the boy’s hair. “Would you like Mrs. George to stay with us? She can play with you, and sing you songs.” He looked up at Leah and gave her a wink, then returned his attention to Henry. “I’ve also been told that she has quite an affection for frogs.”

Leah’s brows lifted. Affection might be too strong a word—she was fondest of frogs and any other nonmammalian creatures when they stayed far away from her.

But then Henry peeked up at her from behind Sebastian’s shoulder, his blue eyes round with awe, and she decided that she might be able to learn to like frogs a little bit more.

Henry wrapped his arms around Sebastian’s neck, then turned and ran back to his trains. Leah watched him for a moment, then smiled at Mrs. Fowler and followed Sebastian out of the room.

“I hope you don’t mind that I didn’t tell him we’re married yet,” Sebastian said as they walked down the stairs to the second floor.

Sebastian didn’t say anything, and they turned down the stairs to the first floor. At the landing, he stopped and looked at her. Only, he didn’t quite look at her, but somewhere above the top of her head.

“If you’ll excuse me, I must see to some business. You’re welcome to explore the house at your pleasure. The gong will be sounded when it’s time for dinner.”

“I . . .” She didn’t know what she meant to say. That she wished he wouldn’t treat her like some honored guest? That she wished they could return to the familiarity they’d achieved when they were at the house party? That she admired him and wanted . . .

His mouth flattened, and he turned around. As he walked down the final set of stairs, he called back to her, “Your chamber is down the hall, fourth on your left.”

She stood at the top of the steps, her hands clutching the banister, and watched him disappear from sight. As she turned around to find her room, she realized what she’d meant to say.

In the following days, Leah didn’t see much of Sebastian. At each meal, she went down to the dining room hoping to find him there, only to be informed by the butler that he was eating while he worked in his study.

Neither was she invited by Sebastian to spend time with him and Henry. Twice she ventured to the nursery in the afternoon, when she knew he was free to play, only to be told by Mrs. Fowler that Henry had gone with Sebastian.

Determined to enjoy herself despite Sebastian’s aloofness, Leah found plenty to do. Although it was now mid-October and the weather had become quite cold, she took walks through the forest for hours at a time, listening to her feet crunch through the leaves, watching the squirrels scatter as she approached.

She borrowed a roan mare named Bluebonnet from the stables and went for a ride across the meadow, beyond the trees, where she discovered a fair-sized lake. Later she discovered that Bluebonnet had been Angela’s mare. She chose a different horse the next time.

One day when it rained, she decided to explore the house as Sebastian had suggested, going room by room on each of the floors—skipping over the master’s and mistress’ bedchambers.

As she returned to the main floor, intent on trying to amuse herself by playing on the pianoforte in the music room, instead she found her footsteps advancing toward the study. It was late afternoon. Sebastian would have left Henry in the nursery for the day and isolated himself away from her.

With the suspicion that she’d be turned away if she knocked, Leah quietly opened the door and entered. Sebastian wasn’t seated behind his desk, reviewing estate business or any other kind of work. He reclined on the sofa against the wall, a book settled on his chest as he read.

He stared across the room, saying nothing, then stood and retreated to his desk. For that’s what it felt like—a retreat.

Leah followed him, refusing to let him make her feel like a leper. She strolled around the desk and stood beside him, so close her skirts brushed the arm of his chair. “Am I to understand that you’ve decided not to speak to me unless I invite you to my bed?”

He blew out a harsh breath, his palms flat against the surface of the desk. “No.” He looked up at her and smiled. Or rather, it was an attempt at a smile. An abysmally poor attempt. “I apologize if I’ve left you to think so ill of me. I simply thought it would be best—for both of us—if I kept my distance.”

“Yes, I regret marrying you.” He sighed, lifting his hand and plowing it through his hair. “I thought it was the perfect solution. Make the gossipmongers focus on us instead of the Ian and Angela. Provide a mother for Henry, to keep him from continuing to ask for her. Find a way to make you want me, to not reject my advances as you did before.”

Sebastian put his face in his hands, rubbing as if he hadn’t slept enough. And when he pulled away, she saw that it was probably the truth; the skin beneath his eyes was dark, shadowed.

“And yes, I still believe the rumors about Ian and Angela will die down. And Henry still needs a mother. But I should have chosen someone else, as you suggested. Because I’ve tried, but I can’t look at you and not want you. I haven’t asked you to spend time with me and Henry because even then, as much as I desire the simple pleasure of your company, I know I will want more, and I won’t be able to disguise it.”

He leaned back in his chair and reached out, taking one of her ungloved hands between his. He stroked her palm with the pad of his thumb, slid his fingers against and in between hers. Leah took a deep breath, tried to calm the blood which suddenly leapt within her veins.

His lashes were lowered as he looked at their joined hands, his voice low when he spoke. “Do you see? Not five minutes, and I’m already touching you. But it shouldn’t be your hand that I’m holding. It should be Angela’s.”

“Sometimes I wonder if I’m drawn to you only because we share that secret. If she’d betrayed me with another man, would it be that widow that I turned to? Or perhaps not. Perhaps there’s something in you that I can’t resist. You are nothing like her, and perhaps that’s why I’m like this, because I . . .” He looked up, his green eyes fatigued, faint lines indenting the corners of his mouth. “I never expected you.”

“But it’s not too late,” he continued. “It’s crossed my mind the past couple of days, and . . . since we haven’t consummated the marriage, I could petition for an annulment.”

“Is that what you want?” she asked. He’d said he couldn’t resist her. He looked at her like he wanted her to go away but needed her to stay. As if she were his salvation and damnation combined.

Sebastian didn’t move when Leah’s lips met his. It was almost as if he was inside a dream. Never had he thought she would be the one to come to him, to touch him, to kiss him.

But there she was, her mouth on his, gently persistent, moving over his. Her hands cupping each side of his face. Her scent and warmth surrounding him.

He parted his mouth, just to see what she would do. When she bit down on his lower lip, he couldn’t keep the groan from rising inside his chest, and his arms came up, his hands settling at her waist, pulling her closer.

Almost as soon as he touched her, she pulled away, panting. But her cheeks were flushed, her eyes hazed—almost as if she’d drunk too much—and she swayed as she placed her hands behind her, steadying herself against the desk.

They stared at each other, Sebastian’s heart pounding in his chest, his body prepared to take her upon his lap and devour her. He’d never wanted like this before, almost as if she were his only hope of sustenance. Not even with Angela.

She lifted her hand to her neck, her cheek, her hair, almost as if to assure herself that she was still whole. Did she believe he would destroy her if he came too close? “Because I . . . I wanted to.”

Sebastian’s chest rose sharply. “While I appreciate your gesture, I can’t do it that way. I can’t keep a firm control on myself all the time, and then have you suddenly come at me with your own desires. I’m not that good of a man.”

Her hands lowered, twisting at her waist. Her lashes fell to her cheeks, then rose again. “Then just spend time with me,” she said. “With Henry, if that’s the way it must be.”

“Then don’t,” she said, then paused, staring directly into his eyes. “As long as you allow me to look my fill, also.”

For several moments, Sebastian didn’t breathe. A flush rose beneath his skin, heating his body, tightening his loins. He almost reached for her, almost told her that it was more than desire that drew him to her. Instead, he simply said her name, although it sounded more like a curse as it was torn from his throat. “Leah.”

She darted away, as if she knew the dangers of remaining so close to him. “Perhaps if we spend more time together, one day I will be ready to . . .”

Sebastian took a deep breath, forcing his mind to clear. “We made an agreement. If you never wish to come to my bed, I will honor it. But I can promise you that I will continue to desire you, to imagine making love to you, no matter what you decide.”

His gaze lifted from her lips back to her eyes. Rising from the chair, he crossed to the sofa and sat down. “Come here, then.” When she didn’t move, he added, “I won’t touch you.”

“Sit down,” he said, motioning to the opposite end of the sofa. To his surprise, she obeyed without saying a word. Wonder of wonders, his independent wife was allowing him to instruct her.

He shifted on the sofa so that his body was turned toward her. “No matter what I say, promise me that you won’t look away or close your eyes.”

A ripple slid down her throat as she swallowed, drawing his attention. He should have sat on the opposite side of the room. Already he wanted to cover her with his lips, to suck at the spot where her pulse throbbed at the base of her throat.

“It’s the end of summer again. We’re not at Linley Park, but here. We’re outside. It’s late at night, and the stars and the moon are the only light we have. The lamp is no longer lit. I’ve brought you out to the meadow with the pretense of looking at the sky through the telescope, to show you a constellation that can be seen only at this particular time. There is a blanket on the ground, and two glasses of champagne. It’s much the same as it was at the country house party, only we are alone. Do you remember?”

“You’re wearing the black dress you wore the last evening, the one that made a mockery of your widowhood. In the moonlight, your back gleams like a white pearl, like the ones on either side of the V. You’re wearing black gloves also, and although it’s dark outside and it’s only the two of us, your mourning veil.”

Sebastian looked down at Leah’s hands and found them clenched tightly together in her lap. He returned his gaze to her eyes. “Neither of us can see the other through the shroud of your veil. I take your hand and guide you to sit down on the blanket. First I take off my gloves, and then I slide yours down your arms, my fingers trailing over each inch of pale skin that’s revealed. You’re warm to the touch, the inside of your wrists smooth, silken. I can feel your pulse beating against my thumb as I pause there, savoring the first feel of your flesh against mine.”

Leah’s gaze left his, moved to somewhere beyond his shoulder. “Don’t look away,” he ordered. She drew in a shaky breath, then looked at him again. Sebastian almost stopped there, arrested by the uncertainty in her eyes. But he didn’t. He couldn’t.

Leah’s mind screamed for her to stand and run out the door. Every muscle was tensed, prepared to obey. Even her heart beat wildly inside her chest, each thud seeming to demand, “Go. Go. Go.”

But she stayed. Not because she had promised—she’d broken promises before. But because, God help her, she wanted to know what came next.

“After I remove your gloves, I draw you down, until you’re lying on the blanket, watching me. I push your skirts to the middle of your thighs. You’re not wearing anything else—no corset, no petticoats, no chemise. No stockings. I stare at your legs, wanting to push your skirts higher, but I resist. I remove your shoes instead. I run my hands over your arches, your heels, curving around your calves. I lean over you and push my hands against the insides of your thighs, spreading your legs wide.”

Sebastian stopped speaking and simply stared at her. Leah had to force herself not to cover her face with her hands, but to meet his gaze evenly, to see his desire glinting from the depths of his eyes. And she became aware of other things, too. Her thighs were pressed tightly together, as if to defend herself against the hands which spread them apart in his fantasy. She wasn’t breathing. She was drinking the air. In the silence between them, she could hear her own rapid pants, pulling and pushing out oxygen as if she would never be able to get enough.

A beam of afternoon sunlight penetrated through an opening in the window curtains, slicing between them. She shook her head, not daring to look away.

“Your legs are spread wide apart, and I settle between, kissing the insides of your knees, moving upward along your thighs. My hands push your skirts higher, ever higher as I continue kissing you—with my lips, with my tongue, biting at your tender flesh. But I stop at the top of your thighs, your skirts still hiding the view of your quim—”

Leah gasped, then swallowed. His gaze followed her hand as it lifted to her throat. She lowered it, but slowly, almost tempted to let it cover her breast, to have his eyes linger there.

“I’ve often wondered what you look like there,” he said. “Your hair is light brown. Is the hair between your thighs lighter? Darker? Is it black?”

His voice was like an opiate, mesmerizing, his words not only seducing her imagination but her body as well. They slid along her limbs, making them heavy with desire. They moved inside her veins, along every nerve ending. With only his voice, she felt the pull at her nipples, as if he’d set his mouth there. She felt his words probe at her core, as deft as fingers. Stroking, heating, softening her.

“Leah?” He tilted his head, the question of her name drawing her out of the near trancelike state. “Would you like to tell me the color?”

She didn’t think she could blush any more, but she did. Heat scoured her cheeks, as if a fever had overtaken her. “No,” she choked out.

His mouth curved again, that knowing, sensual imitation of a smile. “Very well. I shall imagine that it’s the same color as your hair. The dark amber of honey.”

He paused, looking at her expectantly, but Leah wouldn’t speak to either confirm or deny. Neither would she consider the use of honey as an innuendo for her taste. Or rather, she didn’t want to consider it. But she did. And she felt a rush of heat between her thighs, dampening her flesh.

And still Sebastian continued his torture. “I’ve thought about how you would feel to the touch, the softness, beckoning me to search further. I imagine parting your lips, slipping my fingers inside to feel the heat, the wetness. My thumb would caress you until you came, while my index finger moved in and out, exploring your tightness, making love to you until you cried out for me to stop.”

“Is—” Leah glanced away, then remembered and looked at him again. “Is this still happening when we’re in the meadow?”

“Oh, no,” he said softly, his voice dragging across her senses like velvet. “I’m imagining doing this to you right now.”

He stood as well, although he didn’t follow her as she ran toward the door. “We can go back to the meadow if you like,” he said, in such a way she was convinced he taunted her. “I have yet to fully unclothe you.” He took a step forward, and then another. “Don’t you want to know what happens next?”

Leah leaned against the door, her hand gripping the handle. He continued strolling toward her. She should flee. And yet she didn’t.

With a gentle pressure, he moved her away from the doorframe to the nearby wall. As promised, he released her hand. Leah flattened herself against the wall, the back of her head sliding against the silk wallpaper as he stood in front of her, only a few inches keeping his legs from brushing against her skirts. He lifted his arms and placed his hands on either side of her shoulders, then bent his head to her ear.