Page 11 of Marie’s Merry Gentleman (The Bookshop Belles #2)

CHAPTER 10

Sebastian Gets The Guilts

M arie’s lips were soft and warm under his, yielding, her breath sweet from the lemon syrup pudding they’d just finished for dessert. The touch sent jolts of long-neglected sensations through him waking him from a decade-long emotional slumber. She was the answer to the prayers he didn’t know he’d made. Sebastian lost himself in the sensation as she returned the kiss just as fervently, until he felt her sharply indrawn breath of shock.

Then he leaped back as if she’d just slapped his face, horrified at himself.

What was he doing ? He’d just kissed a lady who was a guest under his roof, an innocent at that, and most shameful of all, one who couldn’t even run away from his advances! He ran a shaking hand through his hair.

“I most sincerely beg your pardon, Miss Baxter! I was overcome with…”

“Don’t you dare apologise,” she said, quite severely.

“I… what?” he blinked at her, confused. He’d done the most reprehensible thing, all for his own entertainment, and treated her very poorly.

“You heard me, my lord.” A smile quirked those beguiling lips upwards at the corners. “Don’t you dare apologise. I have never been kissed before, and that was… quite nice.” She smiled serenely at him and pushed her toes on the floor to propel herself past him into the library, leaving Sebastian standing with his mouth flapping open like a stunned carp.

He thought she would slap him.

He thought she should slap him!

“Quite… nice?” he croaked finally, turning to find her taking up her usual spot beside the fire.

“Indeed.” Marie looked up from the book she had just opened. “Rather an enjoyable first experience, thank you.” She nodded, apparently quite calm and composed, a vast contrast to how Sebastian was feeling at that moment, his heart hammering, his knees unsteady.

He debated going outside and throwing himself bodily into the snow, to quench the raging heat her innocent remark had suddenly engendered in his body. Somehow, he made himself walk over to take his own seat.

“Nevertheless,” he said, regaining a little of his composure. “If you decline me the right to apologise, so be it, but it should not have happened. It was deucedly inappropriate of me and it will not happen again.”

Was it disappointment he saw on her face as she glanced up at him and nodded quickly before looking down at the book again? She was going to be the death of him, she really was.

“Are you not reading this evening, my lord?” Marie asked a few minutes later, and Sebastian jumped.

He had spent the last five minutes just sitting there, staring at her. ‘Pon rep, he was sunk. He closed his eyes in embarrassment. Not only his manners, but his very wits deserted him in her presence, it seemed!

How was she so calm and even tempered when a veritable tempest stirred within him?

Collecting the book he had begun reading earlier that day, he tried to settle in to read. For the first time since being forced to read dull-as-ditchwater texts in his schooldays, Sebastian could not make himself focus on the words on the page in front of him. His gaze kept drifting upwards, quite outside of his conscious control, and fixing on Marie’s serene visage, perfectly lit by the flickering firelight.

“Oh!” she said, startling him as she looked up, and Sebastian dropped his eyes guiltily, hoping she hadn’t caught him staring. “I quite forgot, my lord! I received a letter from my sisters.”

“At last!” He knew she had begun to be a little concerned that perhaps her original letter had gone astray. “Are they all well?”

“Yes.” She beamed at him, fishing two sheets of folded paper from her pocket. Looking carefully at them, she folded one back up and put it away again, before offering him the other. “They confirmed they received your payment.”

“Oh, I could not possibly read your letter.” He shook his head in immediate denial and did not take the offered paper.

“That’s not the letter, my lord. It’s the list of books received in the latest shipment from my father in France.” She smirked at him a little. “My sisters are well aware of how much you desire rare and unusual books. They enclosed the list in case you would like to order anything before our next advertisement is sent to The Times.”

His blood thrummed with delight. “A right of first refusal! How exceedingly generous.” He accepted the paper, still barely able to take his eyes from Marie’s face.

“I have already written a reply, but am happy to delay sending it for a day or two if you would like to take the time until then to think on anything you might like. Perhaps you will finally allow us to ship the books to you, now?” she teased him lightly.

He blushed with embarrassment as the very gentle barb struck home. But he deserved it. “Seeing how carefully the ones you brought with you were packed, I believe I will. I know I can trust you,” he said, almost shocking himself as the words came out of his mouth.

Marie inclined her head, but didn’t say anything, returning her attention to her book with a pleased little smile on her face. Sebastian stewed in his own muddled confusion.

He could trust her, and he did. He was in no doubt of that. But how was it possible, when he’d known her for only a few weeks? He’d trusted others he’d known far longer, and had then had that trust thrown in his face in the worst manner possible.

When it came to Marie Baxter, he’d lost his whole, entire, blasted mind. That was the only conclusion he could reach.

And yet still he sat, staring at her face in the firelight, memorising every feature. The way she nibbled thoughtfully on the edge of her lip as she read, the tilt of her head as she moved from the left-facing page to the right, the swanlike curve of her neck, the shadow at the hollow of her throat.

He tried to give his attention to the list in his hand; couldn’t make head nor tail of it. It was no use. He needed to get out of her presence in order to focus, or he’d end up handing it back and telling her to keep all the books for him, no matter that he probably already owned a third of them and didn’t want half the rest.

“If you’ll excuse me,” he murmured, getting to his feet, “I think I shall take this to my study and consult with my reference catalogue.”

“Of course. Good evening, my lord.” She nodded to him before returning her attention to her book.

It was almost a relief to get out of her presence, and yet the desire to go back and stare at her again was strong. Sebastian pinched himself, hard.

“Snap out of it,” he muttered, firmly closing the study door behind him. “You’ve acted like the veriest donkey all day!”

He’d been acting the fool ever since Marie Baxter had turned up on his doorstep looking like a bedraggled brown wren, he acknowledged wryly to himself. Somehow, he didn’t think a stern talking-to was going to improve matters much, but he tried it all the same.

He imagined Mrs Ellwood giving him a set down over his behaviour, but that didn’t work. Next he pictured Mr Sharpe’s withering disdain, but that didn’t work either.

Sitting down at his desk, he unfolded the list she’d given him and attempted again to read down it… but all he could see were a pair of bright hazel eyes, shining with light and laughter behind round glass lenses.

Martin arrived and cleared his throat. “The boys have asked about when they might bring in the Yule Log.”

What a cloth-eared dolt, he’d completely forgotten that most important event. And he’d sweated and laboured so hard for it! Sebastian stood up and said, “Thank you, my good man.”

The boys were waiting behind the door and ran in, already holding their coats, ready to don them for the cold and dark conditions outside. Mr Charles followed in their wake.

Sebastian then corralled Martin and Sharpe and two footmen to assist, along with the grooms who’d helped cut it down in the first place. With ropes, coordination and a great deal of effort, the eight men and two boys brought the Yule log in from the stables to the front of the house. The doors were wide enough to let them all through. Which had the consequence of letting in plenty of cold wind and snow. Working carefully not to damage the flooring or hit the walls, they dragged the log on an old rug through the entry hall and into the great room, which had the largest fireplace. Mr Martin hurried back to close the front doors, much to everyone’s relief.

The fire in the great room was already lit, ready for the enormous log to be put there so it would burn constantly until Twelfth Night. Only the end of the log had any chance of fitting over the fire; the remainder of it rested on the paved hearth and would be pushed a little further into the fire each day. Martin had already arranged a roster of the staff to take it in turns to sit in the great room twenty-four hours a day in case the fire ran too far down the log.

Mrs Ellwood and Morag arrived, pushing Miss Baxter’s chair into the room so that she might witness the event. Puffed but delighted from their efforts, everyone cheered as the first flames caught on the bark, dancing and twisting as it began to burn.

Richard looked up to Sebastian and said, “I was reading about a tradition we might include. Everyone lights a candle from the log and makes a wish, and if their candle burns all the way down without going out, they get their wish!”

Sebastian hugged the boy and laughed. “That sounds like a most excellent tradition.” He turned to George, noting he had an enormous audience. “And George,” he forced himself to say the name without hesitation. “Do you have a tradition we should observe these holidays?” He was so pleased he’d announced the lad’s name without a stammer. He could do this.

The boy beamed. “Yes, we… we must eat pudding every night until Twelfth Night, or… or the wishes won’t come true either!”

Richard cried out, “You just made that up!”

“Fine!” George said. “I’ll eat your pudding if you don’t want it. Then you won’t get your wish!”

The room filled with laughter and frivolity. Soon, Mrs Ellwood had an array of candles and holders at the ready.

“Why don’t you go first, Richard, as it was your suggestion?” Sebastian said.

“Thanks, Pa.” The boy solemnly chose a candle and a holder, then stood close to the fire and held the candle’s wick near the flame on the Yule log. He withdrew it when the wick began to glow and placed it on the holder. With a palm guarding the flame from movement, he placed it down on the table and closed his eyes.

Everyone in the room followed, including Morag who was only too keen to make a wish, staring blatantly at Mr Charles all the while. The poor man seemed almost ready to hide behind Sebastian for protection.

Then George said, “Miss Baxter, I’ll push your chair closer for you, if you like?”

“Thank you,” she said, as Richard grabbed a candle for her and said in a loud whisper, “Don’t tell anyone your wish or it won’t come true!”

The solemn expression on her face showed Sebastian she was taking this tradition, and the boys, seriously. George maneuvered her chair toward the hearth and angled it so Miss Baxter could reach sideways and light her candle. Then she too held her palm in front of the flame so that it would survive the journey to the table as the boys carefully pushed her in that direction.

Sebastian pretended to admire the boys, but his gaze kept straying to Miss Baxter’s face.

She was so lovely, it was hard to look away.

Marie wanted to cry with how lovely everything was. This was the most perfect Christmas Eve she could have imagined. More staff arrived to gather for the occasion of witnessing the Yule log on the fire, and to make their own wishes. The log burned steadily, while the candles on the table kept their wishes alight. She had made a rather selfish wish, that she would one day soon return to Alson Castle. In her heart, she knew she’d have to go home soon, but her wish was that it would not be too long before she could come back. There was something so warm about this estate, even though it was surrounded by snow. Mrs Ellwood cared for her as if she were her own child, the boys were so charming and playful, and the earl had kissed her so delightfully only a short while ago.

That kiss, a first for her, had branded her heart. Who knew kisses could have that effect?

Perhaps she should have wished for another kiss? They were out of candles now, so she’d missed her chance. No, she’d made a very wise wish, in wanting to return to Alston. She would never tell anyone what her wish was, either. Richard had warned that if she did so, it wouldn’t come true.

And she very much wanted that particular wish to come true.

But another kiss would be an excellent outcome as well.