Page 10 of Runaway Countess (Those Wild Whitbys #2)

Chapter Ten

S ebastian got rid of Plum using another time-honoured tactic he had learned from Beeston: that is, he was incredibly rude.

“Get back to your master,” he snapped. “Do you think I care whether the nurses respect you? Make yourself someone worth respecting, Plum, and you’ll find the problem solves itself.”

Then he returned to the stables, and was both glad and bitter to find Jenny was not there, but had been called back to the house.

He accosted a stableboy, demanding a horse saddled and ready at once.

“Sir, it’s dark already,” stammered the boy. “The roads –”

“I know these roads,” snapped Sebastian, though he didn’t, not really. Long gone were the days he and Kendrick had ridden about all Devonshire, scrumping apples and jumping fences. “I am needed at home. At once. Take word to Lord Beeston that I have gone on ahead to prepare for his arrival.”

Beeston would, no doubt, think the worst of Sebastian for scurrying off as soon as he was within hailing distance of his family pile. Of course, that was nothing to what he would think if he discovered how close Sebastian had come to debauching his betrothed.

Sebastian needed to put a few solid miles between himself and Jenny. He could not think with her so close by. His thoughts kept skittering out of his control, returning again and again to the warmth of her hand in his and the delicate red curve of her lips and the pure untouchable goodness of her.

He mounted the horse with a leap and galloped out of the stable yard, too fast, too recklessly, but his luck held and they encountered no potholes nor vagabonds all the long dark ride.

Only when he was comfortably alone on the lonely, dark road, and he and the horse were both sweating, did he regain his senses enough to slow to a walk.

He thrust his hand into his pocket and gripped the pebble. Its surface, worn smooth by many years of service as a talisman – as reminder of his worst self – grew warm in his palm.

He gripped it until his fingers hurt.

All these years of chipping away at the rock-hard delinquency of himself. All these years of trying to tame the wildness in his wretched heart. Trying to be the man he should be, not the sorry rascal he was.

Yet all it took was a soft hand and a kind word from the wrong woman and he was back exactly where he started. An unmitigated, selfish, heedless wastrel.

What was the matter with him? Other men – most men – managed to go through their lives without sowing chaos and destruction at every turn. Other men managed to repay their debts of honour and move on, improved by the experience.

Only Sebastian Whitby, in all the world, was selfish enough and wild enough that he could think of betraying the man to whom he owed his life. Even now, he was thinking not of Beeston, but of Jenny. Even now, wanting to turn the horse around and return to her. For what? One kiss? What was a kiss worth, next to a bullet?

Sebastian had often had cause to despair of himself, but he had never before thought he was so utterly beyond redemption. He could not stay without betraying Beeston. He knew himself well enough not to test his resolve any further. The only choice he had was to depart and make what little use he could of himself elsewhere.