Page 14 of Runaway Countess (Those Wild Whitbys #2)

Chapter Fourteen

T he chapel was in the oldest part of the manor house; a place where the worn stonework seemed to bear a heat and history of its own, quite separate from the frantic comings and goings of the living Whitby family. Sebastian paused in the doorway, his eyes going first, as they ever did, to the tall arch of the stained glass window at the back of the long, narrow room.

It was quiet. It was always so quiet, in here, that as a child he had fancied that even his innermost thoughts were loud in that silence. Here was the one place he had always tried to behave, to sit still, and think the thoughts he ought.

He’d failed, of course, and the coloured light falling across the floor seemed to paint him in all the colours of his sins. Green for jealousy. Red for anger – for recklessness – for passion. Yellow for the coward he was. He had still not told Beeston the truth – not about his father’s money, and not about Jenny.

She was sitting in one of the pews, gazing up at the window. Perhaps it called to her the way it did to him.

The light falling on her came through the clear round section at the apex of the window. No shades of red or green to mar it.

She was radiant in the sunlight. When she saw him, a smile broke across her face and she rose to her feet, hands reaching out as though she could not wait any longer to touch him. Sebastian’s treacherous heart warmed at the sight of her. He broke into a run, the beams of red, green and gold flickering past him, and seized her hands.

“I’ve been a selfish fool,” he groaned. “I should not have left you alone. What happened at the inn? Was Mr Smythe there?”

Her smile only increased as her hands tightened on his. “I was not frightened.”

“No,” he said, tilting his head sideways as he looked at her. “Of course not. You are a mad, brave creature now.” As mad and as foolhardy as Sebastian was himself. He feared his influence on her had not been for the better.

“I hid myself away and was perfectly safe,” she said, pulling at Sebastian’s hands as she sat down, so that he came to sit beside her. She gave a little laugh which rang loud and cheerful as a bell in the quiet chapel. “I even managed to find out a little of what he was doing, from the coachman. Uncle Fitz did not wish to speak to Lord Beeston – only to you. I fear he has figured out that you had something to do with spiriting me away.”

Sebastian grinned ruefully. “I have never had much talent for deception.”

Jenny’s hand came up and cupped his face, her skin soft and warm against the roughness of his jaw. “I will not let him hurt you,” she said, her eyes softening, her tone deadly serious. “I will swear up and down that you had nothing to do with it. It is not really a lie, after all. It is not your fault that I was reckless and you are kind.”

He let himself lean into her hand for a moment, eyes falling closed. “Jenny…”

“Did you really ride all the way to Whitby Manor simply to stop yourself from kissing me?”

His eyes flew open. He gently removed her hand from his cheek, though his chest ached as he relinquished the warmth of her. “Let’s agree never to speak of that again, Lady Beeston. Both of us were overwrought. You were alone and vulnerable. I should not have –”

She was smiling like a child on Christmas morning, her eyes as bright as two new pennies, her teeth gently set into the plumpness of her lower lip. Sebastian cleared his throat.

“We must never…”

Her teeth released her lip, and the sight of the pink colour flushing through it again shattered through his last remaining shred of willpower.

Sebastian thrust himself to his feet, shaking the lustful pink haze from his vision. He fixed his gaze on the stained glass window.

On one particular pane in the window, whose colour and glaze was subtly different from the others.

“I am a better man than this,” he said, through gritted teeth. “I do not betray my friends. I do not seduce women who are promised to another. I do not need to spread havoc wherever I go. Not anymore.”

His hands clenched, and softened. Yes. As long as he did not look at Jenny, all those things were still true.

He was still the man he wanted to be. The man who would make his family proud, rather than drive them to despair.

“I have heard one or two stories about you,” said Jenny. Her voice was a hundred times sweeter and more gentle than Sebastian deserved. “The servants are quite fond of you, you know.”

“They never had the responsibility of mopping up after my mistakes,” he said, with a rueful grin. “Only making entertainment over each transgression and its reprisals.”

“Is it true you dunked the butcher in the river for short-changing a kitchen maid?”

Sebastian winced. “Yes, and a great deal of trouble my father had smoothing things over, too. We had no meat in the house for a full week. Had to order in deliveries from the next town over.”

“Rumour has it that you have fought several duels.”

“Not as many as gossip suggests.” He winced. “I’ll admit there have been one or two.”

“And the pebble in your pocket,” she said, still speaking soft and light. He froze. “It must be the one that broke this window.”

Sebastian’s eyes flickered back towards the little patch of glass which, no matter how expert the repairs, could never quite match the colour which centuries of perfect preservation had leant the rest.

“It was the final straw, as far as my father was concerned,” he said, his hand delving into his pocket to remind itself of those familiar contours of stone. “Fourteen years old and already beyond all hope of redemption. I didn’t mean to break the window, of course, but heaven only knows what I thought would happen, running away from my lessons to practice cricket with a stick and a heap of stones. Father confiscated my bat and balls the week before, as I recall, after I won a pile of pennies off the boys in the village taking bets on whether I could knock down pine cones from the trees in the churchyard. After the chapel window, he sent me off to sea, to make a man of myself.” He tightened his fingers around the pebble. “I made a long, hard voyage of it, too. But this time – coming home a captain – this time I am a son he can be proud of.” He cut his eyes to her. She was listening patiently, her hands clasped in her lap, all her attention focused on him, that serious expression still on her face. He forced his eyes away. “That reminds true, no matter how much he has disappointed me.”

“The money?” she asked softly.

“Gone. Squandered. Beeston’s, too. I had the truth from him this morning.” He groaned and dug the palms of his hands into his eyes, sending starbursts of purple across his vision. “Word will spread among the servants before long. I’m afraid my reaction was… not discreet.”

That was putting it mildly, though he was sure Jenny understood what he really meant.

His father seemed so much older than when Sebastian was last in England. So diminished by time and failure. He had not offered a single word in his defence when he finally admitted the extortionate terms of repayment he had agreed with Beeston. Simply clutched his cane and bowed his head, while Sebastian’s rage boiled over.

It was not supposed to be that way, of course. Beeston’s money was supposed to return to him tenfold. The manor – their ancestral home – was never really supposed to be at stake.

As the second son, Sebastian had never given a moment’s thought to the family fortune. His only responsibility was to forge a career of his own. Now, he was as angry with himself as with his father. He’d never once thought to check his family’s extravagance, nor wonder whether the ancient fortune was as grand as it seemed. He knew his father was foolish and easily misled, only growing worse as he aged. Alarm bells should have been sounding the moment he heard of Beeston’s loan – but he had ignored them, because it was not his problem.

Now his sisters, his mother, and his family home were all in jeopardy, and their only hope was that Lord Beeston would suddenly transform into an angel of mercy.

In short, the Whitbys were doomed.

Jenny’s soft voice coaxed him back from the darkness. “I hope you didn’t challenge your father to a duel.”

That drew a smile from him, despite himself. “No. At least I have improved my temper that much. No pistols at dawn this time.”

“Nor ever again, if you please. I cannot bear the thought of it!”

He liked the sound of that. Not the admonition, perhaps, but the sentiment behind it.

He meant something to Jenny. She would be distressed if he put himself in danger. That knowledge was oddly delightful. “Very well. I give you my word. I’ll never duel again. Though if you’re hoping that’s enough to wipe my ledger clean of sin, I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed.”

He heard a rustle of skirts as she rose behind him. “You expect a great deal of yourself, you know.” She touched his shoulder. “You don’t have to live the life of a saint in order to be a decent man. You simply have to be… good enough, for enough of the time.” She hesitated. “ I happen to think you are quite wonderful.”

He interlaced his fingers with hers. She drew closer to him, the heat of her body warming his from shoulder to boots, and let her head rest on his shoulder.

Sebastian stilled. He did not trust himself to move. Every nerve in his body was alight to the sensation of Jenny, so close, so trusting, so warm.

“I can’t offer you what Beeston can,” he said, hearing the desire hoarsen his voice. “I can’t offer even a tenth of it.”

“But I am not asking you to. All I would like – if you think you can give it – is one kiss.”

Sebastian turned to face her. His mouth felt dry. He half-expected to see her blushing, afraid, ready to take back what she had said, but she was still looking at him with those soft, serious eyes.

“One kiss,” he repeated, sternly, admonishing himself in advance for what he knew would inevitably follow. He let his fingers trace up her back, up the delicate lines of her neck, and wind themselves into one of the dark curls that spun out from beneath her white nurse’s bonnet. Every part of her was soft, pliable, unbearably sweet. “One kiss, and that’s all. That’s all this will ever be.”

“That’s enough,” she said. Her gaze had dropped to his mouth, her sweet pink lips already slightly parted. “Before I’m wed, and I no longer have the chance. I want to know what it’s like to be kissed, not out of marital duty, or obligation, but simply because I am… wanted. Not my dowry. Me .” A flicker of uncertainty crossed her face. “That is what you want… isn’t it?”

Sebastian cupped her face in both of his hands, gently, as though she were a fragile glass window that his rough touch might shatter, and brought her mouth to his.

The kiss struck with the heart-stopping impact of a stick cracking against a pebble and sending it soaring through the air, its trajectory all too certain. It was a mistake – he’d known it would be a mistake – but it was made, and all was lost.

Jenny was everything .

Her lips moved uncertainly under his, but her hands clutched tight on his shoulders, inviting more from him – inviting him to do things he knew she had no name for. She pressed herself close to him, letting him lead, but following with such enthusiasm that Sebastian knew he was not really the one in control.

She was dizzyingly sweet, her mouth silk and fire and honey. All thoughts of resistance slid from his grasp. The guilt, the rage, the loss and betrayal, all dissolved away beneath the onslaught of pure, intoxicating pleasure.

He locked his arms around her, pressing her close, feeling the soft give of her body against his. His kiss deepened, became rough with desperation and desire, and she responded by giving him more , by holding him tighter, opening herself up before him still more deeply.

This was not how a woman’s first kiss should be. This was not how he ought to kiss a woman he knew he could never kiss again. He was ravenous for her, greedy for every last drop of her innocence, and for the first time in years he let his base instincts batter down all the careful walls of good behaviour and restraint he had so painstakingly built up.

When he finally broke away she let out a quiet mew of longing. One was not enough.

They held each other a moment in perfect stillness, the only motion the heave of both their chests in unison. Sebastian felt as though he’d swum a mile through stormy seas.

He wanted to dive straight back in again.

“Does it count as more than one?” she asked. “If I don’t let go of you in between? We both need to breathe, after all – this is only a pause. It’s still the same kiss. Just one.”

“Just one,” he repeated, the lie bitter on his lips, and kissed her again all the more deeply so that her sweetness would expunge it.

“Still only one,” she murmured, as her hands explored the shape of his shoulders and ran a tantalising trail down his spine.

“The same one,” he agreed, letting his lips travel over the delicate line of her jaw, pull at her earlobe, make a slow and glorious conquest of the white length of her neck. “One here. And here.”

“I like the way you count.”

“I like the way you do everything , my lady.”

She pulled him up, pressing her lips to his again. He felt them curve into a wicked smile against his mouth. “I am nobody’s lady. Not today.”

That one kiss lasted a solid half hour.

The tolling of the supper bell, and the knowledge that Nurse Thomas’s suspicions would only increase if she were late, was the only thing that tore Jenny away.

She felt light-headed, dizzy, as though she’d spent that half hour spinning in circles while looking up at the stars the way she had with cousin Elspeth as a child.

Sebastian escorted her to the servant’s staircase, her hand clasped in his. Something in him had changed in that chapel, somewhere between the count of one and one and one . The haunted look was gone from his eyes.

He did not look exactly glad, but he no longer seemed tormented. His jaw was a little less tight, his chin a little higher. Each time Jenny glanced at him, he met her eyes without hesitation.

When the time came for them to separate, he lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed it roughly, his eyes never leaving hers.

“Try not to roar too loud at Mr Plum, Lady Lioness,” he said. “It will make things awkward if he has you dismissed.”

“I can make no promises,” she replied. “Not while you have made me feel so brave.”

He made to let go of her hand, but she caught at his fingers a moment longer. “Sebastian…”

“Yes?”

“Is it always so wonderful?” Despite her talk of bravery, she felt a hot glow in her cheeks. “Kissing, I mean? I – I did not expect it. Aunt Fanny always made such things sound… well… shameful.”

His steady blue gaze held hers, unsmiling. “You don’t feel ashamed?”

“I feel wonderful .”

He looked away, hand in his pocket. “No. It is not always that way. For me, it has never been that way before. Perhaps it will be different for you.” His jaw tightened. “You must do something for me. Contrive a reason for Lord Beeston to require a doctor. That will give me a reason to ride into Appleby and hunt down your uncle.”

Her eyes widened. “Uncle Fitz is here?”

“He will not be far off, if he is after me, and I will do all I can to keep him away from the manor.” His eyes lit on hers again. “From you . At least until you have made your decision.”

The dizzy sensation took on an entirely different aspect. Jenny felt as though the flagstones beneath her feet had turned to jelly. “My decision? Sebastian, you cannot be serious.”

“Please,” he said quietly, turning his head away again. “Call me Captain Whitby. Let us not fool ourselves into believing we can change our situation, my lady.” His lips curved into a bitter smile. “No matter how wonderful it might be. As soon as I know you are safe, I will be away to London to negotiate with the Admiralty and see if I can wring out any more prize money for Beeston from our latest voyage. Then I shall take the next command I can, no matter how difficult or dangerous, and so begin the work of rebuilding the family fortunes. I meant what I said: I cannot offer you a tenth of what Beeston does. I cannot even offer you the quiet life in Shepton Mallet you desire. You have had your one kiss of me. Don’t hurt us both by asking for more.”

He is hurt , Jenny reminded herself. By his own father, no less – a father whom, in truth, he had stopped knowing at the age of fourteen. He is hurt, and he is frightened, and he needs time .

She had thought for many years that there was no pain deeper than the one she had felt when she lost her own parents at such a young age. Now, seeing the blankness snuffing out the sparkle in Sebastian’s eyes, she realised that at least she had the comfort of preserving her parents forever as the idols they had seemed to her at eight years old. They could never disappoint her, nor grow old and infirm, nor force her into a life she did not want.

“I’ll send down for a doctor within the hour,” she said. She curtseyed to him, the way a servant should, and ascended the staircase. With each step away from Sebastian, she tried to muster up the persona of Mrs Hughes again. A working woman. A nurse. Unafraid of wounds and illness – untroubled by thoughts of kissing captains or marrying earls.

It was not possible. As she took the final step onto the landing outside Beeston’s chambers, she was still Jenny Cartwright, through and through, and she had made her decision already.

She’d thought that one kiss would be enough. One taste of pure fantasy before a lifetime of dutiful marriage.

She had been so terribly wrong.