A Wedding Wager (35 page)

She laughed a little nervously. “’Tis only a very small debut, Mr. Sullivan.”

“True enough,” he agreed. “But there’s never anything wrong with small. Why be in a hurry?”

“Yes, indeed, Miss Sutton. Why be in a hurry?” Jonas repeated eagerly. “Large things grow from small, you know.”

“Oh, I know.” Abigail gave a little laugh. “I had the tiniest rabbit once, and before I knew it, she had sixteen babies. And she was still a little thing.”

Serena didn’t dare look at Sebastian. The group around them were staring in astonishment, and Abigail suddenly became aware that she had said something shocking. She paled, looked around in panic, and Jonas said heartily, “Indeed, Miss Sutton, rabbits are a law unto themselves. I remember a black and white I once had …” Still talking, he slipped a hand beneath her elbow and bore her off towards another group of guests across the room.

“Well done,” Serena murmured sotto voce. She turned her own attention to distracting the group around her with a particularly scandalous
on dit
about the Duchess of Devonshire that she had been told in the strictest confidence by a drunken player at the hazard table.

Sebastian joined in, encouraging the gossipy laughter, and they were both confident that Abigail’s indiscretion would soon be forgotten.

Morrison appeared in the doorway to announce, “Dinner is served, madam.”

Marianne surreptitiously consulted the paper Serena had drawn up for her, decreeing who was to take whom
down to dinner. “Mr. Sutton, you will take down Lady Mountjoy … Mr. Amesworth, will you escort Lady Serena, Mr. Sullivan, will you take down Abigail, Mr. Wedgwood, pray escort Miss Bentley …”

Jonas stepped up gallantly to offer his arm to the elderly cousin from Kensington. He had expected nothing else. The rest of the party fell into couples, and the procession made its way to the dining salon.

Serena found that Jonas was seated opposite her. Her own neighbor, Freddy Amesworth, was an easygoing gentleman who wouldn’t object if his table mate engaged in a cross-table conversation, so after the first course had been removed, she leaned over the table and said, “Mr. Wedgwood, is there good hunting in your county?” Hunting was Freddy’s passion, almost more so than hazard.

Jonas looked up in surprise and with a degree of relief. He had been laboring dutifully with the cousin from Kensington, forcing himself to keep his attention on that lady and his eye from wandering along the table to where Abigail, recovered from her embarrassment, was engaged in lively conversation with Sebastian.

“Excellent, Lady Serena,” he said. “We hunt over Hanbury Hill, where Mary Queen of Scots used to hunt, when she was imprisoned at Tutbury Castle and also when Lord Shrewsbury was her guardian. ’Tis magnificent country.”

“Ever hunted Rutland country, Wedgwood?” Freddy asked, instantly diverted.

“No, but I have been out with the Beaufort on several occasions.”

Serena sat back, exchanging a look with Sebastian. Jonas was now the center of the conversation among the people closest to him, and he was holding his own well. Marianne was looking surprised but also gratified. Her dinner party could be counted a success. Abigail’s head moved from side to side, her eyes wide as she followed the conversation, looking entrancingly pretty, with her blue eyes a bright contrast to her dewy complexion. William sat at the head of the table, nodding slightly over his wine glass. Every now and again, he’d jerk awake, look rather guiltily around to see if anyone had noticed his absence, join the conversation for a few moments, and then discreetly nod off again.

Marianne finally rose from the table, and the ladies rose with her. The gentlemen stood courteously as the ladies left the dining room, then settled in with the port. William, at this point, awoke fully. He beckoned to Jonas. “Come sit by me, Jonas. I’ve wanted to ask you something about your uncle’s manufacturing process.”

Jonas took the place vacated by Lady Mountjoy, more than happy to conduct such a conversation with his host. Impressing the rest of the dinner company didn’t interest him particularly, except as a way of gaining favor with Marianne, but if he had Mr. Sutton as his ally, he would be well up on the totem pole.

In the drawing room, Abigail at her mother’s bidding took her place at the harp as teacups were passed
around. Serena winced a little at the number of wrong notes but acknowledged that the girl looked pretty as a picture, plucking the strings, her fair curls caressing her rounded cheek, a dreamy smile on her lips. Serena was fairly certain the dreamy smile had little to do with the Welsh folk song she was attempting and guessed that Abigail’s thoughts were with Jonas.

Jonas was among the first of the gentlemen to enter the drawing room. He had been very circumspect with the port, remembering the previous night’s excesses, and, having collected tea from his frozen-faced hostess, went to stand at Abigail’s shoulder as she played. She gave him a quick, shy smile, then, conscious of her mother’s eyes upon her, bent her head to her instrument again.

Sebastian had followed on Jonas’s heels. He took his tea to where Serena was sitting on a gilt-edged sofa and perched on the scrolled arm beside her. “She looks a picture,” he murmured. “Jonas can’t take his eyes off her.”

“I don’t think he has much of an ear for music,” Serena said with a soft chuckle. “I think it would be good if Jonas declared himself to Mr. Sutton without delay, don’t you?”

“Definitely. Should I prod him?”

Serena shrugged a little. “It can do no harm. The fair lady’s heart is well and truly won.”

Sebastian nodded and sipped his tea.

The party broke up soon after the rest of the gentlemen entered the drawing room. Sebastian drew Jonas to
one side as farewells were being made and Marianne was occupied. “Do you think you’ve fixed your interest with Miss Sutton, Jonas?”

Jonas looked over at Abigail, who had given up her playing with obvious relief and was standing with her mother at the entrance to the drawing room, curtsying her farewells as the guests moved past them. “I believe so … she’s such a darling. She looks at me in a way that … oh, I must sound like a coxcomb … but I do think she looks at me in a special way. Don’t you, Sebastian? Just a little particular attention.”

Sebastian laughed. “Without doubt, and if you’ll take a word of advice, Jonas, don’t waste any time in talking with her father. The sooner you’ve made your interest clear to Mr. Sutton, the better he will like you for it.”

“Tonight, d’you think?” Jonas looked both alarmed and excited at the prospect.

“No time like the present.” Sebastian gave his shoulder a friendly pat. “Go to it, man. Faint heart never won fair lady, as the proverb says.”

“Yes … yes, you’re right. I’ll talk to him right now.” Jonas headed back into the drawing room, where William had remained, trying not to nod off in the fire’s warmth as the buzz of departing guests continued around him.

He looked up as Jonas coughed politely, standing nervously beside his chair. “Goodness me … is that the time?” he exclaimed as the mantel clock chimed midnight. “What kind of a time is that to seek one’s bed?”

“I wonder, sir, if I might have just a moment of your time?” Jonas offered a tentative smile.

William frowned, but the sleep had vanished from his eyes, and they regarded the young man shrewdly. “Well, now,” he said. “’Tis a little late for business talk, Mr. Wedgwood. Come and see me tomorrow, eight o’clock, when I’ve finished my breakfast and my brain’s at its sharpest.”

Any other young man would quail at the prospect of such an early hour, but Jonas was bred in the same school as William Sutton and accustomed to being at work early in the day. “At eight o’clock, sir.” He bowed and smiled. “Good night, sir.”

“Good night, Jonas.” William nodded at him, concealing his own smile. He was fairly certain what the young man had to say to him, and he was more than pleased about it. Marianne would not be, but, indulgent husband though he was for the most part, the battles he chose to fight with his wife he always won. If his little Abigail wanted Jonas Wedgwood, she should have him.

“Allow me to escort you home, Lady Serena.” Sebastian took her cloak from the footman and draped it around her shoulders. “A chair has been summoned for you.”

“Thank you, sir. I would welcome the company,” she said, her eyes sparkling despite the studied formality of
her tone. She took his arm out to the street and settled into the sedan chair.

“Stratton Street,” Sebastian instructed the chairmen as they picked up the poles.

Serena raised an eyebrow but said nothing. They said not a word to each other on the short journey. But words were not necessary. The silence was charged with anticipation, with shared secrets, with old wounds that needed to be cauterized.

Outside the house, in the same silence, Sebastian handed Serena out of the chair, paid the men, and took her arm as he inserted his key in the lock. The hallway was in darkness, only a line of candlelight showing from beneath the parlor door.

Sebastian put his head around the door. Perry was gazing at a problem on a chess board, frowning in concentration. He looked up. “Ah, you back?”

“
We
are,” his twin said.

“Ah.” Perry nodded. “My respects to the lady.”

Sebastian backed out and closed the door. “Come.” He took Serena’s hand and led her up to his bedchamber. He kicked the door shut behind them with the heel of his shoe and stood looking at her for a moment, before, with a tiny cry of exultation, he reached for her, lifting her against him, holding her up.

She laughed down at him. “Oh, are we playing strongman tonight?”

“Samson to your Delilah,” he agreed, letting her slide
slowly down his body till her feet touched ground again.

“I promise I won’t cut your hair,” she murmured, smoothing her hand over the shining fair head before her fingers swiftly untied the velvet ribbon that held the shining queue at his nape.

“Oh, two can play at that game.” He took the silver fillet from her hair and then the silver-headed pins, slowly, one at a time, dropping them onto the washstand. He lifted her hair free of the pads that formed the pompadour and then let the blue-black mass cascade over his hands, using his fingers to tease out the tangles in the silky curls.

She turned her head into his hand, her tongue darting to lick the salt skin of his palm. Sebastian caressed the column of her neck, bent his head to kiss her ear, his tongue tracing the intricate whorls, his teeth nibbling the lobe. They said nothing, their bodies expressing all that was necessary. After a moment, they moved apart, their eyes locked as they took off their clothes. Silently, he helped her with ribbons and laces, watched as she unfastened her garters and slid her stockings over her feet. Then naked they came together, her skin cool against his as they fell back together onto the bed.

And cool became heat, and smooth became slippery soft, and hunger became a desperate need to expiate, to heal, to renew. Until finally, they slipped apart to lie flank to flank, exhausted, replete, and restored.

Sebastian wasn’t sure whether he had slept when
he became fully aware of his surroundings again. Serena was clamped to his side, one leg thrown across his thighs, her head pillowed in the hollow of his shoulder. Her breath was moist on his cooling skin, her heart beating rhythmically against his ribs. He tried to reach the coverlet to pull it over them without waking her, but she stirred as he moved.

“Don’t go.”

He kissed her forehead. “I’m not. But I fear you’ll catch cold. The fire’s almost out.”

Slowly, she struggled up against the pillows, her hands crossing over her breasts. “What time is it?”

He swung off the bed, gathering up the coverlet and pulling it over her. “Near dawn.” He went to the fire and threw fresh kindling onto the glowing embers. It caught quickly with a crackle and spurt of flame.

“I must go.”

“Why?” He stood at the foot of the bed, his body caught by the light from the fire behind. “If, as you say, he can no longer harm you, why would you worry what time you returned?”

Serena leaned back against the pillows and closed her eyes. He was right. She had said she had her stepfather in hand, so what was to stop her doing what she wished, as long as she gave the general what he wanted in the salons?

Sebastian watched her. After a moment, her eyes opened. “Yes,” she said. “You’re quite right. But for as
long as the charade has to continue, just until Abigail is safe, I would prefer not to antagonize him unnecessarily. Can you understand that?”

He sighed. “I suppose I can. I just wished to see what you would say. I’ll escort you home in a few minutes, but first …” He hesitated, wondering if now was the time. Then he decided if it wasn’t now, it never would be.