At The Stroke Of Midnight (6 page)

So when he returned to town, he
went directly to the Devonmont's home in Mayfair and asked for permission to
court Jane and then wed her by special license before Christmas.
 
The earl had not immediately agreed, which
Sebastian had found strange, but he knew that the earl would come around to the
idea, especially when Sebastian refused Jane's dowry.
 
He didn't need it, but he did need her.

He'd had other business to attend
to then and had promised to call upon Devonmont again in a few days time.
 
What Sebastian hadn't known was that his
mother had somehow gotten wind of his visit to Charles Ashford.
 
And she, of course, had made certain to get
involved.
 
Just as she always did when
it concerned the future heir to the Covington title.

By the time Sebastian paid his second
visit to Devonmont, his mother had already paid a call - twice actually - and a
tentative agreement had already been reached between Sebastian's mother and
Lord Devonmont, the papers being drawn up at that very moment.
 
Her son would marry the earl's
daughter.
 
But not the daughter
Sebastian wanted.
 
Not Jane, the woman
who fired his blood and invaded his dreams at night.
 
Instead, he was to marry Lizzie, a useless but pretty chit, whom,
after he met her once, he never wanted to speak with again.

He had protested, of course.
 
He'd threatened to kidnap Jane and run away
to Gretna.
 
He would defy them all.
 
He wanted her and no other.
 
And through his entire rant, his mother had
simply smiled as if she was waiting for his temper tantrum to end.
 
Then, when he was finished, she told him
rather calmly that he would do no such thing.
 
At least not if he wanted to remain the earl.

It was then that Sebastian had
learned of the provision in his father's will, added just before his death as
more of a promise than anything else.
 
It was a way, at least according to his mother, to ensure that the
Covington line would live on.
 
It was a
way to ensure an heir.
 
Now that
Sebastian was over thirty and unmarried, his mother could pick his bride, and
he had to abide by the choice or else he lost everything.

And, in the eyes of Margaret St.
Giles, Jane, at the advanced age of six and twenty, would not make a suitable
wife.
 
She was too old, his mother said,
though Sebastian suspected there was more to the situation than simply her
age.
 
However, the barely out of
schoolroom Elizabeth with her far more youthful, and therefore potentially
fertile, body did meet all of the necessary requirements.
 
Not to mention that the younger daughter was
entirely English and would provide the blonde haired, blue eyed grandchildren
that Margaret clearly longed for.

Lizzie, as he had been told to call
his prospective bride when they were alone, was also not quite so tall as Jane,
nor so plain.
 
His mother's words.
 
Not his.
 
Margaret did allow that Jane had the better figure, but she had reminded
her son that any woman looked good in the dark.
 
It did not matter if he was attracted to his wife.
 
All that mattered was that he could tolerate
her enough to bed her and get her with child.

Sebastian did not think that
possible, at least not with Lizzie.
 
He
could not imagine bedding the sister of the woman who had so thoroughly
captured his imagination in the short span of one evening.
 
His mother disagreed and would not hear of
him marrying Jane.
 
Nor would the girls'
father.
 
It was Lizzie or no one, he had
been told, as Jane was being banished to Scotland for the rest of her
life.
 
Banished was Sebastian's choice
of words, not her father's.

Either way, Sebastian was stuck
between desire and duty.
 
He could run
off with Jane, certainly, and he suspected that she would probably agree, at
least if her initial reaction to him that night in the garden had been any
indication.
 
However, in doing so, he
would be stripped of his title, his fortune, and his lands.
 
He would be letting down his family and all
those that depended on him for their livelihoods.
 
Not to mention that, unless he found a way to quickly extricate
his own funds from those of the estate, he would have to find some form of
employment, for Devonmont had made it clear that if Sebastian absconded with
Jane, say to someplace like Gretna Green, he would withhold her dowry.

Sebastian had his own money, but as
of yet, his solicitor had been unable to find a way to quickly and easily
extricate Sebastian's holdings from that of the Covington estate.
 
The man was still working on it, as well as
attempting to find a way around the blasted will, or, at the very least find
some estate or other holding that was not entailed to the earldom.
 
As of yet, however the man had yet to
discover anything, even though Sebastian had been assured that this was his
solicitor's highest priority.

It certainly was Sebastian's, for
if there was any way possible, he wanted to avoid marrying the sister of the
woman he was completely enchanted with.

He also knew that he needed to find
a way to delay a wedding for as long as possible and thought that if perhaps he
agreed to court the chit into next season, that might give his solicitor enough
time to find a way to get Sebastian out of this mess.

He also needed to see Jane again
and explain things to her.
 
For the last
thing he wanted was to hurt her.
 
He
cared for her far too much.

That strange set of circumstances
was how he came to find himself standing in the grand, ornate ballroom of
Blackstone, which was decked out in its Christmas finery, awaiting the
appearance of his bride-to-be.
 
It
simply wasn't the bride he wanted.
 
And
his mother bloody well knew it.
 
Hence
his desire to shoot her.
 
But not
really.

"Do stop fidgeting,
Sebastian.
 
It is unbecoming of an earl
of your advanced age."
 
She flipped
open her fan so that the others in attendance could not overhear them.
 
Sometimes, with Margaret St. Giles, it was
all about appearances.
 
"And I have
made it clear.
 
You will marry Elizabeth
and produce an heir within the year.
 
Time grows short for all of us.
 
My heart could give out at any moment and you well know it.
 
I need to ensure the future of
Covington.
 
I will hear no more about
it."

As if it was bloody likely that his
mother would breath her last at any moment.
 
She was in better health than many women half her age and everyone knew
it.
 
Including her.

"I do not love her."
 
Sebastian decided to try one last time, just
in case the rapidly approaching holiday season might have eased her objections
a bit, though that was unlikely.
 
"I prefer Jane and wish to wed her."

With a sigh, Margaret snapped her
fan closed and pulled her son into a dark alcove and away from prying
eyes.
 
"We have been over this,
Sebastian.
 
Do not think that I am
unsympathetic to your desires.
 
I know
you prefer the elder daughter, but Devonmont has made it clear she is not
available to you.
 
Even if she was, her
age is against her and the last promise I made to your father was that I would
ensure you continue the Covington line.
 
Thus far, you have not done so, which led me to take matters into my own
hands.
 
That is why I selected
Elizabeth, especially after you had already approached Devonmont.
 
How was I to know that he was not willing to
offer the daughter you preferred?"

There was still something she was
not telling him.
 
In the dim light cast
by the single red taper that lit the alcove, he could see her mouth press into
a firm line, a sure sign that she was hiding something.
 
But he did not know what and she was clearly
not in the mood to be cajoled.
 
He would
let it pass.
 
For now.

"And Jane?
 
What of her?"
 
Sebastian could feel his hands clenching at his sides repeatedly
and had to force himself to relax.
 
"She is the one I care for."

"Then after you do your duty,
seek her out in Scotland and make her your mistress if that is what will please
you."
 
Even as she said the words,
Sebastian knew that his mother was not serious.
 
Men in his family did not take mistresses.
 
They took their wedding vows and kept them
faithfully.
 
Yet she said them anyway,
probably in an attempt to placate her son.
 
Given the way she stared at him as if he might attack her at any second,
she clearly knew he was beyond furious and was probably wondering how he might
lash out.
 
He didn't often, but this was
an entirely different matter, and she knew it.

"What would
please
me
is to marry Jane, Mother," he hissed through clenched teeth as a footman
passed by with a tray of champagne, slowing down enough to make it rather obvious
that he was attempting to overhear the conversation.
 
"I want her to wife, not as a mistress!"

That seemed to enrage Margaret,
though Sebastian couldn't understand what on earth his mother had to be upset
about.
 
"And I want to keep the
very last promise I made to your father!
 
And I shall.
 
I don't give a damn
at the moment what you want, my son.
 
My
duty is to the estate and your father's memory, and it is far more likely that
Elizabeth will beget you an heir than Jane!
 
Now I will speak no more of it!"

Then she flipped her fan open once
again and swept out of the alcove, a brilliant smile on her face as if she and
her son had not just verbally sparred in the middle of their host's ballroom.

Sebastian watched her go in a cloud
of violet silk and plumes of feathers, a sense of dread filling him.
 
He could not marry Elizabeth.
 
He cringed every time the brainless chit
opened her mouth to natter on about some silly topic or the other.
 
She was pretty; he would grant her
that.
 
But she did not enflame him the
way Jane did.
 
No woman did.
 
No woman ever had.

Then, as if thinking of her could
produce her out of thin air, she appeared at the entrance to the ballroom, clad
in green silk and looking every inch the woman of his deepest, darkest
fantasies.
 
Her head was bent slightly
as if she did not wish to meet the eyes of any of the assembled guests.
 
And there were plenty of them.
 
Close to fifty by his count, which was
rather large for a house party at this time of year.
 
But not for a betrothal party, which, he feared, this would
become before they reached Twelfth Night.

In the flickering light of the
candles that glowed from the chandeliers overhead, Jane sparkled like the rare
gem that she was.
 
For some reason, the
crowd had parted when she entered, and now she stood alone in the center of a
jewel-toned mosaic set into the marble floor.
 
Above her, a gold leafed ceiling glittered and shimmered as if pulsing
with life.
 
Back lit by the candlelight
from one of the numerous Christmas trees that dotted the room, she looked like
an angel come to earth just for the holiday season.

She was breathtaking.
 
And in his chest, something shifted and
moved, filling him with disquiet.
 
And
need.
 
Desire.
 
Passion.
 
Oh so much
passion.

He was about to cross the room to
her, his mother be damned, when a vision in pale blue silk and accompanied by a
cloud of rose scented air appeared before him.
 
Lizzie.
 
Damn and blast!

"My lord, you are looking
rather dashing this evening," she simpered as she dipped into a low
curtsey.
 
"Though had I known you
would be wearing a green waistcoat, I would have switched dresses with my
sister.
 
After all, we are to be
betrothed and should match, should we not?
 
It is in bad taste that you match my sister and not I."

Hell and blazes, would the chit
never stop talking about fashion?
 
"I'm sorry, Lady Elizabeth, but you should know now that I care not
a whit for fashion.
 
It bores me.
 
Greatly.
 
Nearly to tears."
 
Yes, he
was being rude, but he didn't care.
 
If
he could make Lizzie hate him, she might beg her father to allow her to cry
off.
 
If she did, his mother would have
to accept Jane as a substitute.
 
A
substitute in her mind, anyway.
 
Never
in Sebastian's.