Heather and Velvet (18 page)

Sebastian jerked. Nothing happened. Around him the watery world faded to gray as the last bit of air in his lungs fed his hungry brain. He raked his hand down Prudence’s thigh and felt the weed cutting into her skin. He tugged with his dying strength. The weed snapped. He half pushed, half dragged her to the surface, shoving her head above the water before his own.

The first raindrops splattered on the surface of the pool as Sebastian drew in a shuddering breath. Nausea tightened his stomach, and for one dizzying moment he feared he would faint, sending them both spinning into the pool’s darkness without a trace. The rock jutted over them, a black shadow against the graying sky.

He gathered his limbs for a lunge toward the far bank. His arm locked around Prudence’s throat, holding her head out of the water even when his own slipped beneath. Water trickled between his lips. His toes stabbed a spongy cushion of mud. He crawled through the crackling reeds, dragging Prudence with him until their feet cleared the water. Her body rolled like a dead weight onto the grassy bank.

Sebastian did not recognize his voice as his own while he untangled the wet strings of hair from her face and begged her not to die. Praying to a God he had long ago forsaken, he chafed her icy cheeks with his palms and tore open the bodice of her gown. Her chest did not stir. Curses and entreaties choked his raw throat as he gathered her in his arms and shook her violently. Her head fell back in limp
surrender, and he leaned forward, pressing his forehead to her throat with a despairing sob.

A whisper of breath stirred his hair. He slowly lifted his head, staring with wonder at the convulsive rise of her chest. She hiccuped softly, then snatched in a breath that drove out racking coughs from deep in her lungs.

He steadied her over his arm until her struggles with the water ceased. She collapsed against him, and he cradled her across his lap, murmuring her name in a litany of thankfulness. He kissed her nose and cheeks and ears, as if to ensure she had lost no precious features in the murky world of near death. He smoothed her hair with shaking hands. She lay like a child in his arms, her eyes still closed. But her lips parted lightly with each breath and a flush of rose bloomed in her cheeks.

“Poor sweet lass, I almost killed you,” he whispered.

His gaze raked over her, and he cherished each gentle rise and fall of her chest. When he finally noticed how her sodden chemise clung to the soft swell of her breasts, he was unprepared for the sensation that swept him. Feeling like the thief he was, he cupped her sweetly rounded breast in his palm.

Bending down, he lay his lips against hers, wanting nothing more than to mingle his breath with her own in an affirmation of her life. Her lips were cold. He warmed them with his own until they parted beneath the pressure of his silky heat. With a will of its own, his tongue dipped inward, finding a surprising warmth to match his own. His breath quickened as her tongue stirred to meet his, drawing him into her with an innocent allure that made him shudder.

His trembling fingers caressed her breast through the thin cotton. Her nipple hardened, and the knowledge of her arousal dug deeper into his heart than a dagger.

It was more instinct than the faint shift of her breathing that made him open his eyes and meet her gaze. Her own eyes were dark and luminous, wide with a startled curiosity that trapped his hand in its guilty motion. A flush shot from his throat to his face, and he hated himself for it. He could not decide which offense Prudence would deem worse—
nearly letting her drown or fondling her like a common whore while she lay helpless in his embrace.

He waited for her to shove him away, for the silent reproach to fill her eyes. The rain fell harder now. It slicked his hair to his head and streamed over his face. She blurred before his eyes as she reached up and gently wiped the rain from his lashes.

The tender gesture was Sebastian’s downfall. He pulled her against him, holding her so tightly his arms ached. Her own arms went around his neck. Her small hands curled into fists against his nape as he scooped her up and carried her beneath the sheltering boughs of a willow. The green leaves enveloped them in a glossy canopy that slowed the rain to a steady drip. Still he held her, his face buried against her throat, reluctant to loose her for fear she would flee.

“Sebastian?”

His name was a velvety purr against his lips.

“Mmmm?”

“A tree is hardly the place to be. We could be struck by lightning.”

He swung her around., laughing exultantly as he lowered her to her feet. “My ever practical Prudence.” He cupped her face in his hands and stared deep into her eyes. “It’s far too late for me. I’ve been struck by something fiercer than lightning.”

Prudence shivered as he lowered his lips to hers, and it had nothing to do with a chill.

“You don’t know how badly I’ve wanted to hold you,” he said. Each of his words was accentuated by a soft kiss that left a tingling trail along the curve of her mouth. “To make you drop that prim and proper mask you hide behind.”

Her fingers curled in his damp hair as her lips brushed his cheek, tasting the light stubble that had risen since he had shaved that morning. He was such a tantalizing combination of roughness and smoothness. She longed to explore his varying textures with a hunger that terrified her.

She made a soft sound of despair. “You should have left me to drown. It would have been kinder.”

He tilted her chin up and gazed into her eyes. “Jamie warned you, didn’t he? I should have expected it. The lad’s grown quite fond of you.”

She gave a weak hiccup of a laugh. “He threatened to snap my neck at our last meeting. I’d hate for him to take an active dislike to me.”

“That’s just Jamie’s way. The more he likes you, the surlier he grows. I thought he was going to shoot me one Christmas when he was overcome with the joy of the season.” He nudged her gown aside and nuzzled her collarbone, licking the rain from her skin with a greedy tongue. “I could never hurt you. You were mad to think I could.”

She pushed against his shoulders. He stiffened.

She backed away from him. “But you
are
hurting me. This
is
madness. You are going to marry my aunt in less than a week. Remember?”

He stalked her around the tree trunk, spurred on by desperation. “Why should we let a little thing like that come between us?”

Her eyes widened. He took advantage of her shock, wrapping his arms around her and crushing her mouth in a kiss as darkly different from the one beside the pool as death was to a faint. His lips were hard and unrelenting, demanding an answer from her that no book had prepared her for. She opened her mouth to him, feeling her body go molten and liquid against the rough edges of his own as he bore her back against the willow trunk. Velvety petals of ivy cradled her.

Sebastian’s hands rubbed her back, then slid lower, cupping her hips and bringing them against his own with fierce strength. The soaked fabric of knee-breeches and gown was only a fragile skin between them. A foreign sweetness rocked through Prudence’s veins, paralyzing her with fear and pleasure. She felt herself sliding down the tree, down some dark, erotic abyss of Sebastian’s making into delicious surrender. She knew if they reached the ground together, she would never fight her way back from beneath his will.

She balled her fists between them and shoved with all of
her strength. His chest felt like a rock. It did not budge. He gazed at her from beneath his lashes, and she knew he was one breath of sanity away from taking her to the ground, with or without her consent. For a long moment, the only sounds were the rain beating against the leaves and the rasp of his breath as he struggled to regain even tenuous control over his desire.

Tears slipped silently down her cheeks, and his grip softened.

“Do you know what you’re doing to me?” he asked.

“Inconveniencing you?” She averted her eyes. “Causing you some momentary physical discomfort?”

His palms slammed into the tree trunk on either side of her. “What you’re doing to me,” he said, his burr thickening perceptibly, “they don’t teach in anatomy books. You’re breaking my bloody heart. And I didn’t even know I had one.”

She ducked beneath his arm. “Please, Sebastian. I was wrong.
This
is wrong. I can’t do this to Tricia. She’s been kind to me. Given me a home.”

He braced his weight against the tree. “And love, Prudence? Has she given you love?”

She had no answer for that and slipped quietly from the willow’s canopy. Sebastian followed, flinging the curtain of leaves aside. They faced each other in the pouring rain.

“I am sorry to disappoint you,” she said, “but I am not part and parcel of my aunt’s estate. I know you’re accustomed to taking what you want, but you can’t have everything.” She was shivering again, and Sebastian ached to put his arms around her. “Please stay away from me. I will be civil to you for my aunt’s sake, but if you approach me again in any way that can be deemed improper, I will be forced to tell her the truth about you.”

He knew Prudence meant what she said. Her determination was written in her whitened knuckles, in the painful rigidity of her spine. She twisted her hair into a nervous knot before realizing she had nothing to hold it with.

He reached into his pocket and withdrew a small tartan packet. He held it out to her without a word, and she
unfolded it with trembling fingers. Nestled in the precious scrap of wool were five silver hairpins tipped with pearls.

“You’ve misjudged me, Miss Walker,” he said, his voice bitter. “I know I can’t have everything. I learned that long ago. But for once in my life, can’t I have what I really want?”

A small sob broke from her, and she reeled away. She scooped up her bedraggled kitten and fled across the meadow, a slender figure, bare-footed and loose-haired, running as if something were pursuing her. Sebastian’s fists slowly unclenched. The rain washed over him, running into his eyes. He watched as Prudence was swallowed by the curtain of rain and he was left alone with the mocking rumble of thunder.

Old Fish plucked the cane out of the potted orange, snorting with disgust. He held it with two fingers as if it were a serpent. If he had his way, he would use it for kindling.

He leaned the cane against the pier-table and sifted through the stack of envelopes there. The front door opened, and he winced as a cool gust of rain struck him in the face.

Prudence ran in and shoved the door shut with her shoulder. A dripping, squalling beast clung to her arm.

Old Fish gazed down his nose at her, noting every aspect of her shocking state of dishabille. “Will you be taking tea with your aunt, Miss Prudence?” His voice oozed polite contempt.

She pelted past him without a word, trailing mud across his polished tiles and up the stairs.

He waved a creamy envelope after her. “Wait, Miss Prudence. You have another letter …” His voice trailed off at the slam of her bedchamber door.

Ungrateful wench, he thought. The girl was a disgrace. No manners at all. He eyed the cane thoughtfully. If she were his niece, he’d use it to give her a good beating. He studied the envelope in his hand. Crimson wax sealed the heavy folds, giving it an aura of importance.

Old Fish held the envelope up to the light, but could see
nothing. He brought it to his nose and sniffed it, then lowered it, shrugging his bony shoulders.

Miss Prudence never received correspondence of any import. It was more likely a plea from one of those blasphemous scientific societies her father had supported, begging a donation. Miss Prudence had no funds of her own. He would not have Lady Tricia plagued by such infidels.

He gathered up the entire stack of letters and strode into the parlor. Ignoring the curious maid who was attempting to start a fire on the hearth, he tossed the letters on top of the sputtering kindling. The fire flared. He brushed off his hands, smiling with smug satisfaction as the dancing tongues of fire licked at the wax seal, staining the flames to the color of blood.

T
he coaches rocked up the long drive, their lanterns casting bells of light through the darkness. Liveried footmen flung open the gilt doors, and masked figures darted toward the house, their capes splashes of white around their feet. There was something bewitching about their flight, as if a magical being had breathed life into the garden statues, sending them tripping and laughing across the lawn. The discordant hum of violin and harp being tuned drifted up through the floorboards with the melodious ring of a sonnet.

Prudence watched from her window, separated from the gaiety below by more than a fragile pane of glass. It could have been another world, another galaxy. If any of Tricia’s guests had glanced up, they might have seen her there, half hidden by the drapes. None of them did.

She finished her braid and dropped her hairbrush in her lap, then pulled a shawl around her night rail, although the night was warm. The sky unfurled above like a dark banner sprinkled with stars. Tricia could not have arranged better weather for her masquerade ball. God would no doubt favor
her with sunshine and blue skies for her wedding two days hence, and perhaps even a rainbow to span the garden folly where she and Sebastian would exchange their vows.