His Mistress By Christmas (17 page)

She gasped with the realization. The man planned to seduce her into marriage, but not the kind of seduction she wanted. Indeed—she narrowed her eyes—with that nonsense he spouted about not seducing the woman one intended to marry, she suspected he had no intention of sharing her bed until there was a ring on her finger. Oh, he was a crafty, clever devil.

It was obvious that, in a carnal sense, he wanted her as much as she wanted him. She drummed her fingers on the arm of the sofa. Perhaps she had been going about this all wrong. She’d been trying, however unsuccessfully, to seduce him in her best mistress-to-be manner. Aside from today’s kisses, he had been restrained and proper. And hadn’t it made her want him even more?

Perhaps she should abandon attempting to seduce him altogether ? Perhaps she should behave every bit as properly as he did? Given the manner in which he had kissed her today, it wouldn’t be long before his resolve shattered. Perhaps the key to making this plan work was not to be seduced too easily, to encourage but not surrender. To resist her own desire until he couldn’t resist his. After all, men always wanted what they couldn’t have. And once Sebastian had broken his own rule about not seducing the woman he intended to marry, he would abandon the idea of marriage altogether. And he would accept her as his mistress. Exactly as she had initially proposed. She would have her independence and Sebastian as well. Exactly as she wanted. One could indeed have one’s cake and eat it, too.

Even if one might well be losing one’s appetite for cake.

“Charming little cottage you have bought yourself, Sebastian,” Veronica said wryly, gazing up at the towering facade of Greyville Hall. “I must confess, a three-story Jacobean edifice is something of a surprise.”

“It looks much better now, surrounded by snow, than it did when I first saw it. One can’t see how much work is needed on the grounds.” Sebastian’s gaze wandered over the manor. “What did you expect?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” She considered the question. “Something less civilized, more rustic, I think. With antiquated plumbing and insufficient heat.”

“Then you shall not be disappointed.” He chuckled. “What kind of house did you think I would purchase?”

“A castle perhaps.”

“A man’s house is his castle.” Pride sounded in his voice.

“An ancient castle, with parapets and a drawbridge and pennants flying, emblazoned with a . . . a . . .”

He cast her a suspicious look. “A what?”

“A compass. Your compass.” She smiled. “Yes, that would be perfect. And your motto—
In Ambitu, Gloria
—embroidered beneath it.”

“That is a splendid idea,” he said with a grin. “I should have pennants sewn to fly from each corner of the house.”

“Although this house may well be grand enough without them.” The house did indeed remind her of a distinguished elderly lady surveying the world she had once dominated. With its red brick punctuated by white stone quoins, and its square corner towers topped with graceful lead cupolas and stone finials, it was imposing yet somehow welcoming. “I quite like it, and the more I look at it, the more I think it suits you.”

“I’m delighted that you like it.” He cast a skeptical eye at his servants filing past him, carrying her luggage. It was a surprisingly long line. She hadn’t realized she had brought that much. “I see you intend to fill every empty corner.”

“Goodness, Sebastian.” Veronica hugged her furs tighter around her and called to a footman carrying a precarious stack of boxes. “Do be careful with those, if you please.”

“And what is in the boxes?”

“Glass ornaments from Germany.” She cast him a firm look. “I suspect you have not given much thought to the decoration of a tree.”

He winced. “I might have overlooked that.”

“So I brought ornaments. Extremely fashionable ones, I might add. Consider them a gift for your new house. As for the rest, well, I shall be here for more than two weeks at least.”

“At least.”

“And one never knows what kind of social event one might be called upon to attend, even in the country.”

“You are as practical as you are lovely.” He took her hand and raised it to his lips. “And you are exceptionally lovely.”

“And you are incorrigible.” She laughed. “You needn’t expend so much effort, you know. I am here.”

“And here is where I intend to keep you for as long as possible. I have missed you, Veronica. It’s been a very long week. Have you missed me?” he added in an overly casual manner.

“How could any woman fail to miss the famous Sir Sebastian Hadley-Attwater?” she teased.

“I am not concerned with any woman. Only you.” He tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and led her up the few steps to the open door and into the entry hall, dominated by a massive carved stairway.

“Have you accomplished much since your arrival?”

“There was far more progress made before I arrived than I had expected.” He glanced around with obvious appreciation. “Would you like the grand tour?”

“I fear without it, I should easily get lost.” She removed her hat and cloak and handed them to a footman. She wasn’t sure what she had expected, but the house did appear well staffed. Apparently, Sebastian didn’t need a wife to manage his household, after all. She ignored the annoying thought. “I see you have not yet decorated for Christmas.”

They started up the stairs. “I thought we would do it together.”

“How charmingly domestic of you.”

He leaned close and lowered his voice. “Endearing, isn’t it?”

She laughed. “Most.”

“I daresay, she’ll smell better with the scent of freshly cut pine boughs in the air rather than paint. Although, given the state of the house when I bought her, I find I appreciate paint. Still, as it turns out—”

Veronica paused on the stairs and stared. “She?”

“Oh.” He nodded. “She, yes, Lady Greyville. She’s the house.” He took her elbow and urged her upward. “She’s a grand old lady, so it seemed a shame to refer to her as
it
. After all, they refer to ships as she. Why not a house?”

“Why not indeed?” she said under her breath.

He bit back a grin. “I know. It’s uncharacteristically whimsical of me, but endearing, nonetheless.”

“Or mad,” she said pleasantly.

They reached the top of the stairs, and he turned toward her. “Do you mind spending Christmas with an endearing madman?”

“Darling, you’ve met my aunt. Her outspoken nature is eclipsed only by my grandmother’s, who believes her age gives her license to say anything she wants. My father is a dear, sweet man who does precisely as he pleases by completely ignoring his mother and his sister. They live in the family house in Mayfair, which is large enough to keep them out of one another’s way. Christmas was scarcely different from any other day, with the exception of plum pudding. Indeed, Christmas often found us abroad. My mother died when I was quite young. I barely remember her at all. Unfortunate in so many ways but I have always wondered if she hadn’t died, if my odd group of relations might not be less odd. They are very dear to me,” she said quickly, “but even they would admit that we are
unique.
” She smiled. “An endearing madman is something of an improvement as Christmas companions go.”

“What of your late husband’s family?”

“Charles really had no family save his half brother, who is now married to one of my dearest friends. He and I spent our Christmases in Switzerland. I continued to do so until this year.”

“I do hope you won’t find Christmas alone with me too dull.”

“I cannot imagine ever finding being alone with you dull. Besides, there is a vast difference between dull and peace.”

“Then peace it is.” He smiled and started down the wide corridor. “The house is coming along nicely. While the exterior is apparently original, a good portion of the interior has been remodeled any number of times in the last three centuries, according to the whims and needs of the current owner and due to at least one fire that I know of.”

“Sebastian.” Veronica drew her brows together. “You have an enormous family. Shouldn’t you be with them at Christmas?”

“Yet another way in which I have often shirked my familial responsibilities, I am scarcely ever in England for Christmas.”

“But this year—”

“This year I am spending it with you,” he said firmly, then grinned. “And Lady Greyville.”

“Should I be jealous?”

“Yes.” He looked around. Carved wood panels covered the walls, rising up to meet a strap-work plaster ceiling. “I have quite fallen in love with her. I liked the house when I first bought it, but I thought it needed far more immediate work than it did.”

He continued along the corridor, and she trailed behind him, noting the various features of the hall. The detail of the carved wood was exquisite, with a hunting scene that continued from panel to panel.

“The previous owner was in trade, with a desire to play country squire. He bought the place some twenty years ago and then decided the country life was not for him. So the house sat empty for more than eighteen years, I believe. Although, to give the man his due, he did make certain the place was minimally maintained. Damned hard to make a profit on a property if the roof has fallen in. There’s a great deal left to be done, and it should be completely refurbished. Most of the furnishings are somewhat shabby. But now that it’s been thoroughly cleaned and all the bedrooms painted, it’s really quite habitable.”

“How many bedrooms are there?”

He thought for a moment. “Ten or so.” He shrugged. “I’m not sure.” He pushed open a door and stepped back to let her enter. “This is the library. Probably my favorite room. The furnishings came with the house, as did the books. I haven’t yet had the chance to see exactly what’s here, but most of them are extremely old.” His gaze swept the room. “I suspect there are volumes—great treasures, really—hidden here.”

“And valuable, no doubt.”

“No doubt. But . . .” He shook his head. “I’ve never been able to let go of a book that has come into my possession. I may need more shelves. . . .”

Floor-to-ceiling shelves, filled to overflowing, rose up between tall bayed windows on the outside wall. More shelves crowded with books flanked a massive stone fireplace. The freshly polished dark wood glowed with warmth. “Will you do your writing in this room?”

“It does seem the perfect place.” He looked around the room, pride of ownership in his eyes and his voice. “With all those writers who have gone before as inspiration.”

“It’s quite remarkable.” She nodded. “I can see why you love it.”

“Fortunately, most of the public rooms have retained much of their original features. I like that. That sense of . . .” He thought for a moment. “Continuity, if you will. Permanence perhaps. That no matter what else has changed in the rest of the world, here life is calm and serene and continues undisturbed.”

“Why, Sebastian.” She stared at him in surprise. The more she came to know this man, the less she really knew him. “You didn’t want a house. You wanted a sanctuary. A fortress.”

“In some ways, I suppose I did.” He chuckled. “But there is much more to my sanctuary than you have yet seen. There’s the great hall and drawing rooms and parlors and a huge kitchen and, well . . .” He shrugged in a sheepish sort of way. “My apologies, Veronica. I don’t mean to ramble on like this. I have never . . . Well, this is the most significant purchase I have ever made. I’ve never bought a house before. Never wanted to, really. And now that I have . . .” He grimaced. “Now you really will think you are spending Christmas with a madman.”

“I have always liked a little madness in my men. Besides . . .” She heaved an overly dramatic sigh. “A touch of insanity is to be expected. As you just said, you are a man in love.”

“Yes, I am.” His gaze met hers, and for a long moment neither said a word. Her heart caught. “I should warn you, Lady Greyville is a demanding mistress.”

“As are we all, dear man.” Without thinking, she leaned close and brushed her lips across his. So much for avoiding seduction. “As are we all.”

He reached for her, but she stepped back.

“Beg pardon, Sir Sebastian,” the butler said from the doorway. “The estate manager would like a word with you.”

Sebastian cast her a delighted grin, looking very much like a small boy with a new pony. “I have an estate manager.”

She bit back a grin of her own. “So I hear.”

“Thank you, Stokes. Tell him I’ll be with him in a minute,” Sebastian said. “And see if Mrs. Bigelow is available to continue showing the house to Lady Smithson.”

“At once, sir.” The butler nodded and took his leave.

“Mrs. Bigelow is the housekeeper. She was a maid here years ago and was delighted to return.”

“That’s not necessary, Sebastian.” Veronica shook her head. “I can wait to see the rest of the house until you’re finished.”

“But I can’t. I am anxious to hear your opinions. Besides, Mrs. Bigelow probably knows the house better than I do. One other thing.” He studied her for a moment. “You have a country estate, don’t you?”

She nodded. “It was my late husband’s. I’ve managed it since his death.”

“I would appreciate any advice or suggestions you might have on the management of a property like this.”

“Would you?” She raised a brow. “But I am a mere woman.”

“There is nothing mere about you.” He chuckled. “And I would value your thoughts and suggestions.”

“I see,” she said slowly. “You would accept the advice of a woman, but you would not allow her into your club?”

“I am a complicated and confusing sort,” he said in a somber manner but his eyes twinkled. “I think there are places where women do belong and places where they do not, positions they may fill and positions they should not. I will not apologize for that. But make no mistake, Veronica. I do not think intelligence is based on one’s gender. You are a remarkable woman, and I value your counsel.”

She stared. “You are indeed a most confusing man.”

“Just one of my many—dare I say—endearing characteristics,” he said with a wicked grin. “I shall join you later for tea. I was fortunate enough to hire an excellent cook. Her biscuits and cakes are known throughout the area. You are in for a treat.”