Whatever was bothering Sebastian seemed to have been resolved by his ride. When they pulled to a stop before the gracious manor house at the end of a tree-lined drive, he handed her down from the coach with every courtesy. All the servants queued up to greet their returning master and he introduced Arabella to the butler and housekeeper as a celebrated operatic diva and his special guest.
“Once you refresh yourself, Miss St. George, I'll show you over the rest of place if you'd care to go riding.”
“That would be lovely.” After the stifling trip in the enclosed coach, Arabella’s muscles ached for a chance at some exercise.
Sebastian fished out a stack of books from the boot. With a sudden prickle of awareness, Bella noticed the Don Giovanni libretto on top. “I only have to deliver these to the library and then I’ll see to your mount. Mrs. Wiggins will show you to your room.”
The housekeeper dropped a shallow curtsey.
“Cobb.” Sebastian nodded sharply to his butler. “When the lady is ready, bring her to the stables.”
Arabella smiled at Sebastian, hoping to rekindle some of the spark they’d shared at The Peacock’s Tail. “You know how I look forward to seeing you ride, Your Grace.”
He inclined his head in a stiff gesture that thanked her for remembering the servants were watching, but his sensual smile showed he'd caught the double entendre in ‘ride.’
Ever correct. Ever lordly. Even in his amours, the duke was mindful of his station. Once in bed, would he still maintain such tight control or would he lose himself in heat and friction and animal passion? Just once, she wished she could see him driven beyond his ability to be in full command of himself.
He disappeared into the great house, leaving her in the care of Mrs. Wiggins and Cobb. She trailed them through the big double doors.
Sebastian’s country home was as elegant and formal as the man himself. The foyer was tiled with Italian marble, clearly designed to impress. Arabella followed Mrs. Wiggins up a curved staircase to the guest quarters, asking about the general layout of the great house and the great people who’d lived in it as they went. The chamber she was assigned would have suited a princess.
“Ring for an abigail when ye’ve the need of one, miss.” Mrs. Wiggins indicated the bellpull on one side of the sumptuous four-poster.
Bella thanked her as the woman left, but she was perfectly capable of dressing herself. She stripped out of her traveling ensemble and pulled on the forest green riding habit, whose shoulders were graced with epaulets a la militaire. Her fingers flew to hook the gold frogs marching down the bodice. She had to hurry if she was going to find Sebastian’s library and filch the envelope.
She stole out of the guest suite and padded down the staircase, wary of servants. She had to locate the library before she was discovered by Mr. Cobb and ushered out to the stable. Fortunately Mrs. Wiggins had given her a detailed description of the ground floor and Bella was able to slip unnoticed through the long hall bedecked with fading tapestries. She padded into the sun-splashed library at the far southern corner of the house.
The room smelled of must and books and vaguely of Sebastian’s unique scent. She spied the stack of books on the edge of the massive burled oak desk. Without hesitation, she skittered over to it and opened the Don Giovanni libretto. To her dismay, the seal was broken and the envelope empty.
“Looking for this?” Sebastian stepped from behind the door, dangling a sheet of foolscap before her. His eyes were dark and hard.
And sad. And in his sadness lay her only hope.
“If a prospective mistress presents troubling aspects, end the association at once. If a gentleman wishes a life filled with complications, he should seek a wife.”
~ A Gentleman’s Guide to Keeping a Mistress
Chapter 6
“Let me explain,” Arabella said, backing toward the desk. “It's not what you think.”
Sebastian looked at the crumpled missive. “Oh? What do you think it is, then? A guest list for Napoleon's next ball?”
“I mean ...” Her thoughts darted furiously, more florid than a Mozartean cadenza and as damnably difficult to get a handle on. What could she possibly say that wouldn't make the situation worse? “You don't understand.”
“Pray enlighten me.” He approached with the stealth and menace of a hunter. “But be warned, madam. I will suffer no more lies from you.”
“I haven't lied.” The edge of the desk bit into the back of her thigh just under the crease of her bottom. “I'm only the courier. I know nothing about the contents of the envelope.”
He leaned forward, trapping her between his body and the desk. “But you know enough to know possession of such a document would be considered aiding and abetting enemies of our country at the very least.”
“I don't care,” she cried angrily. “I had no choice.”
Sebastian shook his head. “An independent woman like you who flouts convention because it amuses her? I find it difficult to believe you ever do anything because you must.”
“I don't care what you believe.” She lunged for the note, but he caught her in his arms, pinning hers to her sides. She struggled, but was no match for his strength. “Please, Sebastian. I'll do anything if you'll only give it back to me.”
A corner of his mouth twitched. “Anything?”
She felt his body quicken, but his eyes were harder than the bulge in his trousers. He was close enough that his breath feathered hotly across her lips. If she tipped up her face, he'd probably not be able to resist the invitation to claim her mouth. But she sensed the tension in his body wasn't all sexual. Arabella couldn't tell if he struggled with the desire to ravish her or wring her neck.
Or both.
“I’ll sign your contract. I’ll do whatever you like,” she babbled. “Truly, it’s not what you think. You’d help a man who found himself in these dire straits. Won’t you help me?”
He shoved her away and paced the length of the room to put some distance between them.
“No. I wouldn't betray my king and country for any man,” he said, tugging at his jacket, but it was the cutaway sort and the line of his trousers left no doubt of his roused state. “Or any woman either.”
“Would you do it for a child?”
He stopped pacing at that. “Explain yourself.”
“If I don't deliver that envelope, he'll...” Arabella twined her fingers together, the picture of nervousness. Sebastian tamped down any feelings of empathy for her. She was a talented actress. It would behoove him to remember it. “You have no idea what he's capable of.”
“Since I have no idea who 'he' is, I'm sure I don't,” Sebastian snapped. “Start by telling me who you're dealing with and how you became involved.”
She turned and gazed out the tall windows, as if she'd like to leap out, run over the rolling hill, and never look back.
“I first met Fernand five years ago when I was in Paris.”
“What were you doing in Paris then? In case it escaped your notice, we've been at war with France off and on, for more or less forever.”
“Yes, but even in wartime the French still love their opera and our troop of players had safe conduct.” A sad smile tilted her mouth. “I realize now that Fernand planned this from the start when he approached me. Performers and diplomats are almost the only ones who can travel freely when there are hostilities between countries and no one takes an artist seriously off-stage. We'd never be suspected of involving ourselves in clandestine matters.”
“Who is this Fernand?”
“Fernand de Lisle, Vicomte Gimois. His family lost their estates, their fortune, almost everything during the Revolution, but Napoleon reinstated his title,” she said. “Estates and fortunes are more difficult to retrieve.”
“Gimois?” Sebastian frowned. The name niggled his memory. “Ah, now I recall. Isn't he an attaché to the French ambassador in London?”
“Yes.” Her shoulders sagged. “And the father of my daughter.”
She had a child. That should have made Arabella even less appealing as a potential mistress, but the catch in her voice tugged at his heart.
“Where is your daughter?”
She turned and met his gaze. “As far away from me as I can bear. I know I'm not fit to raise a child, not with the hours I keep and the travel, never mind the general strangeness of theatre people. There was never any question of marrying her father. I'd broken it off with Fernand once I realized he only wanted to use me for his cause, before I discovered I was bearing his child. My Lisette lives with my sister and her husband. They've never been blessed with children so they're raising her as their own. I send them money faithfully for her care, but they love her dearly, and would have taken her regardless.” Her chin trembled. “She calls me 'Auntie Bella' when I visit her. It shouldn't hurt, but it does.”
She swiped away the single tear that spilled over her eyelid. “I suppose you despise me as unnatural for abandoning my child.”
Her words knifed through his gut. Another mother who'd left her child sprang up in his mind's eye. He could still smell her perfume, sickly sweet and laden with essence of lilac. To this day, he couldn't abide them and had ordered every bush on his estate eradicated as if it were a patch of cankerworts.
But Sebastian's mother hadn't left him because it was in his best interests. She'd abandoned a five year old Sebastian to his stoic, distant father in order to run away with her lover. And never looked back.
“I don't despise you,” Sebastian said. Arabella St. George had done the best she could for her daughter under the circumstances. The child wasn't tainted with bastardy. She was being raised by people who loved her.
And Arabella obviously suffered for her choice. If his mother had ever had second thoughts, Sebastian certainly wasn't aware of them.
“I was approached by a man the last time I was in Paris, who told me he had people watching my sister's home, watching Lisette. He gave me the envelope and a description of the man who would collect it from me in London. If I didn't do what they asked,” she said, her voice edged with agitation, “Vicomte Gimois would exercise his rights and take her. I'd never see Lisette again.”
“If a nobleman wants to claim a child as his, he's usually praised for it.”
“That's not what Fernand will do.” Her face crumpled in fear. “You don't know him. He's ruthless and cruel. Lisette is nothing to him but a tool to be used. He's an assassin. He'll kill her if I don't do what he wants. But you fit the description I'd been given for my London contact and that's why I gave the envelope to you. Then Fernand came and it's all such a horrible muddle. Don't you see?” She grasped both his lapels. “I have to deliver that note.”
She pressed her body flush with his and stood tiptoe to kiss him, tentatively at first, then in a heated rush that went straight to Sebastian's groin. Her mouth was a wonder and he was pulled headfirst into her dark sensual heat. Her hands slid down his back and kneaded his buttocks. He groaned into her mouth.
Then, without stopping their deep kiss, she made a little room between them so she could undo the buttons over each of his hipbones. Her hands invaded his trousers and all rational thought fled from his mind.