Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Sebastian frowned at the blank paper before him. After taking Aurelia upstairs, who had become remarkably sleepy after she had finished eating—thus proving him right not to pursue anything with her that evening—he had retired to his study for the night.
The revelation that she enjoyed her life being married to him here had thrown him.
He had not expected his wife to admit to such a thing.
Or for it to be true. And while he had wanted to give her time to reconcile herself to her situation before he entered her bedchamber, he had not expected her to be so eager.
That kiss—
The less he thought about that kiss, the better for his sanity. She had been unpracticed, but her enthusiasm had more than made up for it. He had never kissed someone who had so thoroughly thrown themselves into the art of kissing him back.
The sound she had made.
That little gasp would live in his mind for the rest of time.
He pinched his nose, trying to think. If she hadn’t been partially inebriated, he would have informed her of his intention to send her away.
That, at least, hadn’t changed. He had no intention of altering his plans that far.
True, she enjoyed being with him, but that could not last. He was not a man designed for life with another person, and he had not married her for the sake of companionship.
With that in mind, he dipped his pen in the ink and began to write to Mr. Arnold, requesting more information about Aurelia’s family situation.
He knew the basics: that she was the bastard child of some unknown gentleman, and that her mother and uncle—a man of reasonable birth but little wealth—had raised her.
These lack of prospects had meant she was obliged to find work when her uncle and mother both died, and thus was why she found herself in the Duchess of Fenwick’s clutches.
But he wanted to dig deeper and learn more.
If he could discover the identity of her father, perhaps, or someone who might make this transition easier on her when the inevitable happened.
There would still be some time before it came to that, he knew, but he would rather be on top of things while he could.
Briefly, he considered speaking to her about it, but dismissed the thought as soon as it came to mind. That would achieve nothing.
If only she hadn’t been so drunk and damn sentimental about the marriage and all the ways he had ‘saved’ her.
That had been his intention, of course—that she would be so grateful, she wouldn’t question the choices he made within the marriage, or in fact his character and reputation—but having it play out the way it did just made things more complicated.
If only she had indeed been some reserved, plain miss who would have politely submitted in the bedchamber and otherwise wanted nothing to do with him. She would have waved goodbye happily when he sent her away, but would have otherwise known and performed her duty to the best of her ability.
Aurelia seemed to know her duty, or an element of it, but she seemed to think they were in a proper marriage—one where she was entitled to know everything about him.
Well, things would change soon enough.
He finished his letter and addressed it to his solicitor, pressing his signet ring in the wax seal.
There.
Once he was fully armed with the information he needed, he would be in a position to send her away at any time. It would help him get through the next few weeks if he did that.
Aurelia woke with a slight headache. A result, she presumed, from her over-indulgence the night before.
When Sebastian had taken her to her bedchamber, she had expected something more to happen, but instead, he had merely rung for Jane and waited with her until her lady’s maid had arrived. After that, he had vanished, and although it was early, she had climbed into bed and fallen immediately asleep.
Now, she glanced out of the window at the fog surrounding the lands. That was how being by the sea worked, she assumed; the sea brought frets with it. It was what her uncle had told her; he had lived by the sea once, although that was in Southend, clinging to London by a hair.
Suddenly, she remembered, Sebastian had kissed her.
She touched her lips. He had kissed her, and if he had done so once, perhaps he would do so again. All she had to do was ask.
Before, she had not been certain she wanted this, but now she knew beyond doubt. Let the duke bed her as befitted his wife, so she might know how it felt. Her mother had not explained the mechanics to her; indeed, she’d had no one to prepare her for marriage.
But Sebastian would know. She already knew it.
She hurried downstairs to the breakfast room, but it was early enough that the table had not yet been laid. The servants hurried to lay it for her, but she merely excused herself. In her eagerness, she had not considered the time. Would it be rude to barge into his bedchamber?
Quite probably.
As she lingered in one of the morning rooms, alternating between reading a book and staring out of the window at the milky fog, she caught sight of a tall figure striding down the hallway.
Curious, she rose and followed him. He made his way to the front door, and by the tallness and breadth of his stature, she knew the figure immediately to be Sebastian.
What was he doing so early in the morning? He didn’t so much as hesitate before leaving the house and striding away.
Aurelia dithered for a mere second before hurrying after him.
The moment the door swung shut behind her, she regretted her decision.
Mist blew in from all directions, cold fingers spearing her with ice. Water beaded on her hair and clothes, and she ought to have brought a cloak or something to protect her from the chill. It might be spring, but this was a leftover remnant of winter, clutching at the land.
Still, she hurried on after the duke, his figure barely visible through the shroudy blanket. He took a shortcut through the formal gardens, then through the parkland, and even though she was not yet familiar with the land, she soon discerned the direction he was walking in.
The sea.
The path he took seemed small but well-trodden, as though many feet had passed this way. Or perhaps a single pair had passed this way many times. Did he often visit the sea? Did he stand on the cliffs and stare out to sea? Or did he frolic on the beach?
Perhaps that was it—he frolicked.
Aurelia suppressed a laugh. No, of course that was never it! The duke would never frolic, however much entertainment it might have offered her.
But there was no denying he was up to something, and as his wife, it was her duty to discover what it was. They were now partners in this marriage, and besides, he had secrets he wouldn’t tell her.
Branches snagged on her skirts, and she dragged them free. Daffodils bloomed through the mist, and she offered each one a smile as she continued on her way. If she wasn’t careful, she might get lost.
She shivered as another chilly wind swept by her and tousled her tresses. If only she had thought to bring a cloak.
Too late for that now, Aurelia.
So occupied in watching her feet to make no mistake, she almost didn’t see the dark shape before her until she bumped into it.
When she looked up, it was to see Sebastian’s face glowering down at her.
“And what—” he asked with icy precision, “—do you think you are doing here?”
Aurelia tilted her head up at his features, now partially visible in the flowing mist. There was a hard gleam in his eye, and she suddenly became acutely aware that if the rumors about his wife were true, they were utterly alone, concealed by the mist… He could do whatever he wished to her.
If only she had thought about that earlier…
All she had thought about was kissing—and following him to learn his secrets.
“Where were you going?” she asked as haughtily as she was able.
“Is that any of your concern?”
“I am your wife. Everything is my concern.”
His jaw clenched. “You forget yourself, little mouse.”
They’d had this conversation before, and then he had refused to give up his secrets just as certainly as he was doing now.
Aurelia frowned, trying to piece it all together.
The fog made it rather difficult to see precisely where he was going, but it didn’t strike her as being the village.
That was a little further to the east than they had been walking—and besides, a road led straight there.
Here, they were going to the middle of nowhere, or so it felt.
What was in this direction? Save for cliffs.
Finally, the answer came to her.
“The lighthouse,” she murmured, and saw by the lightning-strike of shock on his face that she was right. “You are going to the lighthouse.”
“And if I am?”
“Why?”
“Once again, you ask about things that have nothing to do with you.”
If only she knew his past as well as he seemed to know hers. The imbalance made her feel as though she had missed a step, her stomach lurching. All she had were rumors and Lady Mary Ann’s assertions, although the lady had said herself how little they were to be believed.
What was she to do?
“I want to know,” Aurelia pressed, gazing back up at him, hands clasped before her.
She was so cold, but if she conceded defeat now, she would lose this chance to know him better.
To prize his secrets from him. “I want to know all those things you choose to hide from me, whether they are pleasant or otherwise. Unless you have a plan of doing away with me, we are to stay married for the remainder of our natural lives.”
“That means nothing,” he growled, taking hold of her shoulders and dragging her forward.
Beads of water formed on his hair and eyelashes, and she marveled silently at them, even as her heart thudded with mingled anticipation and fear.
“I can take a wife and choose not to know her. I can take a wife and choose not to bed her.”
“But you won’t.” Her lips were numb. “You wish me to bear your children. So we must know what intimacy is with one another.”
“Intimacy?” he scoffed. “I have no intention of intimacy. There needs be nothing intimate in the act we will do together.”
“Then why did you kiss me before? If you have no intention of intimacy, surely there would be no kissing.”
“Why?” His eyebrow arched, but there was still that smoldering anger in his eyes. “Didn’t you enjoy it?”
Aurelia seized her chance. “No.”
His eyes flashed, and he dragged her even closer to him. “Liar. I know what a woman looks like when she is enjoying herself.”
“You do not know what I look like, though,” she countered. “And if you insist on no intimacy, I suppose you will never find out, because—”
Sebastian caught her chin with one hand and brought his mouth down on hers. The kiss was hard, angry, and he didn’t bother with gentleness. No, this time he kissed her as though he didn’t want to, as though he couldn’t help himself, as though he hated himself for it.
And Aurelia quietly rejoiced, wrapping her arms around his neck as she kissed him back.
Fire danced to her fingertips, finally warming her, and she felt as though she had dived headfirst into a freezing pool only to emerge in a hot spring.
His callused fingers dug into her chin, but she didn’t mind in the slightest, for his lips pressed against hers, and his tongue invaded her mouth, and she was all too willing to be conquered by him.
He told her that they would have no intimacy, but this was undoubtedly intimate—their lips so sensitive, their faces so close, their hands free to roam about their bodies.
Yet, the way he was behaving, he sounded as though he fully intended for the act between them to be passionless and perfunctory.
Perhaps it could be; Aurelia had no experience in that direction. But what she did know was that there was nothing passionless about this kiss.
He wanted her. That much was obvious.
And she wanted him.
With a snarl, he broke away, seeming to come to himself and realize his hands were in her hair. He untangled them, scowling down at her with even more anger than before.
Yet unlike before, she had no fear, not even that half-formed private one, that he might harm her.
This anger was aimed at her, yes, but it was also aimed at himself.
“Why did you come all this way after me?” With curt, abrupt motions, he shrugged out of his greatcoat and draped it over her shoulders. “Now you are frozen, and for what?”
“I want to know what you aren’t telling me,” mist coated her breath. “Please, Sebastian.”
“You don’t know what you’re asking for.”
“Did you kill her?” The words burst from her desperately, and he took a step back as though she had struck him.
“So that’s what this is about,” he muttered, looking at her as though in a new light. “Is that what you think me capable of, Aurelia? Do you think I might drag you out somewhere remote and kill you? Have you thought about how I might do it?”
He came closer now, and she stayed where she was, bathing in his rage.
This had been a miscalculation on her part, and yet she had no desire to pull back as he approached, wrapping his hands around her neck.
“Do you imagine it might be like this?” His fingers squeezed lightly, not enough to hurt or even obstruct her breath.
“Is that how you would prefer it? Do you dream about this, little mouse?”
She gasped, helpless, her eyes wide and heat pooling between her legs. That she might be aroused by something like this struck her as shameful, but she couldn’t help it. No one else had looked at her with such a mixture of fury and desire; no one else had put their hands on her in this way.
If she had been truly afraid of him, that would be another matter, but the slight fear she felt only added an edge to the force of her sudden desire.
His gaze searched hers, and whatever he saw there made him frown, the anger leaving his eyes as he stepped back. His hands dropped from her neck to his sides.
“Go back home, Aurelia,” he told her. “Follow the path. That way, you can’t get lost. The path is clear the entire way back; I have taken it enough.” His jaw worked, then he added, “You may keep the coat.”