Chapter 4 #2
David laughed lightly, but the sound faded as Sebastian stared into his glass, the amber liquid catching the light.
The memory returned unbidden—Maryann’s trembling mouth, vulnerable and soft, at odds with the unflinching strength in her eyes.
It was absurd, damn foolish, but something about her tugged at a part of him he didn’t fully recognize. A part long dormant. Untouched.
I barely know the woman, he snarled inwardly, frustration coiling low in his chest.
And yet, no matter how he tried to banish her from his thoughts, he couldn’t stop imagining what she must be enduring now. She was alone and must be struggling. And worst of all, without any family or support. Sebastian stood, draining the rest of his drink. “I’ll see you at White’s tomorrow.”
David lifted his glass in a mock toast. “Where are you off to?”
Sebastian didn’t answer, mostly because he wasn’t quite sure himself.
Moments later, he left the pleasure palace behind and called for his horse.
A fine mist had begun to fall, veiling Mayfair in a silver hush.
The hour was late, and the streets lay cloaked in damp stillness, gas lamps casting blurred halos through the fog.
He guided his stallion with a practiced hand, the reins slick beneath his gloves.
The steady rhythm of hooves striking wet cobbles echoed through the quiet as he rode toward his townhouse, his thoughts already straying to the manor in Hertfordshire.
There was still work to be done—roofing repairs on the east section of the manor, several more window restorations, and stonework that wouldn’t survive the first hard frost. He’d leave for the country in the morning and remain until the weather made further progress impossible.
His townhouse wasn’t far now. A handsome, well-appointed bachelor’s retreat nestled in Berkeley Square—tasteful, discreet, and mercifully distant from his parents’ more formal residence.
He needed that space. His life was a balance of duty and indulgence, carefully measured.
The former he met through sound investments and exacting oversight of the estate accounts.
The latter required no defense. So long as the land prospered and the coffers remained full, his father asked no questions.
He turned a corner, the fog thickening slightly—
And stopped short, his chest tightening.
A figure darted through the misted rain ahead, breaking the quiet with the sudden slap of footsteps on stone.
Sebastian stiffened in the saddle, every instinct sharpening.
He blinked and reined in his stallion with a sharp tug.
A woman—no, not merely a woman, a lushly feminine form draped in a soaked serviceable gown—ran down the street, her hair tumbling in dark, wet waves over her shoulders.
Miss Winton?
Bloody hell. Even as he recognized her, two liveried footmen emerged from the shadows behind, giving chase.
What in God’s name was happening? Sebastian rode forward at once, angling his horse across her path.
She skidded to a halt, gasping, her gaze flying to his.
The relief in her eyes pierced him straight through.
“My lord,” she cried out, pressing a hand devoid of gloves over her mouth.
“What is wrong?” he demanded.
“Please,” she panted, her arms lifting toward him.
Without hesitation, Sebastian reached down and gripped her waist, lifting her effortlessly into the saddle before him. Her skirts rode scandalously high as she straddled the horse, but she barely seemed to care, teeth chattering.
“Go, do not let them catch up to me,” she whispered, breathless. “Please—”
He didn’t wait. With a fierce curse, he kicked the stallion into motion, easily losing the footmen. She held on to his arms with surprising strength, shivering, her fingers tight. She was frightened. And cold. And alone.
“Where?” he asked tersely.
She managed to give him halting directions, her voice thin with exhaustion and an emotion he could not decipher.
The journey took several long minutes, carrying them farther from the gentility of Mayfair, until the cobbles gave way to cracked pavements, muddied streets, and gas lamps grew fewer and flickered dimly.
He reined in when she pointed to a modest brick building with chipped shutters and a crooked door.
“You live here?” he asked as he dismounted and helped her to the ground.
Her chin lifted in that proud, familiar way, but even as she nodded, tears spilled silently down her cheeks. “Yes, my lord.”
“Why were they chasing you?”
“I…” she hesitated, her eyes flickering away.
Sebastian bit back the impatience rising in his chest and instead said, “Come. Let’s get you inside.”
He helped her dismount, his hands firm but careful.
Then he swung down from the horse and followed her into the modest dwelling.
The room was small, dimly lit by the glow of a single oil lamp.
A plump, older woman sat at a table near the hearth, needlework in hand and spectacles perched low on her nose.
She looked up sharply as they entered, her gaze fixing on Sebastian with open suspicion.
On a narrow cot beneath a worn quilt, Sarah slept curled on her side, her breath soft and even.
Miss Winton moved immediately to her, brushing a gentle hand over the child’s hair, then turned to face him.
“Thank you, Mrs. Crooks,” she said softly.
The older woman gave Sebastian one last lingering glare before rising and stepping out, the door clicking shut behind her.
“She is my landlady,” Miss Winton said, a touch of nervousness in her voice. “She promises to watch Sarah for me when I work… in exchange for a few extra coins. Today was my third day at work, and I never thought… I…”
A raw laugh, teetering on the edge of hysteria, escaped her lips before she could stop it. She pressed a trembling hand over her mouth, as if to hold the rest inside.
The tightness in Sebastian’s chest eased, and he had to fight the sudden urge to cross the room and offer her comfort. “I see.”
Miss Winton delicately cleared her throat. “I am no longer employed,” she said, tucking a stray wisp of hair behind her ear and firming her lips against their betraying tremble. “I daresay your mother will be most displeased when I write to request a letter of recommendation for another post.”
He glanced around the small room. It was clean, meticulously so, but spare—painfully spare.
The wallpaper was faded, the furniture mismatched, the hearth faintly smoking as if it struggled to warm the space.
Something cold settled in his chest. This was where the daughter of a baronet had come to live.
It was a disgrace. Not of her making, but still a damnable one.
“I presume you’d like an explanation,” she said, her tone shaky.
“I would like to know what the devil happened,” he replied. “If you are comfortable sharing it. If not, I will respect that, Miss Winton.”
She didn’t speak for a long moment. Then, in a low voice, she said, “The Earl of Mayfield offered me employment as a companion to his mother. Tonight, he came to me with the expectation of… privileges. When I refused, he forcefully persisted. I struck him with a vase. The footmen chased me, presumably to take me to the authorities.”
Bloody hell. That rotten blackguard, Sebastian thought, fury surging inside his chest.
Her shoulders shook. He crossed the room without thinking and drew her into his arms. Miss Winton stiffened at first, but then she sagged against him, sobbing into his coat. Her scent, sun-ripened peaches and rose, clung to him.
“You’re safe now,” he murmured, not understanding where this raw protectiveness surged from. “No one will touch you. I will see to it.”
She pulled away abruptly, eyes fierce through her tears. “What is the cost of your protection, my lord?”
Sebastian stiffened. “I beg your pardon?”
She swiped the tears from her cheeks. “Without any hesitation, you offer me your protection. You owe me nothing, and we are not friends or family.” Miss Winton squared her shoulders. “I will not be any man’s mistress. I will not trade my dignity for safety.”
Sebastian’s jaw clenched, and something unfamiliar—something jagged—twisted in his chest. “Miss Winton,” he said softly, “I would never insult you with such a proposition.”
Tears still shimmered in her eyes. “You do not seem like the kind of gentleman to make offers but seduce one to be at your will.”
Sebastian stared at her, wondering just how many men had wounded her with such crude expectations. “Is that so?”
“I have a keen sense of observation, my lord.”
A rough chuckle escaped him. “You are… like family.”
“Like family?” she parroted.
“Yes. Your sisters are under my mother’s tutelage and will live with my mother and father until they are wedded and secure. That makes them my sisters of sorts… So… think of me as a sort of older brother.”
Her eyes widened, and her cheeks turned red. Sebastian arched a brow, wondering what the hell she was thinking.
“I should consider you my brother,” she said skeptically.
“Hmm,” he said noncommittally. “I’ve always wanted sisters.”
She made a choking sound and glanced away from him.
He looked at the room again. The cot. The cracked window. The pale, sleeping child. No. This would not do. “There is a puddle in that corner,” he said quietly, his gaze settling on the damp patch darkening the warped wooden floorboards.
“No doubt from a leaking roof.” He glanced at the unlit hearth. “There is no fire, and I’ve no doubt that if you and your… sister remain here much longer, you’ll both take a chill.”
Miss Winton’s brow furrowed, and he could see the flicker of confusion and suspicion in her eyes.
“Come with me to Hertfordshire,” he said. “I leave in the morning.”
She gasped, taking a few instinctive steps back from him, her cheeks paling. “I beg your pardon?”
“It would be entirely proper,” he said at once, holding up a hand to forestall the protest already forming on her lips. “I am in need of a capable housekeeper and cook.”
“A housekeeper and cook?” she repeated, incredulous, as if uncertain whether to be insulted or suspicious.
“Yes,” he said, straightening. “I am restoring a manor in Hertfordshire, and the staff there is abysmal. I require someone of intelligence and discretion. It is respectable work.”
“No,” she said sharply, her chin lifting.
“Why not?”
She stared at him, a slight flush rising to her cheeks. “Because,” she said stiffly, “in my experience, men of privilege seem incapable of containing their lust even when dealing with ladies considered passably pretty.”
His lips curved despite himself. “You flatter yourself, Miss Winton. I have no interest in you in that regard.”
Her eyes narrowed even as her cheeks flamed redder. He held up both hands, amusement dancing in his gaze. “Forgive me. That was unkind. You are forgetting—I am your older brother, aren’t I?”
Her scowl deepened. “Do not jest with me, my lord.”
Sebastian sobered at once, stepping closer, lowering his voice. “I vow to you, Miss Winton, that the position is indeed available in my home. And while you and your sister reside beneath my roof, I will never be improper. I give you my word.”
Her eyes widened at that. Not with disbelief but with fragile, aching hope. And it twisted something low in his chest.
“Truly?” she whispered.
“Yes,” he said gently. “I will speak with the landlady and settle whatever sum is owed. You may come with me tonight, if you’re willing.”
She hesitated, her gaze drifting to the cot where Sarah lay curled.
“I would be your employee,” she said slowly, as if testing the words for weight and consequence.
“And I,” he replied, “would be your employer. Nothing more. I will also pay you a handsome salary, given that accepting the post may impact your reputation.”
“How handsomely?”
“Five hundred pounds a year.”
She swayed. “That… that is incredibly generous, my lord. Lord Mayfield offered but a pound per month to be his mother’s companion. Your offer is far too kind.”
“When you see the state of the manor, you will understand,” he said dryly. “It is scarcely habitable while I restore it. Still, enough rooms are finished to see you and Sarah comfortably settled.”
Maryann closed her eyes, just for a breath, and when she opened them again, there was resolve shining through the shadows.
“Very well, my lord,” she said softly. “We accept.”
He inclined his head. “Good. Gather whatever belongings you require. I shall return home and come back for you both with my carriage.”
“There’s no need to put yourself out on our account tonight, my lord. You may collect us in the morning.”
His mouth quirked. “My sisters will not spend another night in such accommodations.”
She stared at him for several heartbeats before nodding, then turned away swiftly, perhaps to hide the emotion trembling on her lashes.
Sebastian stepped outside, rain misting down around him again, though he hardly noticed.
There were many things he did not understand about Miss Maryann Winton.
But one truth had begun to settle in his bones with quiet certainty—she would be the most dangerous woman he had ever allowed into his life.
Not because she was bold or cunning, or even particularly seductive.
But because she made him feel. Unfamiliar things.
Inconvenient things. Protectiveness. Attraction.
A flicker of something dangerously close to admiration.
All of it mocked the quiet vow he’d made years ago to want nothing he could not easily leave behind.
He told himself he would be careful around her, that he would be the gentleman. Always.
But as he’d looked at her in that shabby little room, with her pride wrapped tightly around her, he knew one thing for certain. Nothing about having her under his roof was going to be simple. And it would be a remarkable thing, trying not to want her.