Chapter 14
Estella froze, one hand hovering over his heart, and her lips clinging to his.
Oh good heavens.
She had kissed the Marquess of Blackwood.
She was kissing Sebastian.
The thought registered somewhere in the back of Estella's mind, distant and appalled, even as her lips pressed against his. What had she done? What on earth had possessed her to—
She started to pull back. Horror was rising, swift and scalding, and she was already composing the apology, bracing for the cold dismissal.
She was fully prepared to die of mortification right here on this terrace and—
Sebastian's hand came up and cradled the back of her head.
And then he was kissing her back.
But no, no. This was not the same sort of chaste kiss she’d pressed on him. This was something else entirely. It was fierce and unrestrained.
And it set her entire body on fire.
His head tilted as he fit his mouth over hers, his lips parting hers with a hunger that made her tremble even as she melted against his chest.
Gone was that measured control that characterized everything else Sebastian did.
His kiss was desperate and consuming. He was a man unleashed.
Her mind shut off completely as her body responded in kind.
All thoughts of pulling away, of apologizing—they disappeared as she kissed him back, eager for more and confused by this sudden heat and the neediness she did not understand.
His other arm locked around her waist and pulled her against him. She gasped into his mouth at the sudden, solid wall of his chest against hers. He was so warm. So impossibly hot, and his hand in her hair was that mix of firm and gentle that she’d come to associate with his touch.
Thank goodness his arm held her so tightly, because when he deepened the kiss, her knees buckled. She clutched at his shirt, his arms, then finally she gripped the strong muscles of his shoulders because her legs had apparently forgotten their primary function.
Her mind could hardly keep track of the onslaught of new sensations. The scrape of his stubble against her chin. The pressure of his arm, banding her waist. His thumb tracing the curve behind her ear with a tenderness that was utterly at odds with the ferocity of his mouth.
Then the kiss slowed. The urgency was still there, but she felt a new tension in the muscles beneath her palms.
He kissed her now like he was memorizing every second. He kissed her like…
Like he was saying goodbye.
The thought no sooner pierced through the haze, when he broke off the kiss.
The separation was abrupt. One moment she was pressed against him, lost in the heat and the wanting, and the next his hands were on her shoulders, holding her firmly away.
The night air rushed between them, chilling her to the bone.
She swayed and blinked up at him in confusion. Her lips were still tingling, her heart pounded furiously. And his expression was…
Well, she didn’t know what it was she saw there. It was locked down tight. His chest rising and falling hard, and his hands on her shoulders were gripping her with a force that would bruise if he weren't so careful to keep his strength in check.
His gaze cut past her, scanning the terrace. He was making sure no one had seen. That practicality in the midst of what had just happened stung more than she expected.
He dipped his head down, a sigh escaping. Apparently he’d been relieved to see that they were still alone. "That was a mistake."
Mistake. The word landed like a slap. "A mistake?"
"Yes." He released her shoulders and stepped back. One step, then another.
She could practically see the wall going up between them, higher and thicker than it had ever been.
"That didn't feel like a mistake." She was proud of how steady her voice came out, because inside she was shaking. "That felt like—"
"It doesn't matter what it felt like." His tone was clipped now. "That cannot happen again."
"Why not?" The question was bold and reckless and she didn't care. She'd just kissed this man and he'd kissed her back.
And he was the same man who’d been looking after her family—after her. She just knew it. So he must care. Mustn’t he?
But the longer he stayed silent, the less certain she felt.
"I'm not your benefactor, Estella." His voice was low and flat. "I didn't pay your debts. Whatever you've convinced yourself of, you're wrong."
She blinked. But… But she’d been so sure.
Foolishly, her silly brain chose that moment to call up Thea’s words. “Secret admirer.”
Her heart responded as if it had just been kicked. She hadn’t even let herself realize how much she’d wanted Thea to be right. For that statement to be true.
She searched his face. He held her gaze without flinching, and his expression gave nothing away. "It… It wasn’t you?"
His jaw worked. The scar tissue shifted with the movement. For a moment she thought he might take it back. She saw the struggle play out across his features, and for one fragile second she was so certain he was about to say, Yes, it's me, it's always been me—
"Estella." The clipped harshness was gone, replaced by something gruff but gentle. Almost tender. "Whoever has been helping your family, it was not me."
She frowned. "But you’re helping me now, and—"
"The fire." He said it so abruptly, she inhaled swiftly at the suddenness of it. "The night Andrew died." A pause as he looked away, like he couldn’t continue holding her stare. "It was my party. At my country estate."
She knew this. Of course she had. Her brow furrowed at the heaviness in his voice. "It was an accident—"
"Perhaps, but it was an accident that could have been avoided. The house was in disrepair. I knew it and I didn't care." He gripped the railing beside them, half turning away from her. "I was young and reckless and— Andrew didn't even want to stay. I talked him into it."
The air felt too thin as she tried to steady her breathing. Not just because they were talking about Andrew’s death, but because the way he spoke…
She couldn’t help but feel that whatever she said next could ruin everything between them. "Sebastian, I knew my brother well. If he truly hadn’t wanted to attend, he wouldn’t have gone."
A muscle in his jaw ticked.
She’d said the wrong thing. Warily, she tried again. "He chose to go. And the fire was not your fault. Even if the estate was in disrepair, you could not have known—"
"He went back in for the duchess's sister," Sebastian continued. He spoke over her as if he wasn’t even hearing her words. Or…like he didn’t wish to hear them. "She was trapped in the east wing. Andrew heard her and rushed back in."
He paused, and the night air seemed to press in on them from all sides.
She wanted to reach for him, but while he stood just in front of her, his stiff demeanor made her feel like he was far away.
"I ran in after them, but—" He paused. Then finally he turned to look her in the eyes. "I did not get to him in time. Him or the duchess’s sister."
Her gaze dropped to the scarred skin that disappeared beneath his cravat. I did not get to him…
"You couldn’t." The words tumbled out, but it was no use.
His eyes were shuttered, and it was very clear he did not wish to hear logic or explanations. He was convinced her brother’s death—and the duchess’s sister’s—were all his fault.
A sick feeling churned in her belly as she looked back upon this past fortnight with that understanding. "Sebastian—"
"You wished to know why I’ve stepped in to oversee your Season and ensure you make a fortuitous match." His voice held little emotion. He might as well have been discussing crop yields or the weather. "It’s because I owe your family a debt I can never repay."
The words landed so heavy, they made it hard to breathe.
"Whoever was looking after your family these past two years, I owe them a debt of gratitude," he continued. "But it was not me. And if my actions of late have given you reason to believe—"
"But you kissed me." She regretted the words the moment they came out. Because no. He hadn’t.
She had kissed him. And he’d merely gotten caught up in the moment. Which was perhaps only to be expected of any man.
His eyes flickered with regret. "My apologies."
She tried not to flinch, but it was difficult. Behind her eyes, she felt the telltale prick of tears.
"You are a beautiful woman, Estella." He said it with a rueful half-smile that didn't reach his eyes. "No one could deny that." The smile faded. "But I shouldn't have let it happen, and I'm sorry."
She bit her lip to keep from arguing with him. Or perhaps from bursting into tears. All she knew was, she could not be trusted to open her mouth.
She'd wanted so badly for it to mean something. All of it. The paid bills and the vanished suitors… And then tonight. These past few weeks when he’d been such a persistent presence.
His company had become so reassuring and comforting.
It was him she’d dressed for tonight. The thought of speaking with him and dancing with him had made her belly flutter with nerves.
But this wasn't some love story. She was his penance. Worse than charity, she was a living reminder of what he considered to be his worst failings.
The ache in her chest was so sharp, she had to press her hand against it just to breathe.
"Besides," he continued, "I have an understanding with another woman. My mother has arranged it. It’s a practical match. Mutually beneficial."
She stared at him as her chest cracked in two.
The moonlight caught his face, the scar, the rigid set of his jaw.
He looked exactly like the man she'd collided with at the first ball.
Cold and unreachable. As though the last several weeks hadn't happened.
As though this kiss—this kiss that she could still feel burning on her lips—
As if it had been nothing.
“Mutually beneficial.” The words rang in her ears and made her want to scream.
But she was Estella Hale, and she had been swallowing screams since she was seventeen.
"I see." Her voice was remarkably steady. Thank goodness for that. "I appreciate your honesty."
She shrugged his coat from her shoulders and held it out to him. Her arm was steady too. Small mercies.
He took it carefully so their fingers didn't touch.
"Good night…Lord Blackwood," she said.
She turned and walked back through the terrace doors. She made it to the ladies' retiring room before the tears came.
And even then…she was quiet about it.