Chapter 24
Darcy pressed a hand to her chest, her breath uneven from their dash through the storm.
She was alone in the cottage with the earl, and the first thought to seize her when he came through the door was how deliciously warm they might become beneath the same blankets.
She would prefer that they wore nothing at all.
“Well,” she said, glancing down at her thoroughly soaked gown, “this is a fine state in which to be found.”
Sebastian shrugged out of his coat, equally drenched, and set it aside before crossing to the hearth. “We are safe here.”
“I should hope so,” she returned, watching as he knelt and arranged the kindling with practiced ease. “I confess, I did not expect a man of your stature to possess such domestic talents.”
He glanced over his shoulder at her, a hint of something wry touching his mouth. “My father believed I should know how to manage myself in any circumstance.”
“And did those lessons include being stranded in cottages with thoroughly improper company?” she asked lightly, so painfully aware of how her heart trembled.
“It appears so. Though I must disagree with your description. The circumstances may be improper, but you are not.”
“Even so, I believe you ought to know that your virtue is perfectly safe with me, my lord.”
He laughed, the sound absurdly delicious to her.
“My virtue?”
“Agatha told me that when a gentleman and lady are forced to spend the night alone through circumstances beyond their control, society insists upon marriage even if they are wholly unsuited for each other. I mean only to assure you that I shall make no such demand.”
“How reassuring that you would protect my reputation and virtue. I had feared being compromised and marched to the altar before breakfast,” he said dryly. “But I am the rake, Darcy. I ought to be the one offering assurances.”
Darcy’s mouth twitched. “I know I am safe with you.”
“How certain you sound,” he murmured, the amusement in his voice deepening, though something warmer entered his gaze.
A spark caught, and within moments the fire began to take, small flames licking upward before settling into a steady burn.
Its warmth slowly pushed back the chill lodged in Darcy’s bones.
She moved closer and extended her hands toward it, but her soaked sleeves clung heavily to her arms, and she could not suppress the shiver that passed through her.
Sebastian rose and came to stand beside her, close enough that the heat of his body seemed to mingle with that of the fire.
“You are cold,” he said quietly.
“I am drenched,” she corrected, though there was a softness to her tone.
For a moment, neither spoke. The squall raged beyond the walls, the steady drum of rain and the distant roll of thunder enclosing the small cottage in an isolation that felt almost indecently intimate.
“Have we taken shelter in someone’s home? Might they return soon?”
“Several of the cottages upon my land have stood empty for some time. I have my steward ensure they are kept clean and properly maintained.”
“Oh.”
Heat unfurled low in her belly. They were truly alone, with no servant, tenant, or wandering guest likely to intrude upon them.
Darcy’s gaze lingered longer on Sebastian than it ought.
Water traced the hard line of his jaw and gathered in the hollow of his throat, while his wet shirt clung to the breadth of his chest in a manner propriety forbade her to study. Yet she studied him all the same.
His mouth quirked. “Given your determination to protect my virtue, it would be best if you did not look at me in that manner.”
“In what manner am I looking at you?” she asked, her voice quieter now. The intentness of his regard sent something low and unsteady stirring through her, and she immediately regretted the question.
Sebastian’s gaze descended to her mouth, and her entire body answered. Her nipples tightened beneath the wet fabric of her gown, while a slow, traitorous heat gathered between her thighs. She had known his blatant sensuality as Red, but feeling it directed at Darcy was infinitely more dangerous.
“Please do not answer. I shall endeavor to be more cautious with my regard in future,” she replied, though her lips curved faintly.
“I would rather you did not,” he said.
Darcy’s breath faltered slightly, though she masked it with a small, questioning lift of her brow. “And why is that?”
“How honest do you wish me to be?”
“Very honest.” The words escaped before caution could reclaim them. What was this burning ache inside her chest, part fear and part yearning, that made her want every dangerous truth he might offer?
He stepped a fraction closer. “When a woman looks at me as you are doing now, I find I have very little objection to whatever circumstances might follow.”
A wild yearning tightened deep within her, urging her to close the distance and throw herself into his arms. She already knew the taste of him, the strength of his body against hers, and the sublime pleasure waiting within his embrace.
I am not Red in this moment, she reminded herself desperately. I am Darcy.
The fire crackled softly beside them, its warmth rising, though it did nothing to temper the heat gathering in the narrow space they shared.
Darcy did not retreat. Every sensible thought seemed to dissolve beneath the intensity of his regard, leaving only the deep, insistent pull of want. She could not recall when she had ceased trying to resist him, only that resistance now felt beyond her reach.
Instead, she lifted her chin higher, meeting his gaze with a steadiness that belied the quickening rhythm of her pulse. “Then it would seem,” she said softly, “that I should be most careless indeed.”
His mouth curved, and the slight distance remaining between them seemed suddenly impossible to preserve.
Darcy’s breath brushed Sebastian’s mouth as she lifted her lashes and met his gaze.
Thought deserted him. There was only the undeniable pull of her, the quiet invitation in her eyes, and the almost desperate desire to taste her.
She did not step away, and the answering lift of her face gave him all the permission he required.
“Darcy,” he said, her name escaping him on something perilously close to a groan.
“Sebastian,” she murmured, taking a single step nearer.
Her scent enveloped him, warm and intoxicating.
He inhaled deeply, as though he might draw her into his lungs and keep some part of her there.
Sebastian cupped her face with a certainty that spoke of possession he had no right to feel, yet his thumbs moved gently along her jaw before he drew her closer.
Why was it so damned difficult to resist her?
Sebastian drew another slow breath, lowered his hands, and forced himself to step back.
Confusion clouded her eyes. “Why—”
“I find you unspeakably lovely, and I am attracted to you. I will not pretend otherwise,” he said quietly. “But I will not act upon it. My loyalty presently belongs to another.”
Her eyes widened. Then, to his surprise, her expression softened.
“You have a lover.”
“Yes.”
“She is not your wife, yet you would give her your fidelity?”
“Yes.”
He retreated another step, summoning the cool detachment that usually came to him with effortless ease.
Red had promised him nothing permanent, nor had he offered her any such assurance.
What existed between them might be temporary, but that did not render it meaningless.
Fidelity mattered to her. He had given her his word, and loyalty mattered to him too.
Whatever this bewildering attraction to Darcy might be, he would not betray the woman currently sharing his bed.
Bloody hell.
Even the thought was absurd. Never in his life had Sebastian imagined himself caught between a desire for two women, much less denying himself one because of loyalty to the other. He shook his head, still astonished by the predicament. “I am going outside.”
Amusement flickered in her beautiful brown eyes. “Out into the rain?”
“Yes.”
She closed the small distance between them, raised her hand, and gently brushed her fingertips along his cheek.
The softness of that touch moved through him with startling force, stripping away defenses that had survived far more practiced seductions.
How could something so simple undo him so completely?
Sebastian turned sharply, intent upon putting more distance between them before he surrendered to the need pressing hard and insistent within him. The rain and cold beyond the cottage walls might prove miserable, but perhaps the wind lashing across the land would beat some sense into him.
Her arms slipped around his waist from behind.
Sebastian stilled as her cheek came to rest against his back, the simple tenderness of the embrace somehow testing his restraint more severely than seduction might have done.
“Stay inside with me,” she murmured. “You will catch your death out there.”
“No.” The word emerged roughened by the effort of holding himself in check.
He felt the curve of her smile against his back. “Will you look at me?”
He frowned, but turned within the circle of her arms.
“I want you too, Sebastian,” Darcy murmured.
There was no coyness in her expression, no pretense.
She looked up at him with a quiet, breathtaking honesty, offering him the truth of her desire.
Sebastian searched her face, trying to comprehend the courage, or perhaps the folly, that allowed her to admit such a thing when she knew precisely why he had refused her.
Why would she willingly help him betray his lover?
It made no damned sense. Not with what he knew of Darcy’s character, of the importance she placed upon loyalty and honor. If anything, he would have expected his confession to send her retreating from him in disgust.
Yet she smiled.