Chapter 25
Darcy woke with a lingering warmth still woven through her body, the memory of the night before settling over her with quiet, undeniable weight. Something had changed between them. For a long moment, she lay staring at the soft canopy above her bed.
What had passed between her and Sebastian in the cottage had been no fleeting indulgence, no reckless encounter she could easily dismiss.
It had been deeper, more consuming, and infinitely more dangerous.
She had given herself to him without disguise, with nothing to conceal the feelings that must surely have been plain upon her face.
Three times she had welcomed him into her body, though he had made no promises and, as the powerful and sought-after Earl of Raine, had never suggested he intended to offer any.
He must wonder why she had yielded to him so completely.
Did he know she was Red?
The confession had hovered upon her lips more than once, yet each time, something had held her back. She could not quite bring herself to speak the truth aloud. Darcy turned onto her side and drew the coverlet closer, though the chill moving through her had little to do with the morning air.
She was falling in love with him.
The certainty came not as a shock, but as a slow, creeping recognition that pressed firmly against her heart.
He made her feel alive. There was no other word for it.
Each day now held a quiet anticipation, a brightness she had never known before.
His presence awakened something within her that made even the simplest moments feel significant, as though the world itself had shifted into sharper focus.
The knowledge was exhilarating and utterly terrifying.
What scared her most was the equal certainty that he did not see her in the same light. To him, she was a diversion, a pleasure to be enjoyed while it lasted and relinquished when it no longer did. Darcy closed her eyes briefly, steadying herself against the truth.
Sebastian did not strike her as a man prepared to surrender himself to the permanence of marriage, though she had no doubt that, if he ever chose it, he would be faithful and honorable in that role.
He possessed that depth and sense of duty, even if he kept both carefully guarded beneath layers of charm, cynicism, and indulgence.
Even if he were inclined to marry, she possessed nothing that could recommend her as his countess.
She had no name that would satisfy his family, no fortune that might justify the match, and no position that would make her suitable in the eyes of society.
The disparity between them was too vast and too firmly rooted in the world they inhabited.
She had always understood it, but now she felt it with a clarity that left no room for denial.
Still, her heart refused to yield to reason.
Determined to think of something else, Darcy pushed back the covers and rang for the lady’s maid Sebastian had assigned to her, asking that a bath be prepared.
She had no notion how long they would remain in Derbyshire.
When she had asked him in the cottage, while nestled within the curve of his arms, he had replied only that they would remain until the scandal in town had been forgotten.
Darcy understood the care he took to protect his mother and sister from further speculation about her place in his life, yet the knowledge pinched painfully inside her chest. Thankfully, her own sisters remained unaware of the scandal sheets and their conjectures.
They were simply delighted to be spending time with their brother, and in each of them Darcy could see love and attachment taking deeper root.
Please do not disappoint their hearts, Sebastian, she pleaded silently, unable to imagine how he meant to keep them in his life while concealing them from his mother and Caroline.
Would he hold them in secrecy forever?
The maid entered, and Darcy smiled her thanks before preparing to spend the day with her sisters and, perhaps, her lover.
The days that followed settled into a gentle rhythm that might have seemed idyllic had she not remained so keenly aware of how fragile it all was.
Sebastian gave freely of his time. Jane, who had once watched the riders in town with quiet longing, now spent her mornings by the lake as he taught her to fish, her delight evident each time she managed to catch even the smallest of creatures.
Her laughter carried easily across the water, bright and unrestrained.
At other times, he turned his attention to the others, never neglecting one for the sake of another.
He taught them card tricks that would have scandalized any proper drawing room, his expression one of mock solemnity as he warned them never to reveal such knowledge to anyone.
He instructed them in riding astride, much to their wicked delight, and continued their daily swimming lessons, his patience unending even when Sarah declared herself far more suited to directing the lesson than participating in it.
Darcy watched it all, a slow and insistent longing stirring within her for more than she had ever permitted herself to desire.
Sometimes she joined them and allowed herself to be swept into their laughter, into the simple, unguarded happiness of those moments.
At other times, she remained apart with a book open before her in the library, pretending to read while imagining how easily this life might persuade her to mistake borrowed happiness for something she could keep.
She had begun to make plans.
If she were to secure her future, she would do so through her art.
The commissions from Aphrodite had already given her a measure of independence, but she required more: private patrons, discreet and wealthy, who would value her skill and grant her the freedom she sought.
Rebecca had been right. Opportunity existed for a woman bold enough to seize it.
Darcy intended to be bold, because this life, this ease, and this growing attachment could never be hers to keep.
Still, in the quiet of night, Sebastian gathered her into his arms and devastated her with pleasure.
He never questioned why she yielded to him so readily, and at times she wondered whether women slipped into his bed with such ease that he found nothing remarkable in her surrender.
The thought pricked at her more than she wished to admit.
Yet another part of her found comfort in his silence, in the fact that he did not demand explanations or force her to name what she herself scarcely understood.
He took her as though she were something to be cherished, with a slow, consuming tenderness that stirred a fullness in her chest she could not easily contain, and at other times he fucked her with a depth and force that left her breathless, her fingers clutching at the sheets, at his shoulders, her voice breaking as she cried his name.
She’d woken the next morning deliciously sore, her body still marked by the memory of him.
Yet the moments that most endangered her heart were not always the passionate ones.
Last night, for instance. He had found her in the library with a book in her hands.
Instead of drawing her away or attempting to seduce her, as he so easily might have done, Sebastian had stretched himself upon the carpet and rested his head in her lap while she read aloud.
Afterward, they had spoken of every manner of subject.
He told her what it was to debate in the House of Lords, how influence might be used to shape a bill, and why some measures deserved a man’s full conviction even when they earned him powerful enemies.
Darcy had always known that peers possessed influence, but until she listened to Sebastian speak of wielding his position in service of others, that knowledge had remained distant and abstract.
Now she understood something of the power he carried and the care with which he could choose to use it.
He drew from her story after story of the life she had shared with her family and his father, listening without resentment, as though he wished to understand every facet of the man they had both loved.
Sebastian had appeared genuinely astonished when she told him that the old earl once cooked for them while her mother was ill.
They had employed a cook, certainly, but he had insisted upon preparing the meal himself, laughing with Darcy in the kitchen when neither of them possessed the least notion of what they were doing.
Sebastian had asked whether she had been happy then, and she had answered, “Very much so,” though an ache tightened her throat because she wanted still more.
She was greedy for a life with him, yet lacked the courage to confess it. Darcy knew precisely what place he would offer her, the same one he had offered Red: that of his mistress.
She understood her mother a little better now.
Mary had loved the old earl and had been greedy for whatever part of his life he was willing to give her, though it meant joining him in betraying vows he had made to another woman.
She had borne his children knowing the cruel stain society would place upon them for the circumstances of their birth.
Darcy could not approve of every choice her mother had made, yet she still loved her, and the precious memories of her remained untouched by judgment.