Chapter 28 #2
Yet her heart ached with such force that it seemed something inside her had been divided beyond repair. Darcy drew a steadying breath and set her shoulders. Whatever she felt would not dictate her conduct, nor would Sebastian ever know how thoroughly his letter had wounded her.
She dipped the quill into the ink, wiped the excess against the rim, and brought the nib to the page with a hand that had finally steadied. She would answer him with the same civility and restraint he had shown her, allowing no trace of injury to appear in her words.
The reply would be composed, measured, and entirely devoid of sentiment, as though nothing of consequence had passed between them. It was the only dignity she had left to claim.
My Lord,
I received your letter and thank you for the care with which you have attended to the future of my sisters. It is a comfort beyond measure to know they are so well provided for and that their prospects will be secured under such thoughtful arrangements.
I will convey my gratitude to Lady Sutton for her willingness to oversee their transition and continued guidance. I have no doubt that, under her direction, all will proceed with the order and propriety you intend.
I also acknowledge receipt of the draft enclosed and accept it in settlement of the wager between us.
As to the remainder of your letter, I understand your position and shall not presume upon any former acquaintance. I wish you every success in your obligations and trust that your affairs in town will resolve to your satisfaction.
You may rest assured that I shall continue in my own pursuits with diligence and discretion.
Miss Darcy Whitley
lShe signed her name without a tremor, sanded the page, and folded it before the ink had fully ceased gleaming. Only after the wax hardened beneath the seal did Darcy lower her head and press one clenched fist against her mouth, containing the sound that threatened to break free.
Sebastian stood upon the terrace at Aphrodite, the cool night air moving over his skin without touching the hollow ache lodged beneath his ribs.
Below, the pleasure palace flourished as it always had.
Laughter and music drifted through the open doors, mingling with the low murmur of indulgence and carnal promise.
Once, he had moved through that world with effortless appetite, taking what he desired and leaving without consequence.
Tonight, every sound seemed to belong to a life he no longer inhabited.
He felt nothing. Or rather, he felt too much, and none of it resembled the careless satisfaction he had once known.
Three weeks had passed since he received Darcy’s letter.
Three weeks since he had severed whatever bond had formed between them and reduced it, with deliberate resolve, to a brief and inconsequential acquaintance.
He had acted without hesitation, or so he had told himself.
The lie had not survived the first night.
Sebastian exhaled slowly and fixed his gaze upon the dark horizon beyond the gardens.
He had ended countless liaisons before. He made a decision, dismissed a connection, and the woman faded from his thoughts with remarkable ease.
He had once taken pride in that detachment, in remaining untouched by anything he had not chosen to keep.
Darcy refused to fade.
She remained in his thoughts, his sleep, and every quiet place where he had once found peace.
She returned without invitation, vivid and persistent: the curve of her smile, the warmth of her laughter, and the softening of her brown eyes when she looked at him as though she had discovered something in him worth cherishing.
He remembered the attention with which she listened, not from politeness, but because his thoughts mattered to her.
He remembered listening in return because everything she said had become important simply because it came from her.
Red and Darcy were inseparable within his recollections.
Whenever he remembered the red wig and mask, they dissolved, leaving Darcy’s face and those luminous brown eyes gazing at him with the same fearless desire.
Worst of all was the memory of her coming undone in his arms, trusting him with every helpless sound and trembling surrender.
Sebastian closed his eyes as the recollection tightened painfully around his chest. It was a torment he could neither escape nor wholly relinquish.
Some shameful, desperate part of him did not wish to be free of it, for the ache still allowed him to summon her and feel, however faintly, the vitality she had awakened inside him.
Without Darcy, the world had become muted and insubstantial, every pleasure rendered in shades of cold gray.
Nor was Darcy the only absence he felt. He thought daily of Emelia, Jane, and Sarah, and often imagined introducing them to Caroline.
His eldest sister would delight in them.
He knew it with certainty. Yet loyalty to their mother would make every affectionate impulse feel like a betrayal, and Caroline would struggle beneath a burden none of the sisters had created.
With brutal discipline, Sebastian dragged his thoughts from Darcy and forced himself to consider what ought to matter most: his family and the duty he owed them.
His mother had recovered and rallied with a strength that might once have reassured him.
There was even a quiet contentment about her now, a satisfaction suggesting that every fear had been laid to rest.
Yet the previous evening, while he escorted her to a ball, she had studied him with unmistakable concern. “You have grown thin. Are you ill?”
He had offered a polished reassurance, though the truth arrived with bitter clarity. He had lost his appetite for society, distraction, food, and nearly every pleasure that had once occupied him with ease.
It was entirely fucking absurd, but it remained the singular truth of his existence.
Sebastian opened his eyes. The distant sounds of Aphrodite pressed upon his senses, remote and strangely meaningless.
He had chosen duty, distance, and the deliberate destruction of something that should never have taken root.
Yet the cost of that choice followed him with unrelenting precision, lodged so deeply within his bones that he no longer knew whether it could ever be removed.
A ripple of feminine laughter drew his attention.
A lady sauntered toward him through the decadent crush, her emerald-green gown cut daringly low across her breasts, displaying an expanse of décolletage that would have caused a scandal anywhere beyond Aphrodite’s walls.
There was confidence in the sway of her hips and invitation in the smile curving her mouth, as though she had already decided upon the welcome she would receive.
Sebastian regarded her without recognition.
Then she smiled more fully. Lady Lavinia.
The realization came with a faint jolt. She had been the last woman he had taken before Red entered his life.
One night only, and not even an encounter they had shared alone.
Templeton had been there as well, the three of them indulging in a partie à trois.