After the Abduction (16 page)

“Not at all, I assure you,” Sebastian answered, though his fiery gaze never left her face. “I enjoy company once in a while.”

Especially certain company,
his look seemed to say. Drat it all, she was blushing again. The devil knew precisely how to unsettle her.

To think she’d let him kiss her so passionately again! And worse still, that she’d enjoyed it, wanted him to do more, to kiss and fondle her and make desire course through her, as hot, sweet, and spiced as mulled wine…

It simply wasn’t fair. Of all the men in England, why must the one who made her heart race and her bones melt be the same untrustworthy scoundrel who’d nearly ruined her life?

“Juliet, I need a word with you.” Griff glanced at Sebastian. “In private.”

Panic rose in her chest. If Griff meant to question her about Sebastian, what on earth could she tell him?

Of course, his infernal lordship didn’t look the least worried. “Certainly. I have work to do in my study anyway. I’ll see you both at dinner.”

Without a backward glance, he stalked out, leaving her shaken. Devious wretch! She was glad he was gone. Yes, delighted.

If only the room didn’t seem so confining and dull with him out of it.

“I don’t like that fellow,” Griff grumbled. “He’s too
courtly with the ladies. I suspect he has more of his father in him than he lets on. I don’t trust him.”

“Neither do I.”

He shot her a speculative look. “Good. Just bear that in mind and stay away from him. That should keep you safe.”

From Sebastian? Impossible. When he kissed her, he annihilated her will. Or else she would never have ended up with his palm caressing her breast…

Oh no, she would
not
dwell on that shameful memory.

“Anyway,” Griff went on, “that’s not what I want to talk to you about.” He jerked his thumb toward the ceiling. “Rosalind has locked herself in our bedchamber. She won’t let me near her. She’s so angry about…well, things. What I did earlier.”

He speared his fingers through his hair in utter distraction. “I was hoping you could talk to her, make her understand that she shouldn’t follow the prescriptions of that bloody quack. You know something about remedies. You might convince her where I only seem to infuriate her.”

His request startled her. She couldn’t believe he’d noticed her knowledge of medicines, paltry as it was. Besides, the last person Rosalind was likely to listen to was her baby sister. “I’m not sure if I—”

“Please, I don’t know what else to do. I worry that she’ll hurt herself or…” His voice cracked. “Juliet, I don’t want to lose her.”

The poor man looked so distraught. “Oh, Griff, you won’t,” she assured him. “I’ll admit that these quack remedies sound nasty, but I doubt they’ll do more than give her a bellyache. I don’t think they’re fatal.”

“I didn’t mean—” He halted to drag in a heavy breath. “Never mind. I’d just feel better if someone were to make her see reason. Will you try?”

She managed a smile. “Of course. I’ll do my best.”

The relief on his face was palpable. “You’ll have to convince her to unlock the door first.”

Goodness gracious, Rosalind really was angry, wasn’t she? And of course, Griff was too proud to ask their host or the housekeeper for the key to his own bedchamber.

“Very well. But I may be a while.”

He nodded tersely.

His anxious expression lingered with her as she left the room, headed for the staircase. Poor, misguided Griff. He had a hard battle before him if he thought to bully Rosalind into anything, no matter how much he meant it for her own good. He could forbid her to use that potion all he liked—Rosalind would do exactly as she pleased.

Which is why it would be better to find Rosalind a substitute, one less harmful. Sebastian’s proposal earlier had merit. What harm could some old wise woman’s herbs do? And even if the remedies failed, the mere hope of success might calm Rosalind.

Griff
had
asked for Juliet’s intervention, after all, so it wasn’t as if she were really interfering, was it?

On the other hand, taking Sebastian up on his offer would mean spending more time with him. More time prodding him into confessing. More time fighting her foolish feelings for him. Dance with the God of Fire, and you were sure to get burned. Yet dancing with him seemed her only way to uncover his secrets.

At least Rosalind’s presence would prevent him from trying any more of his sly tricks. She only got into trouble when she was alone with him, so she’d simply avoid that. And if it should happen despite her best efforts, she’d hold firm. None of that “intimate” kissing or touching, no matter how deliciously it made her stomach flip over.

By the time she’d reached the bedchamber Rosalind shared with Griff, she’d decided to tell Rosalind about
Sebastian’s offer. Let Rosalind make the choice. Then Juliet would help if she could, but
without
being alone with Sebastian.

She rapped on the door.

“Curse you, Griff, go away!” came a muffled cry from inside the room.

Juliet squared her shoulders. Rosalind in a temper was no easy matter. “It’s not Griff; it’s me,” she called through the door. “Open up before the servants come running.”

“I don’t care if God Himself comes running,” Rosalind burst out. “Just go away. Tell Griff I don’t want to speak to him
or
his emissary.”

Dear me, what to do now? She couldn’t stand out here discussing matters, for goodness sake. Lowering her voice, she said, “Listen, dearest, I need to speak to you about…er…about…Lord Templemore.”

Silence. Then a terse, doubting “What about him?” came from nearer than before.

Glancing up and down the hall, Juliet prayed no one was in hearing distance. “He kissed me.” That was the truth, wasn’t it?

With relief, she heard a key turn in the lock, and then the door cracked open. Juliet pushed her way in. “Thank you. I urgently need your advice.” Fortunately, Rosalind could never resist interfering in Juliet’s affairs.

As Rosalind stuck her head out the door and looked both ways along the hall, Juliet surveyed the room. It was neat. Tidy. Not a good sign at all. If Rosalind had stooped to straightening her room, she must be extremely upset.

Rosalind shut the door and locked it again, then faced Juliet with a frown. “All right, what’s this about Lord Templemore kissing you?”

Not to mention that Rosalind’s eyes were bloodshot and swollen, and her nose looked rouged.

“You’ve been crying,” Juliet stated as she settled onto Rosalind’s bed.

“No, I haven’t.” With a sniff that belied her words, Rosalind stalked off to the dressing table. She plopped down on the stool in front of it and scowled at her face in the mirror. “Curse it all, why must it show? I don’t want
him
to see it.”

“I suppose you mean Griff. And I think you should know that your husband is prowling downstairs, utterly beside himself over this.”

“Aha!” Rosalind swung around on the stool. “I
knew
you had come as his emissary!” She pointed at the door. “This is none of your affair, Juliet. Get out!”

“I’m not here about your argument with Griff. I’m here because Lord Templemore has offered his help.”

Rosalind stared hard at her. “Help with what?”

Now came the difficult part. “Well…er…you see, his lordship figured out what’s going on between you and Griff.”

Averting her gaze, Rosalind picked up a tambour, of all things, and actually took up the needle. Worse and worse. Rosalind doing embroidery without being prodded—
now
Juliet felt genuine alarm.

Rosalind pierced the cloth. “I can’t imagine what you mean. Griff and I had a spat, that’s all.”

“Yes, over a concoction used to help a woman conceive children.”

The tambour clattered to the floor. “H-how…I mean, that’s nonsense.”

Feeling her heart catch in her throat, Juliet rose from the bed to go to her sister’s side. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of. Plenty of women take time to conceive.”

She laid her hand on Rosalind’s shoulder, but her sister leaped to her feet as if branded. “Two years? When all we do is…when we are so diligent in our…oh, bother, you know what I mean.”

Juliet blushed. “In theory, yes.”

“So there’s no reason for it except that…” She trailed off with a curse.

“Yes?”

Rosalind faced her, eyes desolate. “That something awful is wrong with me.”

“Don’t be silly.” Juliet picked up the tambour and set it on the dressing table. Then, looping her arm about her sister’s waist, she led her to the bed. “It just takes time, is all.”

“A lot you know about it,” Rosalind muttered, but she let Juliet sit her down, then tolerated Juliet’s taking a seat beside her. “You don’t understand—it’s been
forever.
And I want a child so badly,
Griff’s
child…” The anguish in her face tugged at Juliet’s heart.

Then Rosalind’s tone hardened. “But my stubborn husband doesn’t even care.”

“Of course he cares,” Juliet said, rubbing Rosalind’s back with soothing strokes. “I’m sure he wants a child as much as you.”

“Then why won’t he let me do what I must to fix my body?”

“Probably because he doesn’t think there’s anything wrong with your body that time won’t cure.” When Rosalind scowled, Juliet added, “Besides, this mare’s milk concoction you’re taking doesn’t even work and could be dangerous. Griff’s right about that much, and Lord Templemore says so, too.”

Rosalind looked shocked. “You talked to
him
about me and Griff?”

“No! I mean, not exactly. Mostly we discussed his parents. Until he and Morgan came along, his mother also had trouble conceiving. She went five years before finding herself with child.”

Judging from the sudden light in Rosalind’s eyes, Juliet had finally snagged her interest. “What happened?”

Juliet related what Sebastian had told her and explained his offer.

“A wise woman? I’ve heard of such people living in the provinces.” She mused a moment, then sat up straighter. “I’m willing to try it. But I can’t tell Griff. He’s still convinced I’m overreacting. He’ll never agree to it. The wretch is so bloody pigheaded.”

Black pots and kettles came instantly to Juliet’s mind. “If this plan is to work,” Juliet said, “you’ll have to convince him that you’re through with your bout of temper. Or you’ll never be able to sneak away.”

Rosalind nodded, her clever mind undoubtedly working at some plan already.

“That means you must apologize,” Juliet prodded.

With a roll of her eyes, Rosalind stood. “I suppose so.” She turned her sharp gaze on Juliet. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you invented this tale of a wise woman just to make Griff and me stop fighting.”

Juliet grinned. “But you know I’m not that devious.”

“Humph, I’m not so sure.” Rosalind crossed her arms over her chest. “And did you lie about Lord Templemore’s kissing you?”

She only wished she had. Hiding her face, Juliet stood. “I had to get in here somehow, didn’t I?” She headed for the door, hoping Rosalind didn’t continue her inquisition further. “Now come along. Griff is waiting for you downstairs.”

With a heavy sigh, Rosalind rose to follow her.

Juliet opened the door. “I know your husband’s highhanded pronouncements have put your back up, but you do realize he’d do anything for you, don’t you? This whole thing has him very upset. He even said he was afraid of losing you.”

“Losing me! How ridiculous. Who’s overreacting now?” Rosalind swept past Juliet and through the doorway. “It was just a little harmless remedy.”

“Sheep’s urine?” Juliet said dryly as she hurried to catch up with her sister.

Rosalind made a face. “Well, I’ll admit that the urine sounded a bit…questionable, but Mr. Arbuthnot said it’s been used for centuries.”

“Urine was used to clean castles for centuries, too, but that doesn’t mean I want to fill a bucket with it and scrub the walls, especially when there’s soap ready to hand. And to
drink
it? Ugh!”

A faint smile touched Rosalind’s lips. “You do have a point.” Striding alongside Juliet, she reached up to pat her shoulder. “You’re full of passionate opinions these days, aren’t you? Indeed, you’re turning into quite the little fighter.”

Juliet swallowed hard past the lump in her throat. It was the first time Rosalind seemed to notice she wasn’t a foolish girl anymore. “I’m trying.”

Rosalind squeezed her shoulder. “Well, don’t try too hard,” she joked. “Or before you know it, you’ll be as brazen as me, and that would never do. One outspoken, temperamental female in the family is plenty.”

Chapter 9

Don’t scald your tongue in other people’s broth.

English proverb written on a list once mounted on the Templemore schoolroom wall

T
he sun had just poked its nose above the horizon the next morning when Sebastian strode down the central staircase of Charnwood Hall. When he realized the foyer was empty, he glanced through the window to the grooms waiting on the front drive. There was no sign of the women.

Before dinner last night, he and Juliet had managed a few words alone, agreeing that the three of them would meet here at dawn. She’d told him that the early hour might help Lady Rosalind escape her husband unnoticed. So where the devil were they?

He paced as his mind settled on another vexing subject. Yesterday’s encounter with Juliet might have been rash, given that Knighton had nearly caught them, but it had
proved one crucial fact. No matter what she protested about his kissing, she was attracted to him.
Him,
Sebastian. Not his other self, “Morgan.”

Because if she hadn’t been, she would have told Knighton of his advances, then watched in glee as Knighton strung him up. No, she had feelings for him.

But obviously, she didn’t particularly
like
having feelings for him, or she wouldn’t deny them so adamantly. He didn’t understand it. She said she wanted to marry, and that he was the sort of man for it. So why pretend his kisses didn’t move her?

It must be because of “Morgan.” Perhaps she feared that Sebastian was like his “wicked” brother at heart. And she thought pretending to be unaffected would keep him from her.