Lord Somerton's Heir (35 page)

Harry had already dismounted and he took Isabel from Sebastian as he slid off the horse. Together, they laid her gently on the sand.

Sebastian’s heart clenched as he smoothed back the wet, tangled hair from her pale face. Her lips were a faint bluish colour and dark circles ringed her closed eyes. Hardly daring to trust himself, he felt for a pulse but could feel nothing except the frantic beating of his own heart.

‘You try.’ He looked at Harry. He needed Harry’s calm right now.

Harry placed his fingers on the pulse of Isabel’s neck. He frowned and then a slow smile spread across his face.

‘She’s alive.’

Sebastian picked up her hand and began to chafe it, trying to restore the circulation to her frozen limbs. He could hear voices coming towards them along the beach and a group of villagers surrounded them. News of the excitement on the beach must have spread through the village like wildfire.

Isabel coughed, her eyes fluttering open. She looked up into Sebastian’s eyes and smiled, before rolling onto her side and retching up seawater.

A large, motherly woman elbowed her way through the gawking crowd. ‘You must get her to some warmth. There’s no inn here but ye’re welcome to come to my home.’

‘Thank you.’ Sebastian acknowledged the generous offer.

He took off his cloak and wrapped Isabel in its damp folds. Even wet as it was, it was some protection from the cold. He rose to his feet with Isabel in his arms but the distance back to the village was too great for him to carry her, so he set her on her feet, letting Harry support her as he mounted Pharaoh and lifted her up in front of him, folding her closely in his arms.

Before they set off, he cast a quick glance out to sea where the sail of the fishing boat bobbed just above the horizon.

‘Did he make it to the boat?’ he asked Harry.

Harry shook his head. ‘I was too busy watching you.’

Isabel shivered and Sebastian looked down at her. ‘It doesn’t matter anymore. He’s gone. Let’s get you to a warm bed.’

‘’Bastian,’ she whispered.

He pressed her closer and kissed the top of her head. Isabel was alive and he was never letting her go again.

Chapter 29

The woman, who gave her name as ‘Mother Shipton’, had one of the larger cottages in the village. She threw open the door and, following the woman’s directions, Sebastian carried Isabel up narrow stairs to a sleeping chamber, dominated by a large bed surmounted by a headboard on which were carved scenes of the sea life of the village. Intricate carvings of shells and pebbles twisted in a border around the scenes of little boats crashing through waves that beat into a bleak shoreline.

Sebastian spared the naive woodwork a cursory glance as he set Isabel down on a chair. She clung to him, shivering so much that her teeth chattered. He folded his arms around her, trying to instil some warmth into her. So far they had not addressed a word to each other. Casual conversation seemed inappropriate.

The old lady bustled in after them.

‘Sir? Do ’e have a name tha’s willing to share?’

‘Of course, I’m sorry. Lord Somerton, and this is Lady Somerton.’

The woman’s eyes widened and she bobbed a curtsey, glancing around the sparse room.

‘Oh, my lord, I’m sorry I can do no better for ye.’

Sebastian shook his head and smiled at her. ‘It will do us fine. We just need somewhere to dry off and rest.’

‘You leave her leddyship to me. I’ve a clean nightgown here and I’ll find ye some dry clothes as well. Ye’ll not be leaving before daybreak so ye’re both welcome to my bed.’

Before he could explain that ‘Lady Somerton’ was not his wife, she had shooed him from the room.

As Sebastian entered the warm, homely kitchen, he found Harry sitting in a chair beside the fire, his feet stretched out to the warmth. Harry looked up. Now the excitement had passed, his friend looked drawn and grey with weariness.

‘I’ve seen to the horses.’ Harry gave him a rueful smile and ran a hand across his eyes. ‘You and I have been through some adventures, Alder, but today was a close run thing.’

Sebastian crossed over to the fire and stood in front of Harry. As the heat from the flames began to permeate his frozen bones, he could feel the steam rising from his damp clothes begin to scald his skin. Exhaustion stole into his bones but he didn’t move. The slight sting from the steam reminded him he was alive.

‘How’s the hand?’ Harry asked.

Sebastian looked down at the dirty bandage encircling the cut on the palm of his hand. He had spared it no thought for the last few hours. Now it started to throb.

‘It’s fine,’ he lied.

Harry ran a hand over his unshaven chin. ‘If you let me take Pharaoh, I’ll ride back to the nearest civilisation and send a message on to Brantstone from there. You’ll need a coach for Lady Somerton.’

‘You need to rest too, Harry,’ Sebastian said. ‘It’s already been a hard day without another couple of hours ride.’

Harry rose to his feet and clapped his friend on the shoulder. ‘You’re alive, Lady Somerton is safe, your reputation is restored, and the imposters are discovered. I’d call that a good day’s work.’

‘A man is dead, my stables are razed, my coach destroyed, two of my best coach horses dead and the villain has evaded capture. Something of a pyrrhic victory, I’d call it.’

Harry smiled and glanced out of the window. ‘It won’t look so bleak in the morning. I’d better get going before it turns dark on me.’

‘Travel safely.’

Harry grinned. ‘There’ll be a warm inn and a good supper for me in a couple of hours. You enjoy a well-earned rest.’ With a wink, he turned on his heel and went back out into the appalling weather.

‘Oh, has your friend left already?’ Mother Shipton appeared at the door with a neatly folded pile of clothes in her hand.

‘Yes. He’s gone to send a message to my home, but it will be tomorrow before they will get a coach to us. I hope you don’t mind us intruding on your hospitality.’

‘Not at all. ’Tis an honour to have such a fine gentleman and lady with me.’ The old woman handed over the clothes. ‘These belonged to my Jos. He were a big man like you, so they should fit. If you give me your wet things I’ll dry ‘em by the fire along with her leddyship’s clothes.’

Sebastian looked around the little room, wondering where he could get changed.

The old lady smiled and indicated a door. ‘You can get changed in there, m’lord. I’ll take her leddyship up some broth.’

The simple clothes fitted well and reminded Sebastian of another time, not so very long ago, when he would have called such clothes his own. He pattered back to the kitchen on stockinged feet. Mother Shipton took the pile of wet clothes and set his sodden boots to dry by the fire while Sebastian downed a very good fish broth with fresh bread that she set in front of him.

When he had put the wooden bowl to one side, the old woman produced clean bandages and redressed the wound on his hand, slathering a vile-smelling unguent on the cut. Sebastian’s nose twitched and the old woman chuckled.

‘Aye, it smells bad, my lord, but I guarantee within a day ye’ll not know ye’ve been hurt.’ She pointed at the stairs. ‘You go and be with your lady, m’lord. I’ll not disturb you.’

Isabel closed her eyes and sank back against the feather bolsters in Mother Shipton’s bed, letting the events of the past twenty-four hours circle and collide in her tired mind. Surprisingly, she felt no urge to sleep. She was warm and dry and the excellent fish broth the woman had given her had revived her.

She threw back the bed covers and, holding up the voluminous folds of what was probably Mother Shipton’s best nightdress, padded over to the little window. It had gone dark and only the lights from the other dwellings in the village illuminated the night. Rain still pattered on the panes but the ferocity of the storm had passed.

She heard the front door shut and watched as Harry, his head bent against the wind, walked out into what passed for a street. He disappeared around a corner and she turned her attention back to the sea.

Had Freddy made it to the safety of the boat or had he drowned in the attempt? Unless his body washed up on the shore, she may never know. Images of Freddy’s wild eyes as he had dragged her to what should have been her death clawed at her, and she closed her eyes, consigning them to a dark place.

Sebastian had pulled her from the sea. Sebastian had saved her life and she had nothing to give him in return except her love, and she would give that gladly.

Sebastian.

She allowed a smile to twitch the corners of her mouth. Sebastian, alive, his dark eyes full of love and concern as he bent over her on the beach. She wrapped her arms around herself, holding herself tight. More than anything in the world, she wanted him here to hold her. She wanted a chance to say those precious words that had been on the tip of her tongue on the night of the ball.

As if on cue, a firm rap sounded on the door.

‘Come in,’ she said.

He paused in the doorway, his eyes widening at the sight of the peculiar garment that enveloped her.

‘Good lord, what on earth is that you are wearing?’

She held out the nightdress and smiled. ‘I think this night dress would hold four of me.’

He took a step into the room, closing the door behind him. He came to stand beside her, his hands behind his back as they both looked out of the window into the dark, damp night.

Her nose twitched. A strange smell seemed to be emanating from Lord Somerton.

‘Sebastian, I hate to be personal, but you do smell a little… odd.’

He looked down at his bandaged hand. ‘I’m afraid Mother Shipton took it into her head to dress the cut on my hand. She slathered this stuff on before I could stop her. I did have a go at trying to wipe it off but the smell lingers, I’m afraid.’

Isabel put a finger to her nose. ‘Oh, dear.’

‘And I am afraid we have something of a dilemma, Lady Somerton.’

‘A dilemma?’

‘Mother Shipton seems to think we are man and wife.’

‘Oh?’

‘And there is nowhere else for me to sleep except in this room, without appearing somewhat strange,’ Sebastian said.

‘What are we to do?’ Isabel responded, trying to keep the laughter from her voice. A night in this man’s arms loomed and she felt not one jot of guilt or embarrassment at the thought.

‘Hmm… There is always the chair,’ Sebastian observed, looking at the rickety object. ‘I could sleep on the floor if you don’t mind lending me a bolster and blanket from your bed. Don’t worry, I’m quite used to sleeping on the ground.’

Isabel looked up at him in disbelief. The answer for her was simple. She wanted him in the bed with her, Mother Shipton’s unguent notwithstanding. She wanted to curl up in his arms and, whatever followed, she would welcome, but how did one seduce a man? Lady Kendall seemed to have no difficulty with obtuse members of the opposite sex. She would know exactly what to do or say, whereas Isabel felt as ignorant as a nun.

‘Lady Somerton, you have a face like a book.’ Sebastian smiled, and she could see he had been teasing her.

‘Sebastian Alder —’ she began.

He shook his head and laid a finger on her mouth, turning her to face him. He cradled her face in his hands, tilting her face upwards. Her knees turned to water and she leaned in against him, the warmth of desire suffusing her body. In his eyes she saw the answering hunger.

‘Isabel.’ Her name sighed from his lips as he bent to kiss her.

She pressed against him, opening her mouth to receive him, feeling the heat run through her as his lips brushed hers. She meshed her fingers in his hair, holding him to her. He pressed her close to him and she felt the firm erection beneath his breeches.

Oh God, he wanted her as badly as she wanted him. Her hips ground against his as his hand slid to her breast. Her nipples responded to his touch and he sighed, slipping his hand beneath the open neck of the shift.

She tore at his borrowed shirt, pulling it over his head as he fumbled with the buttons on his breeches. With a growl, he scooped her up in his arms and carried her to the bed.

He threw her backwards onto the bed and crouched over her, looking down at her, his eyes blazing with desire.

‘Off with that appalling piece of cloth,’ he croaked, tugging the shift over her head. Completely naked and unashamed, she lay still as his eyes raked her body.

‘You are more beautiful than I ever imagined,’ he whispered, but the smile faded as he touched the myriad bruises and scratches that were the legacy of the headlong flight and the coach accident.

‘Oh, Isabel,’ he said, and she caught the underlying growl of anger. ‘If I could have caught that man.’

She shook her head. ‘He’s gone, Sebastian. He can’t hurt either of us now. The bruises will fade and the tale will become a good one to tell at supper.’ She touched the bandage on his hand. ‘And you will have another scar to add to your catalogue.’

Ignoring the lingering smell of the unguent, she kissed his hand and Sebastian responded with soft, gentle butterfly kisses, on her lips, her throat, her breastbone, seeking out the soft place at the base of her throat.

She arched her back as he touched her breast, his tongue circling and teasing her nipple until she thought she would scream with the exquisite pleasure it gave her. He turned to the other nipple, repeating the experience until she moaned, grinding her hips against him.

‘So impatient,’ he whispered.

She closed her eyes as his fingers slid between her legs, and his weight slackened against her for a moment.

‘Bas,’ she whispered.

‘Shh.’ He placed a finger on her lips. ‘No words, Isabel.’

She closed her eyes as his skilful fingers caressed and teased her until she thought she would scream. As the world roared around her, he shifted his weight until he was on top of her. She had never imagined it could be like this… So… Her mind grappled for words that could not come as waves of the most exquisite pleasure rolled over her. She clawed at his back, drawing him in as her hips rose to meet him, urging him deeper.

She closed her eyes, letting her body move with the rhythm of his body until he shuddered and they both lay quite still, unmoving, locked together, drowsing in the
petit mort
that follows love making. Isabel had heard it spoken of in quiet, sniggering tones by a couple of young lads, but she had never believed it was possible to lose yourself so completely to desire that you could experience a ‘little death’.