Romancing the Countess (31 page)
Leah stood, lifting her chin though flags of heat emblazoned themselves on her cheeks. “Now you mock me?”
“No, I don’t mock you,” he said, a self-derisive smile curling his lips. “I mock myself. I loved my wife, more than I’ve ever loved anyone else. She betrayed me. She died. I should be raging at the heavens, cursing her name, wallowing still in the misery that you first saw me in. Instead, it is you I can’t stop thinking of, you who haunts my dreams, you who have somehow managed to erase her face from my memory. By all rights I should despise you—not only for that, but also for your behavior which risked so much for Henry—and yet I married you.”
He paused, and she watched as he appeared to collect himself, drawing his arms to his sides and straightening to his full height. He stared down at her, his eyes hooded, no emotion betrayed in their depths.
“I married you,” he repeated, his tone dull. Weary. Then, inclining his head slightly, he pivoted and left her standing there alone.
Chapter 18
I can’t help but think America is too far. It might be more difficult for him to find us, but my heart aches at the thought of Henry living an ocean away.
They arrived at Sebastian’s country estate in Hampshire late the next afternoon, tired, dusty, and wrinkled. However, looking at the estate, which she’d visited only once before, Leah still felt an overwhelming sense of awe.
It wasn’t that the house was much grander than Linley Park; indeed, they appeared to be about the same size. No, it was the surrounding grounds that took her breath away. From the front circular drive, she could see a garden maze to her right, the greenery and shrubs interspersed with autumn flowers. To the left, a large rolling meadow. And all around, in every direction beyond, trees. Towering up to the sky, encroaching upon the civilized landscape, there were trees.
Viewing the estate as a visitor was entirely different than viewing it as Sebastian’s wife, with the realization that this was her home now, too.
“Come,” Sebastian said in a low voice. It was the same polite tone he’d used throughout their journey, the same brevity. Since the previous evening, he’d spoken as few words as needed to communicate with her.
He escorted her up the front steps and inside the great door, where the servants had lined up in the entrance to greet them. Sebastian moved Leah along the row, introducing each servant by their name and position in the household. She nodded her head and murmured words which she couldn’t remember a moment later.
Once they completed the line of servants, Sebastian directed a few of the footmen who were bringing in her things to take them to the southernmost guest chamber.
“I assume you do not wish to take Angela’s bedchamber here, either?” he said when she raised her questioning gaze to his.
“No. Thank you,” she answered, and looked quickly away. He’d held true to his word. Nothing today in his expression or his comments had made her believe he desired her—had ever desired her. Rather, he addressed her with as much distant courtesy as if she’d been a relative to the queen, and he a lowly courtier.
“May I see Henry now?” she asked. If there could be no middle ground between Sebastian and herself, then at least she could seek out the little boy’s company.
Sebastian inclined his head. “As you wish.”
Turning, he strode up the stairs, Leah only a few steps behind him. Henry’s nursery was on the third floor. Rather than the narrow room which she’d been expecting, Sebastian guided her to a chamber which was at least the same size as her guest chamber at the Wriothesly town house in London, if not larger. The room was painted a bright, cheery yellow, and toys stacked end upon end littered two sides of the room. The other side was devoted to the boy’s bed, a small table with childrensized chairs, and a rocking horse.
In the middle of the room, seated amidst a wrecked wooden train, was Henry.
Her son now.
Leah found it difficult to drag her gaze away from him as Sebastian sought to introduce her to Henry’s nanny, a Mrs. Fowler.
“He seems to play very well by himself,” she said a few moments later, admiring the short blond crop of his hair, which made him appear a little gentleman. His legs were tucked beneath him, his hands sure as he guided the wooden train around the tracks with an enthusiastic imitation of a train whistle.
It was the expression of stern determination on his face as he played that made Leah smile; except for his coloring, he was almost an exact miniature of Sebastian.
Leah was loath to disturb him, so absorbed was he in his play, not even glancing up to see who had entered.
But then Sebastian called to him. “Henry,” he said, and the boy looked up, his concentration broken by a wide smile of delight, and hurtled toward his father’s legs.
Sebastian picked him up and spun him around, then set him down and crouched before him. “Do you remember how to bow like I taught you?”
Henry nodded, sneaking a glance at Leah, his blue eyes wide.
“And do you remember Mrs. George?”
Again, Henry nodded, but this time with a pause of hesitation.
“Please say hello, then, and give her your best bow.”
The boy turned toward Leah. “How do you do?” he said, his voice small and more than a little uncertain, and gave a short bow. Then he turned back to his father, almost hiding behind his shoulder.
Leah’s heart gave a quick, hard thump in her chest.
She smiled. “Very well, thank you.”
Sebastian smoothed his hand over the boy’s hair. “Would you like Mrs. George to stay with us? She can play with you, and sing you songs.” He looked up at Leah and gave her a wink, then returned his attention to Henry. “I’ve also been told that she has quite an affection for frogs.”
Leah’s brows lifted. Affection might be too strong a word—she was fondest of frogs and any other nonmammalian creatures when they stayed far away from her.
But then Henry peeked up at her from behind Sebastian’s shoulder, his blue eyes round with awe, and she decided that she might be able to learn to like frogs a little bit more.
Henry looked at his father and nodded.
“Very good, then,” Sebastian said, standing. “I’ll see you after your dinner. Go along.”
Henry wrapped his arms around Sebastian’s neck, then turned and ran back to his trains. Leah watched him for a moment, then smiled at Mrs. Fowler and followed Sebastian out of the room.
“I hope you don’t mind that I didn’t tell him we’re married yet,” Sebastian said as they walked down the stairs to the second floor.
“No, not at all. I imagine that might be a bit much all at once.”
Sebastian didn’t say anything, and they turned down the stairs to the first floor. At the landing, he stopped and looked at her. Only, he didn’t quite look at her, but somewhere above the top of her head.
“If you’ll excuse me, I must see to some business. You’re welcome to explore the house at your pleasure. The gong will be sounded when it’s time for dinner.”
Leah hesitated, then reached out to touch his sleeve. “Sebastian—”
She could feel him tense beneath her fingertips, and his gaze flew to hers. “Yes?”
“I . . .” She didn’t know what she meant to say. That she wished he wouldn’t treat her like some honored guest? That she wished they could return to the familiarity they’d achieved when they were at the house party? That she admired him and wanted . . .
She shook her head and removed her hand. “Never mind.”
His mouth flattened, and he turned around. As he walked down the final set of stairs, he called back to her, “Your chamber is down the hall, fourth on your left.”
She stood at the top of the steps, her hands clutching the banister, and watched him disappear from sight. As she turned around to find her room, she realized what she’d meant to say.
She wanted him to stay.
In the following days, Leah didn’t see much of Sebastian. At each meal, she went down to the dining room hoping to find him there, only to be informed by the butler that he was eating while he worked in his study.
Neither was she invited by Sebastian to spend time with him and Henry. Twice she ventured to the nursery in the afternoon, when she knew he was free to play, only to be told by Mrs. Fowler that Henry had gone with Sebastian.
It seemed her new husband meant to give her much more independence and freedom than she could possibly desire.
Determined to enjoy herself despite Sebastian’s aloofness, Leah found plenty to do. Although it was now mid-October and the weather had become quite cold, she took walks through the forest for hours at a time, listening to her feet crunch through the leaves, watching the squirrels scatter as she approached.
She borrowed a roan mare named Bluebonnet from the stables and went for a ride across the meadow, beyond the trees, where she discovered a fair-sized lake. Later she discovered that Bluebonnet had been Angela’s mare. She chose a different horse the next time.
One day when it rained, she decided to explore the house as Sebastian had suggested, going room by room on each of the floors—skipping over the master’s and mistress’ bedchambers.
As she returned to the main floor, intent on trying to amuse herself by playing on the pianoforte in the music room, instead she found her footsteps advancing toward the study. It was late afternoon. Sebastian would have left Henry in the nursery for the day and isolated himself away from her.
With the suspicion that she’d be turned away if she knocked, Leah quietly opened the door and entered. Sebastian wasn’t seated behind his desk, reviewing estate business or any other kind of work. He reclined on the sofa against the wall, a book settled on his chest as he read.
When he didn’t turn toward her, Leah strolled over, crossed her arms, and stared down at him.
“Hullo, dear husband.”
His gaze flickered up, then down. Then, with the greatest show of reluctance, he closed the book and sat up.
She took a seat beside him. “You said I wouldn’t be lonely.”
He stared across the room, saying nothing, then stood and retreated to his desk. For that’s what it felt like—a retreat.
Leah followed him, refusing to let him make her feel like a leper. She strolled around the desk and stood beside him, so close her skirts brushed the arm of his chair. “Am I to understand that you’ve decided not to speak to me unless I invite you to my bed?”
He blew out a harsh breath, his palms flat against the surface of the desk. “No.” He looked up at her and smiled. Or rather, it was an attempt at a smile. An abysmally poor attempt. “I apologize if I’ve left you to think so ill of me. I simply thought it would be best—for both of us—if I kept my distance.”
“Because you regret marrying me.” He’d all but said as much the night of their wedding.
“Would you like for me to be honest?” For a moment, Leah was tempted to shake her head. Instead, she nodded.
“Yes, I regret marrying you.” He sighed, lifting his hand and plowing it through his hair. “I thought it was the perfect solution. Make the gossipmongers focus on us instead of the Ian and Angela. Provide a mother for Henry, to keep him from continuing to ask for her. Find a way to make you want me, to not reject my advances as you did before.”
Leah swallowed.
Sebastian put his face in his hands, rubbing as if he hadn’t slept enough. And when he pulled away, she saw that it was probably the truth; the skin beneath his eyes was dark, shadowed.
“And yes, I still believe the rumors about Ian and Angela will die down. And Henry still needs a mother. But I should have chosen someone else, as you suggested. Because I’ve tried, but I can’t look at you and not want you. I haven’t asked you to spend time with me and Henry because even then, as much as I desire the simple pleasure of your company, I know I will want more, and I won’t be able to disguise it.”
He leaned back in his chair and reached out, taking one of her ungloved hands between his. He stroked her palm with the pad of his thumb, slid his fingers against and in between hers. Leah took a deep breath, tried to calm the blood which suddenly leapt within her veins.
His lashes were lowered as he looked at their joined hands, his voice low when he spoke. “Do you see? Not five minutes, and I’m already touching you. But it shouldn’t be your hand that I’m holding. It should be Angela’s.”
Leah tried to tug her hand away, but he held it tight.
“Sometimes I wonder if I’m drawn to you only because we share that secret. If she’d betrayed me with another man, would it be that widow that I turned to? Or perhaps not. Perhaps there’s something in you that I can’t resist. You are nothing like her, and perhaps that’s why I’m like this, because I . . .” He looked up, his green eyes fatigued, faint lines indenting the corners of his mouth. “I never expected you.”
He released her hand. Leah stepped away. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears.
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