“I only had the west wing guest room made up for you,” Reginald said as the trio ascended the manor stairs, lighted only by a few candles. “You’ll have to make do with one another for tonight.”
Both Sebastian and Augusta halted on the stairs in mutual horror.
“What about my old bedroom?” Augusta asked.
“It is being renovated,” he said coolly, hardly casting her a glance. Sebastian knew that he was lying, but before either he or Augusta could administer a protest, Reginald quickened his pace and disappeared into the second floor hallway.
The silence which surrounded Sebastian and his wife was palpable. It was Augusta who broke it in the end.
“It is only for one night,” she said quietly. “We ought to be able to make it work for that long, don’t you think?”
They ought to, he agreed. Still, the fear of being in close quarters both excited and terrified him. A night together could be his chance to completely reconcile his marriage.
It could also be his chance to completely muck things up.
Whatever occurred, he could not change it now. Together, they trudged their way up the last of the stairs, where Augusta led the both of them to the west wing. It was a part of the home that Sebastian had never been to before, a more intimate part of the Browning family that Augusta seemed so familiar with as she pushed open the door.
It was a rather small bedroom, as guest bedrooms went. A crackling fire had warmed the space clear through, making the air heady.
Augusta walked into the room with squared shoulders, like a woman walking into battle. As Sebastian shut the door behind him, she spun on her heel.
“I would just like to say that…well, you were excellent today.” She crossed her arms. “And I appreciate everything you’ve done. Well, everything you’ve done in the last week, specifically.”
She looked down at her hands, fiddling with her fingers.
“And I think that if you did kiss me, I wouldn’t hit you. Not tonight, anyways.”
Sebastian blinked once, then twice, uncertain if he’d actually heard her correctly.
“Might I take that to mean that you will allow me to sleep on the bed and not on the chaise, then?”
Her serious expression cracked, turning into a broad smile. “Yes.After the day we’ve had, I believe we both deserve the bed in equal measure.”
Sebastian glanced at the hearth. “Before we go to it, would you indulge me in a sit by the fire?”
Augusta followed his gaze. “Yes, I believe that was part of our negotiation. We can commence sleigh rides on the morrow, as well.”
She was teasing him, he knew, but it did not lessen the sense of victory he felt as they moved toward the fireplace. He thought, at first, that she might take one of the chairs as a barrier against being too close to him. So when she sat squarely on the rug, he took it as a sign that he might be allowed closer.
He seated himself down next to her (curse his damned bruised ribs), leaving only the smallest gap between them. Augusta’s warmth was enhanced by the heat of the fire before them.
He warred with himself for some time on how he was going to kiss her. Would it be best to start with a peck on the cheek? Or should he woo her with something deeper, more passionate?
“You need not think so hard about it.”
Augusta’s voice surprised him. Not only teasing him now, but goading him. If ever there was a moment to fully close the gap between them, now was it.
He looked down at her, and she turned to look up at him, and the firelight danced across her lovely face, and the choice did not seem so complicated anymore.
When their lips met, she yielded, allowing him to feel the full softness of her mouth, to take in the way that she smelled like soot and gravel and for some strange reason, that alighted him like nothing else ever had. He laid his hand upon her waist as all theblood rushed to one particular area of his body, and…
“Agh.” A sharp pain radiating through his ribs. He clutched at them, which only served to make the pain more searing.
Augusta pulled back, her eyes wide. “Are you alright?”
“Yes,” he said, his groan betraying the fact that he was very much not alright. “I just hurt my side.”
It was a great understatement. Augusta’s knit brow indicated that she was well aware of this.
