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His gaze was completely shuttered by the time she finished. The seconds stretched out so long in such total silence that she worried she had made a dreadful mistake.
Her breath eased out in relief when he lifted his wineglass to her with a smile on his lips. “Come here Jocelyn.”
He dismissed the footmen with a glance. She went over to him, slightly nervous. She squeaked when he pulled her into his lap.
“Sebastian.” she whispered, scandalized.
He seared her lips with a kiss and she melted in his embrace.
“An hour a day,” he conceded between hard presses of kiss. “Then in the night when you tumble into my arms you will burn. There are times when I will be rough, riding you hard and quick.”
She moaned as he took her mouth in a drugging kiss.
Pleasure deepened his voice. “And then there will be the unhurried nights, when I take you slow and leisurely.”
“Don’t forget the days,” she murmured against his lips.
His laugh rumbled through her. “The days will be sinful, too, Duchess.”
A thrill skittered through her, terrifying and exhilarating. An overwhelming desire to make him need her as much as she feared she was beginning to burn for him swept through her. She sank into his kiss, her tongue loving his.
And she ignored the insidious little voice that whispered it was all a lie, and that she was leading her foolish heart straight to a wealth of pain.
Chapter Seven
“We do not celebrate Christmas in this family.” Sebastian’s tone was so forbidding that Jocelyn hesitated to speak further.
She rolled over on her side, taking in his magnificent form as he gazed out the window at the rolling planes of his estate.
“Why not?” she asked, her voice soft, her body sated. “The holiday season is magical. The laughter, the gathering of families and friends, and the gifts. It’s a beautiful time to grow closer, Sebastian. My sisters and I have longed for such a gathering, the last one we experienced was before our mother’s passing. The twins have never enjoyed such a festive occasion,” she said wistfully.
She waited patiently for his reply, too boneless to join him by the windows. The past two weeks had passed in stunning pleasure. Especially their nights. But in fact, the days held nearly the same enthrallment.
The hour each day that she had demanded had gradually lengthened to two hours, then three, which they spent either on a picnic, visiting his tenants, fishing through the ice holes on his lakes, or racing horses. Even though she loved their outdoor activities, their evenings of seclusion in the library, where they played chess or read in companionable silence, were the hours she treasured most. The nights left her weak and craving, filled with intense loving and passionate embraces. Those were the times she felt closest to him, and where he lost the reins of control that he held onto so tightly during the days.
In the night he was her lover in all ways—playful, gentle, demanding, fierce, and always intense. She fluffed several of the pillows and lazed her back against them. She furrowed her brows as she waited for him at least to acknowledge her wishes. His reaction had surprised her. Tonight was the first time she had mentioned the idea of a family gathering on Christmas to him. Victoria had visited several times, and they had been having tremendous fun organizing with Mrs. Otterbsy.
She saw the muscle in his jaw jump several times, a sure sign she had struck some kind of nerve with him.
“If you insist on having such a gathering,” he ground out, “you will strike the Dowager Duchess from the guest list.”
“Sebastian!” She scrambled from the bed, drawing on her silk robe to stand beside him. “She’s your mother. Please explain.”
He turned to her, and her heart lurched at his closed, hard face. She had not seen that shuttered expression in his eyes for more than a week. His guardedness had disappeared after the first week, and she had reveled in his relaxed manner. It made her think he might truly be happy with her.
“The subject is closed, Jocelyn. Anthony and the Peppiwells are welcome. But you will remove the Dowager Duchess from the list, do you hear me?”
She heaved a rebellious sigh. “Sebastian, I insist…”
“You…insist?”
Her heart thumped painfully against her ribcage. The look of warning he gave her sent a rash of goose bumps rippling over her arms. His eyes were as filled with ice as the winter lakes.
“Sebastian,” she murmured shakily, “please tell me. I can see whatever it is upse—”
“The subject of the Dowager Duchess is closed, Jocelyn,” he gritted out. “You will never mention her name in this house again, and you are forbidden from having any contact with her whatsoever. Do you understand me?”
“You cannot forbid me this without an explanation, Sebastian. Make me understand.”
“You will obey me in this matter, Jocelyn,” he ordered.
She gaped at him. “You are being insufferable. I will not listen to such nonsense without an explanation. She is a part of our family, Sebastian.”
His hands reached out for her, but he halted himself and only choked the air with a furious expression on his face. Jocelyn’s eyes widened, she could not help feel as if he would dearly love to have his hands around her neck. He seemed to rein in his emotions and his hand circled her neck, his thumb caressing her lower lip. His touch was gentle, but there was steel behind it.
“It is not wise to willfully disobey my wishes, my duchess.”
Ire spiked through her. “Do you plan to strangle me, then, as you did your mistress, if I do not obey?” she spat out, angered that he was not willing to talk to her.
Regret sliced through her the instant she released the words. He dropped his hands as if he had been stung, which she supposed he had. She flinched from the look in his eyes. She had thought him cold and remote before, but it was as if he became the very god of ice and snow.
“Forgive me!” she rasped.
She waited in the tense silence for him to apologize in return. Or say something. Anything.
But he ignored her completely as he methodically dressed and reached for his cloak.
“Are you leaving?” she cried.
Shame burned through her. How could she have thrown that foul rumor in his face? It was unconscionable, even if he had upset her with his barely commands.
She grasped his arm, “Sebastian, please let us talk.”
He offered nothing, no assurances or explanations, merely yanked his arm free from her grasp.
A sick feeling grew in the pit of her stomach as he pivoted and stalked out, slamming the door behind him without uttering another word.
…
The arctic chill at Sherring Cross had more to do with the total silence between Jocelyn and Sebastian than the winter snow that fell so steadily outside.
She did not know how to reach him. He had withdrawn completely, brooding and spending his entire days locked in his study. What tormented her even more was that he did not respond to her overtures of peace, nor did he take her in his arms at night. She had slept restlessly for the past week, desperately wanting him, helpless against his wall of distant reserve. Nothing thawed him. He was chillingly polite when he spoke. Their conversations were confined to the mundane, and Jocelyn despaired of ever finding a way to breach his solid wall. The aloof courtesy he treated her with left her baffled.
Desperate to distract herself from her unhappiness, lest she go mad, she had thrown all her energy into planning the holiday dinner.
Within days, she had turned the mausoleum of an estate into a
cozy home. Rooms where Sebastian had forbidden the fireplaces to be lighted, she had ordered to be cleaned, and now they smelled of fresh lemons and pine. Fires roared and crackled, and the cold, dank feel of the place gradually warmed under her careful ministrations and strict orders.
Miniature incandescent lamps dotted the mantels, and were used to light the towering Christmas tree in the great room. Red drapes were added to the silver ones. Pine cones, evergreens, and mistletoe decorated nearly every room. Slowly the mansion transcended beauty under her touch. She was awed as she toured the rooms with Mrs. Otterbsy, admiring the fruit of their days of relentless work.
Restless energy ate a Jocelyn. Several of her gowns had already arrived from London, along with the gifts she had ordered for her family. The milliner in the village had been in rapture when she came in and opened an account, ordering several gifts for the twins and her sisters. She had ordered Sebastian’s special gift from Mr. Wallaby, at a shop in upper Lincolnshire that specialized in antiquities. When she had first seen the green jade dragon it had reminded her of Sebastian. She hoped he would love it, but most of all she prayed that the silence between them would end before their Christmas dinner—just seven days away.
The worst was, she feared she was in love with him.
A bleak smile played over her lips. It was irrational to feel fear upon realizing that she loved someone other than her sisters, brother, and father. That she loved her husband. It was such a different kind of love, intense and deep, filling her with a longing to be with him always.
She knew she would tell him, and soon. She wanted only honesty between them, even though her heart ached with the knowledge that he could not possibly feel the same about her. If he did, he would not be shutting her out, hiding from her whatever it was that tormented him so.
She had seen the flash of rage just before he closed himself off when she mentioned his mother the first time, though there were times when she wondered if she had only imagined it. She despaired even more as she recalled his response to her blunder about a mistress.
