Page 43 of Sinfully Daring

He slammed the door shut on the tantalising images, for that way lay madness, and he hovered on the brink of that state as it was. Hazily, he focused on the bottle in his hand, satisfied to discover he was emptying it with determined efficiency. Sebastian lifted it to his mouth and drank deep, closing his eyes and concentrating on nothing but swallowing as the liquor burned a path to his belly.

His bedroom door flew open and there stood Adelia, her eyes flashing fury.

“What have you done?” she demanded.

For once, his elegant wife looked rather dishevelled, her eyes red-rimmed as if she had been crying.

“My room is a shambles, you brute!”

Sebastian couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh, poor, poor Adelia. Her pretty dresses are all spoiled and her room is a mess. How we ought to pity her. Do you think Lady Rosamund is weeping over such trifles?”

Her expression was cold, unrepentant, her tears for herself alone. “She’s a duke’s daughter, she’ll recover. Montagu has ruined me for good with little more than a few words, the bastard. We will have to leave, go back to France.”

Sebastian stared at her in wonder. Did she really believe she had that much power over him?

“The only reason I stayed was to protect Lady Rosamund. Well, you’ve lost that bargaining chip now, Adelia. I want nothing more to do with you. You’ll get not a penny more from me, you’ll not live in my houses, there will be no more expensive jewels and carriages, and you’ll certainly not share my life. I might even divorce you for this day’s work.”

What little colour had remained in her cheeks drained away as the reality of what she’d done, of what he would do, hit home.

“You wouldn’t dare shame me like that,” she whispered, incredulous.

“Oh, the old Sebastian wouldn’t have,” he said, wanting to hurt her as much as she had hurt Rosamund. “But that man is dead. You killed him. Honour be dammed. There can be no honour when dealing with a creature like you. You did not bat an eyelid when you shamed Rosamund before all those people, and neither will I when I shame you before the world. It will be a crimcon they will talk about for decades.”

“If you do, I’ll counter sue. I’ll name Rosamund as your lover!” she flung back at him, raising her voice now she saw he was deadly serious.

Sebastian got to his feet, swaying a little but remarkably steady as fury burned in his guts. “Go ahead,” he growled, advancing on her. Whatever she saw in his face must have frightened her, for she backed up, out of his room and along the hallway as he followed her. “You do that, Adelia. I shall enjoy calling all the witnesses willing to swear that you set up this little scene today out of malice and spite. Montagu and Bedwin will enjoy presenting you as a heartless bitch who enjoyed her own affairs but could not allow her husband an innocent friendship. Do you really think that pretty face will save you against the might of those two families?”

“Oh, how I hate you! You never loved me!” she wept, but this time, Sebastian was utterly unmoved.

“Your crocodile tears are a waste of time. I’m done, Adelia. Done with this sham of a marriage, done with you. Get out of my house.”

The words were quieter now, his anger retreating as fatigue, disgust, and misery rose in a great black wave. All he wanted was to go back to his room and keep drinking.

She flew at him, lashing out, clawing at his face. Sebastian grabbed her wrists, holding her off him with ease, which only made her increasingly furious. She kicked him in the shin, hard enough to make him curse and give her a shake.

“Stop it!” he roared. “Stop this insanity! Just leave me alone, you spiteful bitch. I want you out of my life, so leave, or you’ll damn well regret it!”

Sebastian let her go so abruptly she stumbled a little, and he turned away before she could steady herself and fly at him again. Instead, he strode away, slamming the bedroom door behind him with nothing in mind but drowning himself in brandy.

Morning of the 11th of July 1842, Lansdown Place, Sloane Square, Chelsea, London.

It was the scream that woke him. Sebastian’s brain moved slowly, wading painfully from the sodden depths of a drunken slumber to register the screaming did not stop but kept repeating itself. Then other voices joined it, shrieks and shouts and exclamations.

“Devil take you,” Sebastian groaned, clutching at his head. What the hell was Adelia up to now that had the staff in such a taking? Blinking, he cracked open his eyes enough to see it was not yet properly light, his view of the sky a strange slash of scarlet and pink, visible through the partly open curtains as the sun rose upon a new day.

Red sky in the morning, shepherd’s warning.

The old phrase rang unpleasantly in his ears like the toll of a bell, and his brandy-soaked brain reminded him about that scream. That awful sound had been because of something dreadful. Something truly horrible. Something had happened in this house. His heart thudded, an unpleasant chill of foreboding skittering down his spine as he forced himself upright, weaving across the room to the bedroom door and flinging it open. Somehow, he got out into the corridor, staggered to the landing, and leant heavily on the balustrade as another scream rent the air.

Sebastian looked down and saw one of the laundry maids pointing at him.

“Murderer!” she shrieked, and then fainted.

He registered the other faces, all of them staring at him with varying degrees of fear and suspicion. Then he saw the crumpled sky-blue skirts. With a sickening sense of inevitability, he leaned over the rail a little farther.

Adelia.

She lay in a heap at the bottom of the stairs, her head twisted at an unnatural angle, her eyes wide and sightless.