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“Venetia?” They’d parted on a kiss and a promise. This was not what he’d expected.
Not what he’d dreamed would be the culmination of so many months—no, years—of waiting. Of hoping. “Are you not glad to see me?” He felt his right hand begin to tremble with the familiar painful spasm that came upon him in times of stress, and held it behind his back so she’d not see evidence of his weakness. His dueling injury was not something of which he was proud.
Her eyes were dark and luminous as she bit her lip, staring at him as if she hardly knew what to say. “Sebastian,” she whispered.
“Why did you not acknowledge me?”
She shook her head, unable to speak and, wounded, he went on, “Do you know how much self-control I had to exercise to prevent myself from leaping over the piano and dragging you off in front of everyone…once I’d finally ascertained your identity by your voice?”
“You haven’t exactly displayed much self-control these past few months,” she said softly, turning to look out of the window into the darkened garden below.
The recrimination in her tone was like a lash. Only Venetia had the power to bring him back to earth and temper his excesses. But Sebastian could allay the criticism she would level at him, now. He took her hands, giving them a gentle tug so that she faced him. “The gossip mill had a field day with the story. You know my faults, Venetia, and there are many of them. But I am not a liar, and I’m not a philanderer.”
He watched the play of emotions cross her lovely face, and it was like being transported back to the days of his youth when he had hope. When he truly believed they could overcome the obstacles their respective fathers had placed in the way of the marriage they wanted above all else.
The marriage Sebastian still wanted...above all else.
But, of course, it was unreasonable to expect that she’d been living in wait for him as if their lives had both been put on hold. A great deal must have happened for Venetia to be in the situation he now found her, as a put-upon servant or companion to an exacting old woman.
“Venetia!” He squeezed her hands when she still did not answer, his voice sounding ragged and imploring to his own ears. “Do you know how long and hard I’ve searched for you? Do you remember, when you sent me away, I swore that I would find you if ever I became free?”
“You fought a duel within four months of being widowed, Sebastian,” she whispered. “And you were named as the other party in Mrs Compton’s divorce case not two months later.” He felt the shudder that ran through her as she went on, “I find it hard to believe you searched very hard for me after Dorot
hea died.”
Sebastian swallowed down the painful lump in his throat. And even though the lack of enthusiasm on her part was wholly dampening, his one hopeful thought was that he surely could offer her a better future.
Even if she had lost her trust and faith in him right at this moment, he could at least do that for her.
“Venetia, please give me the benefit of the doubt until I’ve had a chance to tell you my side of the story.” His throat felt dry. To be so close to the woman he’d ached to be with every moment of his disastrous marriage, and beyond, yet to feel her scorn, was almost more than he could bear. “I searched everywhere for you! I know I showed terrible judgment in the case of Lady Banks and Mrs Compton but...Mrs Compton’s husband has forgiven her.” He took a breath. “And I’m hoping you can forgive me since...since, having failed to find you, I thought you must have left the country or married someone else since we’d both been true to our promise to one another to have no contact after I married Dorothea.”
She raised her head to look at him properly, and he saw the moisture in her eyes. “So, you’re not entirely insensible to me?” he asked, cautiously, reaching out to touch a tear. “I can still hope?”
She exhaled on a quiet, self-contained sob, sinking against him.
And he held her gently, as if she were made of the finest porcelain, for he could not afford to hurt her, to break her, when only she could mend his broken heart and soul.
“Oh...Sebastian.” She drew in a shuddering breath, turning in his embrace, her hands twining behind his neck as she raised her face for his kiss.
Finally, she was giving him the answer he craved.
Relief made him weak. But only for a moment, for then he was powered by life-giving energy as his arms tightened about her, his hands recording all as he kissed her: the curve of her waist—still so slender—the swell of her bosom—the perfect handful; and his senses rioted with pleasure as a hundred glorious memories swirled around them. The return pressure of her kisses; her sighs of pleasure. He knew she felt as he did.
Cupping her face, he drew back to look at her. “May I remove that nunnish cap—or have you really taken holy orders?”
She smiled and untied the bow beneath her chin, and he reached across to remove the pins that secured her demure coiffure so that her hair fell about her shoulders in glossy dark brown waves.
Hungrily, he tangled his fingers in their remembered softness. “I’ve dreamed of you every night for four years…my darling, brown-haired girl,” he murmured, closing his eyes briefly as he let her hair slip through his fingers. “I can’t believe you didn’t come to me if you knew,” he swallowed, “that Dorothea had died.”
“I only heard it a few months after the fact.” The moonlight that filtered through the curtains limned the curve of her cheek with a soft glow. “And that was in Lady Indigo’s drawing room when the gossip came to my ears about your affair with Lady Banks.”
The reproach in her look was painful. Gently he cupped her elbows. “I was never unfaithful to Dorothea, for all that you know how much I railed against the marriage that you, Venetia, insisted was the honorable course to follow.”
“But you ably assisted, not just Lady Banks to be unfaithful to her husband, but...but Mrs Compton too, and the gossip was all over town, Sebastian.” Venetia looked at him inquiringly. “I was not going to risk my position, my security as Lady Indigo’s companion, to present myself to you in the fond hope that your feelings for me were as they were when we parted…” She hesitated, dropping her gaze as she whispered… “when everything I heard suggested they were not.”
Her words were like a physical blow. “You could have written...to find out.”
She bit her lip. “Maybe I did.”
