A spark of hope lit in Sebastian’s eyes. “I have heard the musical accompaniment is incomparable.”
“Oh,” Augusta offered. “That will be quite nice for you.”
Then, perhaps because she had just been musing over Ginny’s musicality, another thought occurred to her, which slipped out of her mouth before she could stop it.
“Did you ever play an instrument?”
Her question seemed to so surprise him that she may as well have slapped him in the face.
“I…erm…well, yes, actually. When I was a boy I played the violin.”
Well, if she had already asked the question, what was another? “Why did you stop?”
“Same reason all the other boys stopped playing with toys, I suppose. I grew up, went off to university. You can’t exactly run an estate by playing the violin at everyone.”
In another world, Augusta might have laughed at that.
“But you simply…gave it up, then?”
Sebastian shrugged. “Yes, of course. Putting away childish things and all that. Now I enjoy from afar.”
He said it so pragmatically, so devoid of passion, but Augusta could see some old fire beneath his exterior. Some past devastation of a love that had been taken away from him andreplaced with ledgers.
Perhaps her husband would be able to understand her better than she thought. Perhaps he, too, had once been heartbroken by the way things were.
And if that were true…
No, she would not let hope bloom just yet. Not here. Hope was made for private quarters and darkened hallways, not a restaurant.
And yet, something had changed already. The rest of their dinner carried an ease which Augusta had not felt in Sebastian’s presence thus far, not even in those blissfully ignorant honeymoon days. The ease of knowing that everything was spoken between them, for better or worse, and yet here they sat, still married, the world still turning.
Well, nearly everything had been said. All but one pertinent thing, which the clock ticked ever quicker towards. A thing which her husband would learn about almost as soon as it occurred.
Would she tell him before then?
No.
Well…
Looking at him then, as he animatedly spoke of the orchestra which would accompany whatever play they were about to witness, she could almost imagine blurting it out right there. Even more, she could almost imagine him nodding, albeit reluctantly.
It would never be what they once had. She could never return to wide-eyed, childish love for him again. But what about a partnership? Mutual respect? An alliance, even? So many greater things had come from alliances than had ever come from blindadmiration.
It was too much to decide then and there. But as Augusta drifted through the rest of the evening and, dare she say it, somewhat enjoyed the play, she found that the quandary did not leave her. In fact, the questions only grew.
When they returned home that night, she was exhausted from thinking so deeply. A good night’s rest, she believed, would set her on the straight and narrow once again. If hope remained after sleep, then she would deal with it then.
She would have been happy to leave the events of the night where they were. As she started up the stairs toward her chambers, however, Sebastian’s voice stopped her.
“Augusta,” he said, and it was with thattone, and she knew what was coming next. As she turned to look at his forlorn expression, he was already saying it. “Good night. I love you.”
And damn him -damnhim - why did it feel like he was not acting?
“Good night, Sebastian,” she offered back, then swept up the stairs before she could say anything more foolish.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Her lips were perfectly soft, just as he remembered them. Her thighs wrapped around his waist tightly as he drove her pleasure higher, his own fulfillment imminent. Those soft sounds that he loved so much emanated from her throat, and she bit her lip as she finally…
