“I am sorry if I woke you.”
“Do not be.” A small smile curved her lips. “I would not have wished to sleep a moment longer.”
Her gaze dipped down his body; Sebastian felt his breath tighten. She wanted him—openly, unmistakably. Delight surged through him.
“We ought to return to the manor,” he managed. “Though I would far rather remain here with you.” He could not keep the longing from his words.
“As would I,” she whispered, her eyes lowering. His heart turned over. He could not stop his grin—nor did he wish to. She looked up, saw it, and laughed quietly.
He crossed to the looking glass, clothes in hand—and blinked. One side of his face was a riot of bruises. His eye, though miraculously not swollen shut, was ringed in deep purple. His knuckles were badly swollen, his ankle tender.
“I look dreadful,” he muttered.
Evelyn slipped from the bed. Naked, warm-skinned, luminous in the soft morning light, she came to him and rested her hands on his shoulders.
“You do not,” she whispered. “You look brave, my dear. You fought for me. When I see those bruises, I see only your courage.”
He inhaled sharply.My dear.It was the first time she had called him that. A knot rose in his throat.
“Thank you,” he said quietly. “I—I…should dress.”
She went to gather her clothes. He could not help watching as she stepped into her shift; she caught his gaze, blushed, and smiled—a radiant, bashful thing that lit her whole face.
“You lovely, lovely woman,” he murmured. She glowed scarlet and looked down, smiling helplessly.
“Yes…we should dress,” she said.
Still grinning, he shrugged into his shirt and trousers. When he tied his cravat—nothing elaborate, merely tidy—and pulled on his riding jacket, he turned back to her.
She wore the same muslin gown as the previous day, her hair loose around her shoulders. One look at her and desire slammed into him again; he nearly forgot his intention to behave.
“Let us go downstairs,” he said, voice only barely steady. “We should eat before we depart.”
“Yes. I am rather hungry,” she admitted.
“So am I,” he laughed.
They shared a warm breakfast in the parlour, then went out to the coach that had been prepared while they ate. The morning was clear, bright, and full of the promise of home. Sebastian handed her into the carriage—it felt strangely, wonderfully right to do so—and they settled close together, as they had the night before.
He held her, savouring the nearness. Soon, they would be back at the manor, back in the rhythms of daily life. But everything would be different now.Theywere different now.
He longed to keep her in London for a day—walk with her in the parks, take tea, wander where she wished, see the city through her delighted eyes. But they had responsibilities. He had to speak with Nicholas. With James. He worried for Gemma and William. He wanted everyone reassured, safe.
Fields gave way to hedgerows, woodlands to farmland. Evelyn dozed against him until the coach neared the gravel drive. Sebastian’s arm tightened around her, feeling her stir, sensing the tension that crept into her.
He cursed his mother inwardly for the humiliation and discomfort she had caused.
“Come,” he murmured. “We will go in together. I only need a word with Nicholas, and then we shall go out into the grounds. The whole day, if you wish. It promises to be a lovely morning.”
“Yes,” Evelyn whispered, gazing at the sunlit fields. “It does.”
The coach slowed before the steps of the manor. Sebastian helped her alight, his resolve settling firmly. Whatever awaited them inside, he would shield her from it.
“Your Grace!” the butler said warmly. “Welcome home. Lord Nicholas is upstairs awaiting you.”
Sebastian shook his head and thanked the man.
“Shall I bring tea for you and for her Grace?” the butler asked.
