She paced for at least an hour, but there was no sign of her husband's return. Nobody had been up to see to the fire, and supper had been quite forgotten. Much like herself. She was still in her bloody wedding gown, with its stiffened skirts and the lace that dug into her throat.
You thought it would be better, she told herself, blinking sleepily. You little fool. She was cold now and curled up on Sebastian's bed, dragging the cover over herself. Her eyes closed, her breath softening...
Something alerted her to the fact that she wasn't going to be alone for very long—footsteps in the hallway outside. Cleo had a moment where she didn't know where she was and realized she must have fallen asleep at some stage. She sat up with a jerk, the covers tumbling loose around her.
The door opened and Sebastian strode in, easily identified by his brisk stride. The scent of his cologne swept around her as Cleo froze. Definitely her husband. Something light hit the floor, possibly his cravat. A button popped, and he paused in front of the liquor cabinet and poured himself something to drink. "Fuck."
"Long night?" Cleo asked.
A choked cough sounded; then he cleared his throat and turned. "Miss Sinclair. I... didn't expect you."
How awkward.
"I was just... I couldn't get out of my wedding dress." Swallowing her nerves, Cleo tipped her chin up. "And I believe it is Mrs. Montcalm now, is it not? Or perhaps, Madame? Which would you prefer?"
"I don't particularly give a damn. I suspect it will make little difference."
Well, two could play at that game. She was starting to regain her mettle. She might not know this house or what was expected of her, but she could learn it. And it had been bloody hours since anyone had paid her the least amount of attention. "Then I shall be Mrs. Montcalm. It suits me. Do you need help undressing?" She slid off the bed and crossed slowly toward him, running through a map of the room in her mind.
Sebastian sidestepped her and went straight to the liquor cabinet. "No, I don't."
That felt uncomfortably like dismissal. "I'm only trying to do my wifely duties."
"Your wifely duties are not required," he replied, though his voice roughened toward the end there. Fabric rustled. He sounded as though he was wrestling with his coat. "Nor will they be."
"None of them?" she replied innocently. "But, sir, I'm quite willing to perform—"
"None of them." The coat hit the floor, and he slammed the crystal stopper back into the liquor decanter.
"Well, unfortunately, I do require help undressing." She turned around, presenting her back to him, and dragged the soft curls that tumbled down her back over her shoulder. "I cannot reach all of the buttons."
Silence. Sebastian swallowed, then set the glass tumbler aside. "You should have rang for the maid."
"I did. They must have been busy," she lied. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing."
The distance between them remained the same. Cleo waited, her head tilted to the side, so that she could hear him better. Every hair along her skin lifted. Her bodice felt too tight.
With a muttered curse, Sebastian stalked toward her. "Here," he said, and gave a roughened tug to the top two buttons, clearly intending to get this over and done with as swiftly as possible. The buttons were soft pearl and tightly hooked. One scattered to the floor and clattered away. Sebastian cursed again. He had to slow down. Had to work them more gently. Breath whispered across the back of her shoulders, and his roughened fingers danced occasionally against her bare skin, igniting her senses.
Perhaps this had not been a good idea. She felt like she stood on the precipice of a cliff, preparing to leap into water when she didn't know the depth... even as a part of her desperately wanted to make that leap. Every brush of his fingers felt like lightning, striking through her veins.
Heart hammering, Cleo bit her lip and tilted her head forward. Agitation made her skin feel flushed, her body restless. She had to say something. "Had your boots arrived?"
"What?" He was remarkably stiff on his right side, almost as if he favored that hand.
"Your boots. The ones you were so set on acquiring after the ceremony. I thought they must be quite grand indeed to send you chasing after them at such a time."
Sebastian's hands set to work again. He was fumbling quite badly now, wrestling with her buttons. "Yes."
Liar. Her lips pressed together.
"There," he said.
The gown slipped forward, clinging to the edges of her shoulders. Cleo hesitated. "My corset?"
If anything, the silence grew even more strained. "Cleo." His breathing was heavier now.
