In a swift and unsettling tide, her arms locked behind his neck and her lips latched onto his, her mouth parting beneath his. He reveled in her undaunted and quick response. Raised her night rail to reach the incineration of her core and singed his fingers in the molten liquid fire that clenched around him. He swept his tongue in her mouth, moved his fingers to mimic his tongue, while his erection surged to a painful swell. He pulled his mouth from hers. “You’re so tight. I can hardly wait to make you wholly mine.”
Something snapped in Rebecca, and she pushed him away. “Out,” she said, panting. “And don’t let anyone see you.”
Grinning, Sebastian tapped his lips to hers one last time, then tucked her back beneath the covers. She was right. “I’ll find you here, my lady. I’ll pick you up this afternoon for a turnabout Rotten Row.”
“Yes, yes, all right. Now leave,” she said on a breathless huff. “Wait! I have to see Gabby.”
Why did she have to argue at every turn? He stifled his exasperation. “Then I suggest you get dressed. I shall see you safely there.”
Rebecca rolled over, turning her back on him. “I can manage a jaunt to Gabriella’s without your assistance.”
He stripped the coverlets away. “Not if I don’t see you there myself. Now, rise or I shall go to your father and explain the situation with the twins and mention how a scrub is possibly after you.”
She bolted up and he could detect the outline of her nipples through her night rail.
His mouth watered.
She tugged the covers back over her head. “Go away, Your Imperiousness. Serena and Barrett shall accompany me.”
Sebastian paced her chamber. “Serena needs to pack a trunk for you. What time are you planning on leaving? Perhaps you should accompany me to see the archbishop.”
Slowly, Rebecca fell back against the pillow, spearing him with a look that spelled his death. “I willnotaccompany you to see the archbishop,” she bit out. “’Tis bad enough the duchess of Oxford has landed me in this situation. I am a woman grown. We are not yet married, Your Grace. I can take care of myself.”
“Rebecca—” he started.
“That isLadyRebecca to you. Not your wife. Not Your Grace.”
The painting in her sitting room floated before him. If he pushed her too hard, she was liable to take off for parts unknown. “Fine. Go see my sister but be back here by the time I arrive. You shall have a trunk packed and ready. Four of the clock. I must go lest I end up not returning until the morrow.”
“What a pity that would be.” She tugged the coverlets up, moaning.
Sarcasm was a good sign. He slipped back through the sitting room and into the corridor. The servants were stirring. No matter. Everyone believed him and Rebecca already wed. He went down the grand stairs and found the butler to request his horse.
The Dorset House, as it had always been referred to before Sebastian’s father’s death, was located in Portman Square and showed much the same as the Rivers house, except Dorset had been modernized. The servants had also set to their tasks, clearing grates and setting fires. The house had always been on the cold side, but the enticing aroma of fresh bread filled the house and warmed him through.
Fosse met him at the door. “Sir.” He bowed. “Let me be the first to congratulate you on your nuptials. The staff and I are most pleased for you.”
“Er, yes, thank you. Has Néo returned from his family’s home?”
Fosse was eyeing his overgrown beard. “Yes, Your Grace. He explained that the notice in theTimessent him “dashing back” as he put it. He shall be glad to see you, I suspect.”
“Excellent.” Sebastian tugged on his short beard. An uncharacteristic dry wit speared him. “I expect that’s so.”
“Might I enquire”—Fosse looked past Sebastian—“after your bride?”
“Your new duchess and I stayed the night at her father’s home last night.”
“Ah, of course, Your Grace. Might I have the kitchens prepare you something to eat?”
“That would be much appreciated.” Sebastian took the stairs to his apartments two at a time. He was met by a most annoyed valet.
“I knew I should have accompanied you to Dorchester.” Néo’s French accent thickened with his irritation. “It appears you have not had a shave in a week.”
“Damn near. And, in case you’ve forgotten, I insisted you tend your family. How is your mother faring?”
“Bah! She missed her son. I shall not be fooled a second time,” he said, throwing out a hand. There was nothing so dramatic as an angry French valet. “And where is this virtuous bride who has absconded with jour heart and jour shaving blade?”
A crack of laughter erupted from Sebastian. “Absconded with my—” The urge to refute such a ridiculous statement was strong, but the words stuck in this throat.There was something. But to have taken his heart? That wasn’t possible, he had no heart. “Order a bath, please. I’ve a busy day ahead and wish to get an early start.”
