“I, for one, am grateful you made an exception in this case,” Huntley said.
“Your Grace,” Harlowe said.
Huntley heaved himself up under his own stream. “Pardon?”
“This is the duke’s new wife,” Harlowe happily informed him.
“Rebecca, allow me to introduce Lord Harlowe,” Sebastian said.
“The pleasure is mine, my lord.” Sebastian waited, studying Rebecca covertly. Nothing was a given where the lady was concerned. Something then hit his leg with enough force to throw him off balance.
Rebecca let out a yelp and pounced, her dagger moving swiftly the air.
Instinctively, Sebastian went with the fall, ducking. He eyes went to Cromwell.
The bastard’s ear-splitting cry nearly took down the brick walls of the old structure.
Sebastian’s breath caught at the sight of Rebecca’s pearl-handled blade pinning Cromwell’s hand to the board beneath. The reprobate passed out. The man was not having a good day and it was not about to get any better, he thought with grim satisfaction. There weren’t many duchesses who could wield a knife as handily as his future bride. He let out a feral growl, his heart on the verge of stopping all blood flow to his head. “Let’s get out of here.”
Twenty-Nine
One Week Later
Sebastian poured a couple of fingers of whiskey, contemplating the blaze in the hearth. It was raining again. He hated the rain. Why couldn’t it have rained a week ago? Stranding Rebecca in London to give him a moment to think. The minute he’d received her note releasing him from his obligation to marry her, he’d rushed over to Rivers house, only to learn from her father that she’d confessed all and had returned to Exford. Rather than Rivers demanding that Sebastian go after Rebecca to talk sense into her, the earl speared him a look of pity and shook his head.
Sebastian couldn’t decide if he was relieved or angry with her. That wasn’t quite true. He was angry. It was a fire in his gut.
He rolled his glass between his palms. Now the fool girl would be known as a jilt. He wasn’t angry, he decided, he was furious. Rebecca Thatcher still had no sense of decorum. Let her live her life rusticating in the country. With her desertion, he was likely saved from a life of chaos.
He pulled the handwritten license from his pocket and studied the archbishop’s elegant script. She preferred to rusticate in the country than marrying him. How the devil was he supposed to get the rock permanently lodged in his chest dislodged? He rubbed a palm over the ache. Chaos wasn’t so bad. Not if you were with someone you loved.Love.Did he love her?
In his mind, he saw Rebecca shoving a huge man in the mud, defending a child and a mangy dog. Her shoulders thrown back, chastising his cousin for believing he’d turned out his young son because of a speech impediment. Her knife flying through the air, pinning a man to the floor to save Sebastian’s sorry neck.
Yes. Yes, he loved her.
Surely she knew how he felt. That he wished to marry her, wanted to create a home with her, longed to have children with her. This was innate knowledge women were born with. A fundamental part of being a woman. Everyone knew that. It was the way of the world—
His hand stilled on his glass. What if it wasn’t? She was different from other women. She and he possessed something special, unique. She had to know that, damn it.
Sebastian leaned forward and slammed back his whiskey. What he needed was to see her.
A commotion sounded in the foyer, but he couldn’t garner any interest. He would know if Rebecca had changed her mind. If she had chosen to storm the keep, nothing could keep her out.
The door to his study flung against the wall and his heart lurched in anticipation.
“Sebastian? Where are you?”
He fell back against the chair. “Ah, Gabriella. It’s you.”
Gabriella’s voice rang out. “Heavens, what are you doing sitting here in the dark?”
“I was”—wallowing in—“enjoying my solitude.”
His sister stalked over, stood in front of him with her hands planted on her hips. “I just heard the news. What did you do to her?”
There was no use pretending he didn’t know who or what she meant. “She’s been gone a week, my dear.” His heart thudded hard enough to bruise his ribs. “I did nothing to her. She did it to herself. She likely realized she was not duchess material.” Saying the words aloud scraped against his throat. It took every ounce of his well-honed control to keep the emotion from his tone.
“Not duchess material.” She snorted. “Don’t tell me you are still holding our childhood antics against her.”
