She froze. Still facing away from him, she closed her eyes briefly and thanked the heavens he’d stopped her because she didn’t know how she’d get him to agree to come with her if she left now. She shouldn’t have threatened to leave. But she hadn’t been able to countenance arguing with him again about Melissa.
Letting her hand fall from the door handle, Veronica turned slowly back toward him. Her features were carefully blank.
Sebastian had an equally inscrutable look on his face. “I agree,” he replied, in an even tone. “We have said all that needs saying to each other. But tell me, why haven’t you told your grandfather…about us?”
Veronica turned her face to the side, trying not to remember the night they’d had mind-numbing sex on the chair just to her right, and the fact that even now—even when she couldn’t stand the sight of him—she wanted to do it again. She couldn’t help her body’s response to seeing him half nude. She was only human, after all. The man was…regrettably…gorgeous.
She cleared her throat and kept her gaze averted. “His health has been poor. Mama thought it best if we…didn’t burden Grandfather with such…unhappy news.” There. That was true.
“So, your grandfather does not know we’ve been estranged?” Sebastian shook his head, a humorless smile quirking up the side of his lips.
“That is correct.” She couldn’t help herself. She let her glance slide over his body again and plucked at the neck of her pelisse. Why was it so infernally hot in here? She forced herself to look away once more.
“That’s why you’re here?” Sebastian said, clearly piecing together her entire predicament as a wide grin spread across his lips. “You want me to come to Christmastide at Whitmore Manor and pretend that we are still in love.”
“No.” The word shot from her mouth like a ball from a pistol. He’d guessed correctly, of course, but his words had slashed across her heart. One word in particular: ‘still.’ He was taunting her. She had been in love with him, madly so, but he…he had never loved her. He’d merely used her as a means to an end, a titled lady with good manners from an impeccable family to take as a wife and bear his heirs. He had never let his emotions into their marriage. He’d never intended to. But she would die before she gave him the satisfaction. And she refused to allow him to pretend he had loved her back.
But her response had been far too quick. She needed to regain control of the conversation. She straightened her shoulders and forced a half-hearted smile to her lips. “I want you to come with me to Christmastide at Whitmore Manor and pretend that we are happily married,” she clarified.
He eyed her carefully, clearly still suspicious. “Why?”
She paused. She had to choose her next words carefully. “It’s…Grandfather…” She cleared her throat and began again. “Mama thought it would be nice if we all spend Christmastide together. One la…last Christmastide.” She couldn’t keep her voice from faltering.
“Your mother, you say?” Sebastian narrowed his eyes on Veronica and rubbed his freshly shaved chin.
“Y…yes,” she insisted, biting her lip.
“It’s not your grandfather’s wish, then?” He paused for a moment, still eyeing her carefully. “His dying wish?”
In her mind, Veronica let fly a string of expletives. Outwardly, however, she merely pressed her lips together and blinked, struggling to keep her face entirely blank. Why did Sebastian have to be so clever? Shouldn’t a man gifted with his good looks stand to be a bit dull in the mind? It was unfair. She remained silent, contemplating her next statement. It would only hurt her case that he’d realized it was Grandpapa’s dying wish. Sebastian knew how much she loved her grandfather.
Apparently, her silence was all the affirmation Sebastian needed, however. “I’m correct, am I not?” he asked, his grin widening, making her want to stalk across the rug and slap it off his handsome face.
“Grandpapa has always adored Christmastide,” she said. There. That was all she intended to allow him.
The infuriating grin remained. “I see. So, the question is…” Sebastian tugged at the towel on his hips and her eyes were inexorably drawn to the line of hair that trailed down his flat belly and disappeared beneath the towel. She immediately averted her gaze to the fine rug below her black leather traveling boots. This was torture, plain and simple.
“Wh…what’s the question?” she asked, forcing herself to remember why she was here. And it was certainly not to ogle the man. She did, however, glance back at him.
His eyes narrowed, and he caught his plump lower lip between two white teeth. “The question is…what are you willing to do in return for my…compliance?”
She lifted her chin and met his green gaze. This was it. The moment of truth. Expelling her breath, she asked, “What do you want in return?” Her voice was higher than she intended, a bit more tremulous than she would have liked, but at least they’d finally got to the place she’d been dreading since Mama had arrived on her doorstep yesterday afternoon. It was time for Sebastian to name his terms.
He poked his tongue into his cheek, crossed his arms over his bare chest, and lifted one dark eyebrow like the complete rogue that he was. “Seems to me that compliance for compliance is a fair trade.”
Her heart hammering in her chest, she bit the inside of her cheek to keep from saying something she ought not. “What sort of compliance?” She forced the words past her dry lips.
He cocked his head to the side, a boyish smile on his lips. “I will come with you, and I will play the part of the doting husband in every way…on two conditions.”
“Which are?” The words shot from her throat, and she nearly choked on them. Her hands shook, and she crossed her arms over her middle and tucked them beneath her elbows to keep him from noticing. Two conditions? She fought the urge to roll her eyes. Of course there would be two. Not just one. Though she supposed she ought to be happy he hadn’t said three.
He nodded efficiently. “First, after Christmastide at Whitmore Manor, you must return here, to London, and attend the Hazeltons’ Twelfth Night ball with me. Also pretending that we are not estranged.”
“Done,” she said so quickly his eyebrow quirked again. That wasn’t so bad. Attending the Hazeltons’ ball would be a small price to pay for Grandpapa’s happiness. “What is the second condition?” she asked hastily.
When a slow, triumphant smile spread across his lips, revealing his perfectly straight teeth, she knew the second condition would be much less simple to grant.
He moved toward her, stopping mere steps away, and she could smell the scent of his cologne. The same cologne that used to make her weak in the knees. Blast it. The same cologne that apparently still made her weak in the knees because she had to brace a hand on the chest of drawers that sat next to the doorway to prepare herself for his next words.
