His eyes bore into her. “You cannot be ignorant of the fact that our, ahem, estrangement has prevented me from doing my duty. I need an heir.”
The room spun. Veronica’s breath came in small pants. Her chest ached. Her nipples turned to hard buds. “What are you saying, Sebastian?” But she already knew. She already knew exactly what he was about to say. And God help her, she wanted him to say it. Craved it, actually.
“In addition to the Twelfth Night ball, I will travel with you and play the part of the doting husband in exchange for your willing participation the entire time…” He paused, and his smoldering gaze captured hers once more. “In bed.”
Chapter Four
Three days later, Sebastian sat across from Veronica in his well-appointed traveling coach as they made their way from Edgefield Hall toward Whitmore Manor. The journey would take the better part of the day, even with Sebastian’s finest horses at the start. Their coach and the second one carrying the servants would arrive at Whitmore Manor in the late afternoon.
Veronica had agreed to Sebastian’s second condition in London with much less resistance than he’d expected. Her face had flushed, and she’d been uncharacteristically silent for several moments, but she’d finally jerked her head in a decisive nod and said, “Very well. I agree to your terms,” as if they’d just set out a marriage contract giving her rights to an allowance and not agreed to spend the next fortnight together wrapped in bedsheets. Perhaps he should have asked for her attendance at two balls when they returned to London. He smiled to himself. Probably best not to press his good fortune.
The entire arrangement still surprised Sebastian. He’d merely been trying to provoke her when he’d asked to share her bed. He’d expected her to balk at his outlandish request. She did so like to argue. Frankly, the request had flown from his lips before he’d had much of a chance to consider it. Of course, he needed an heir, but the way he’d nearly leered at her when he’d requested her participation in bed was bad form. He blamed her nearness, the alluring lily scent of her perfume, and the fact that he hadn’t had a woman in over two years. But instead of balking, she’d agreed rather readily. And he couldn’t quite bring himself to regret his request.
After accepting his terms, Veronica had insisted on spending the night at her brother’s town house. Apparently, her mother was there as well. Then Veronica had hurried back to Essex. Sebastian had promised to fetch her this morning and escort her to Kent so they would arrive to the holiday celebration together, a sign of solidarity and their first pretense of being a happily wedded pair. So far, however, the ride had been anything but happy. They were nearly at Whitmore Manor, and they’d barely said a handful of words to each other. Veronica had kept her nose buried in ladies’ fashion periodicals. A useless thing to do—as far as Sebastian was concerned—for a lady who refused to come to London and be seen in Society.
Meanwhile, Sebastian had been doing his damnedest to ignore…or more correctly, to stop being distracted by her. He’d brought along the ledgers from his solicitor in London and had spent the better part of the journey balancing the damn things on his lap while trying to read them. But he found his gaze drawn again and again to Veronica. She’d always been beautiful. Her looks were one of the many things that had attracted him to her, after all. But there was something else about her now. Something more sharp, more distinguished, that made it difficult for him to tear his gaze from her countenance.
Her fine cheekbones were set below obsidian eyes framed by thick black lashes. She had dark brows and a piercing gaze. The fullest lips that made him want to… He shook his head. He’d nearly forgotten how lovely she was. But the moment she’d stepped inside his bedchamber three nights ago, he’d been reminded immediately. Even with her lustrous hair swept up and hidden beneath a fashionable hat, she’d affected him. He remembered only too well what it felt like to let the long strands filter through his fingers while he rode her, her gasps of pleasure filling the room, her fingernails raking down his back.
Damn. Sebastian shook his head again. Such thoughts were altogether unhelpful. There’d be time enough to think about such things after they were safely in their bedchamber together at Whitmore Manor. And they would share a bedchamber. He’d insisted upon it. Along with their original agreement.
Now, he was doing a bollocks job of ignoring her while she could have won a prize for acting as if he didn’t exist. Not once had he caught her looking at him, all the many times he’d glanced her way.
“I seem to recall you being more adept at conversation,” he finally said, in an effort to taunt her into speaking to him. He’d already learned that niceties and politeness got him nothing more than half-hearted, one-syllable replies.
Without taking her eyes from her periodical, she merely said, “I seem to recall you telling me you’d given up your mistress. Memories can be faulty.”
Sebastian’s nostrils flared. “I did give up my mistress.”
“And went back to her weeks later,” Veronica replied, a fake-sweet smile on her face. She still refused to look at him.
She was obviously trying to rile him, which he admittedly deserved for trying to rile her. But her attempt had worked, which bothered him. “I did not go back to her weeks later,” he replied simply.
Veronica arched a brow but continued to stare at the reading material she’d lifted in front of her face to no doubt block her view of him. “Oh, so you didn’t lie to me about going to the club and visit her instead?”
He cursed under his breath. “Yes, I did, but—” He stopped himself and pinched the bridge of his nose momentarily before shaking it off and replacing it with a forced grin. “Let’s have a more productive conversation, shall we?”
Finally, she folded down the edge of her periodical and eyed him over the top of the blasted thing. “‘Productive?’” Her voice dripped with skepticism. “Such as?”
“I propose we come up with the ground rules for our little…agreement,” he offered, settling back into his seat and crossing his arms over his chest.
Her dark brows shot up. “‘Agreement?’ Is that what we’re calling it?”
“You are free to change your mind any time you like,” he pointed out, giving her a tight smile. “Merely say the word. I can turn the coach right around and take you back to Whitmore Manor. Besides, why should you be the only one to benefit from the situation?”
She rolled her eyes. “Because you’re a gentleman?”
His brows shot up. “Am I? I thought I was a rogue and a cheat. Which is it?” Of course, he was only trying to rile her again. Even if she called off their intimate arrangement, he wouldn’t desert her. Her grandfather had always been kind to him and welcomed him when he’d had only his awful mother to call family. Sebastian hated to know he was dying. The truth was that Sebastian looked forward to seeing the old man again, seeing all of them again. The Whitmorelands were the only genuine family he’d ever known.
Veronica lifted her pert nose in the air and narrowed her dark eyes on him. “You clearly are a rogue and a cheat, and your conditions merely confirm it.”
He rolled his eyes this time. “It must be so simple to live in your black and white world, without nuance or subtlety to confuse things.”
She slapped a palm atop the periodical and drummed her nails on it, glaring at him. “What is that supposed to mean?”
He folded his arms across his chest. “You tried and convicted me in your head for a crime I didn’t commit.”
She leaned toward him, her eyes flashing with stark anger. “Don’t you dare attempt to make me feel insane. Did you or did you not admit to it?”
