A Little Bit Sinful (31 page)

A tingle of concern spread through Eleanor’s fingers. “What is the gentleman’s name, Aunt?”

Aunt Jane wrinkled her nose and peered again at the card. “Viscount Benton.”

Eleanor’s book fell to the carpet. She believed she had progressed beyond the sharp, stabbing feeling of pain, but knowing he was here, standing outside the door, brought it all to the surface, brutal and real.

The butler looked over at Eleanor, then back at Aunt Jane. “Shall I tell him that you are not at home?”

“Eleanor?”

“Send him away,” she croaked, her stomach tied in a knot.

The butler bowed and shuffled off. Eleanor retrieved her book from the floor and settled it in her lap. Her heart was pounding with nervous dread, her mind racing.
Why is he here? What does he want?

It didn’t matter. There was nothing between them except deception and betrayal. She had no interest in seeing him again, no intention of listening to any more of his lies.

A few minutes later there was a gentle tapping on the drawing room door and the butler reentered. “Please forgive this second interruption, but the viscount has informed me in no uncertain terms that he will not leave the premises until he has spoken directly with you.”

“Of all the nerve!” Aunt Jane rose to her feet.
“Call for Harry and George and instruct them to forcibly remove this man at once.”

“Wait!” Eleanor cried. As much as she would love to see Sebastian tossed out on his ear, she knew her aunt’s elderly servants were no physical match for him. “As you have no doubt realized by now, I am acquainted with the viscount. All things considered, I think ‘tis best if we agree to see him. There’s no telling what he might do if we continue to refuse.”

“I will bow to your superior knowledge on the subject,” Aunt Jane said. “Though I don’t have to like it.”

A few minutes later the butler returned, followed into the room by an imposing, familiar form. Eleanor just stared. He was far more somber than she remembered, no flashing smile, no twinkling charm. He was still as handsome and finely groomed, a noble specimen indeed, yet he looked different, changed in some way she couldn’t articulate. Or maybe she was finally seeing him with clear eyes.

“Viscount Benton,” the butler sniffed, revealing his annoyance.

“Ladies.” Sebastian bowed.

“I have allowed you admittance because my niece thought it the only way to get rid of you,” Aunt Jane announced, going on the attack before the viscount had a chance to rise from his bow. “But I do not like it. Not one bit. And I do not appreciate being threatened in my own home, my lord. One would think a peer of the realm possessed better manners.”

“I regret that my high-handed methods have
caused you distress, ma’am,” he answered. “Yet I was fully aware that Lady Eleanor would not receive me unless I insisted. My only other recourse would be to meet her in a public setting and I feared that might cause her greater distress.”

“Don’t try to paint yourself in an admirable light, sir,” Eleanor said flatly. “We both know you never consider my feelings when plotting your actions.”

She tilted her chin. For an instant their eyes locked and Eleanor swore it felt as though her heart stopped beating.

“Eleanor, please,” he implored. “We need to talk.”

“I have nothing to say to you.”

Something flashed in his eyes and for the first time she realized he was nearly as agitated as she felt. “Then listen instead,” he said.

“I don’t know if I can,” she whispered.

“Ten minutes,” he begged.

Ten minutes! It seemed a lifetime. Could she manage? Could she be in his company for that long without breaking down, without completely losing her composure, her self-respect?

“Ten, and not a minute more,” she agreed, refusing to meet his gaze. “Aunt, would you mind giving us some privacy?”

Aunt Jane’s shoulders went rigid. “I will wait directly outside the drawing room doors. Along with several of my sturdiest footmen. A single shout will bring us inside in seconds.”

As her aunt departed, Eleanor took a steadying breath, fighting to compose herself. Ten minutes. All she had to endure was ten minutes and Sebastian would be gone from her life forever. Then perhaps
she would finally be able to put this nightmare behind her.

I shouldn’t have come, yet how could I not?

When entering the drawing room, Sebastian had addressed the elderly aunt, but his eyes had gone instantly to Eleanor, seated on a sofa near the window. She looked prettier than he remembered, her skin porcelain smooth, her hair pinned with soft curls that shimmered in the morning sunlight.

She was so lovely, so delicate and forlorn, it almost hurt to look at her. Knowing she would not be happy to see him, he expected resentment, anger, hostility. He might have even done as she asked and walked away, if not for the glint of tears in her eyes.

The sight of them had shaken him, had squeezed something deep inside his chest, confirming in his heart what he feared to be true, yet had difficulty accepting.

It was going to be nigh impossible to bridge the wide and deep chasm that existed between them.

Still, he was determined to try.

“I have brought you a letter from Bianca,” he said, reaching inside his breast coat pocket.

Eleanor extended her hand eagerly for the missive. “Does she know what has happened? What has the earl told her?”

Sebastian sat on the edge of the sofa, careful not to move too close. “Apparently your father has said nothing. I spoke with Waverly the moment I returned to London, reasoning he was the only way
I’d be able to get word to Bianca. She was quite beside herself when she discovered you were gone.” A line of worry furrowed Eleanor’s brow. “I wrote immediately to allay her fears. The earl must be intercepting my letters.”

“I believe that to be the case.” Her shoulders stiffened and she glanced away. “What did you say to Waverly? How did you explain it all?”

“I gave him no details, merely told him that it was my fault you were estranged from the earl and that you had gone to stay with your great-aunt in Bath until the dust settled.”

A blush of pink shaded her cheeks. “Then they do not know the truth?”

“No one does. There has not been a breath of scandal attached to your name, or mine, for that matter. Your reputation has been saved, Eleanor.”

“Ah, so I can go back to the way everything was before all of this happened?” Her gaze pierced his. “You will forgive me, sir, if I cannot bring myself to thank you for saving me from that final humiliation.”

Her flat, detached tone struck him like a whip. He had caused it, along with the haggard look in her eyes, the deep pain on her face.

I’m sorry.
The words stuck in his throat. Saying them felt like even more of an insult. She would never believe him anyway. He had lost the right to offer his compassion when he betrayed her.

He wanted to say something that would make everything all right, whisper words that would adequately explain, words that she could understand and accept. Words that would soothe and comfort.

Yet no words existed.

“There is something else I’d like you to read.” He held out another piece of parchment. She gazed at it suspiciously, then tentatively pulled it from his grasp.

“What is it?”

“An announcement of our upcoming wedding. I will have it printed in the
Times
the moment you agree.”

“To marry you?”

Her incredulous tone stung more than he wanted to admit. He knew that at one time she had harbored deep feelings of regard for him, perhaps even fancied herself in love with him. Apparently all that she felt for him now was loathing and disgust.

“Marriage is the sensible course for both of us and the only way I can possibly make amends to you.”

She sucked in an astonished breath and he braced for the insults as she refused him. Instead, she pressed the back of her hand to her mouth, looking as if she might be ill. It was no more than he deserved. Yet so much worse than he ever imagined.

He heard her exhale slowly. A pronounced silence settled between them.

“It appears you believe I have not suffered enough, have not been punished enough for my father’s sins,” she finally said. “Or else your mind is still so consumed by your need for revenge that it has finally snapped.”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “Though I know you have no cause to believe me, I make this offer in good faith. I am not as wealthy as some, but
I have a comfortable living. I will settle a generous allowance on you. As my wife you will have financial security, social position, and the freedom to do what you want.”

Her eyes widened and he knew she realized he was being serious. “A wife is subject to her husband’s will. There is no freedom in that kind of arrangement.”

“Legal documents can be drawn up with your specifications to give you whatever rights you require. In addition to Chaswick Manor, I have a much smaller holding on the coast. We can visit the property before we marry, and if you like it, you may use it to set up your household.”

Her face grew calm and even, lacking in all expression. “We wouldn’t live together?”

He gave a sharp nod. “I want to live with you, to be your husband in every way, but I know it will take time before you are ready to accept it. I will wait. Our relationship will be as you dictate. Many aristocratic couples spend time apart. It would not seem so unusual if we start our marriage that way.”

“You are proposing a marriage of convenience? One in which you would continue living your life basically as it is now?”

“There will be significant changes for me.” Sebastian shifted uncomfortably on his seat. “I believe fully in the sanctity of the marriage vows, which is one reason why I have not taken a wife. If we marry, I will remain faithful to you.”

He saw the glint of disbelief in her eyes and could not fault it. He was actually finding it an amazing promise himself, but one he was bound
and determined to keep. If she would have him as her husband.

“You are not the sort of man who can remain celibate for the rest of your life,” she said.

“True. That is why after we marry I reserve the right to try to persuade you into my bed, into my life.” He felt a ray of hope as her pale cheeks suddenly flamed with color. “Whatever else has gone on between us, you cannot deny that we have a great passion for each other. It can offer us a beginning, a place to start.”

She shook her head slowly. “You only pursued me to strike at the earl.”

“My initial motive was revenge, but the feelings that I developed for you were very real, very true. My actions were immoral, unforgivably wrong, but my affection was never false, my desire never feigned. I cared deeply for you, Eleanor. I still do.”

She gave him a long, impenetrable stare. “You cared for me to such an extent that you lied, manipulated, and preyed on my gullibility to get what you wanted?”

He cringed. She was right, of course. His actions had been reprehensible, but they did not negate the feelings he had for her. He struggled for a way to explain it, to make her understand, but it was all so jumbled in his heart and mind he could not find the words.

Sebastian drew in a measured breath. “Will you at least consider it?”

“I cannot. There is more, much more, to marriage than passion. Friendship, companionship, respect, trust. Things we cannot possibly hope to
share. Perhaps you are being honest, perhaps you do have some feelings for me, but it doesn’t matter. It’s too late. Our relationship has been too severely damaged. ‘Tis beyond repair.” The disillusionment shimmered in her face. “Besides, you hate my father.”

“So do you.”

“That I shall not deny, but his blood runs through my veins. If we marry I firmly believe that one day you will come to resent that fact. And then … and then, oh, Lord, we shall truly be stuck in hell together.”

“Eleanor, please, my feelings—”

“If you feel anything for me at all, ‘tis obsession,” she said angrily. “I am an extension of the earl. You cannot strike at him, so you will strike at me.”

The shock reverberated through him. Was that truly what she believed? That he had no affection or regard for her, that he was that callous and cruel? “Oh God, Eleanor, what have I done?”

“You have broken me, my lord.” She rose, tears glistening in her eyes. “But never fear, I will mend. Please go now. Your ten minutes are up.”

Caught in a tangled web of disappointment and regret, Sebastian cast one final imploring look at her. “Take some time and think about what I have proposed,” he pleaded. “If you change your mind, send word to me and I will come at once.”

“I won’t change my mind.”

She meant it. He muttered an oath as something shifted inside his chest. He had hoped her capacity for forgiveness would extend far enough to give their future a chance, but he saw that he had
wounded her too deeply. The kindest thing he could do now was leave her in peace.

In despair, Sebastian bowed, turned on his heel, and left. And as he walked slowly out into the late morning sunshine, he remembered why he had never wanted to care so completely for a woman.

It hurt too damn much.

Sebastian returned to London, going directly to the elegant townhome he inherited from his grandmother. Once there he proceeded to get himself drunk. Utterly foxed, three sheets to the wind, completely in his cups. Miraculously, he was able to stay upright for two days and two nights, until finally on the morning of the third day he succumbed to the cumulative effects of too much brandy and too little food and passed out.

He awoke almost twenty-four hours later to a pounding in his head that nearly rendered him blind, wincing repeatedly as he opened his unfocused eyes. The pain certainly rendered him senseless, for as he glanced about the well-appointed room, with its gold silk draperies and rosewood furniture, he had no idea where he was sitting. Or rather lying, since he was stretched out on a gold damask sofa, the mud on his boots marring the lovely fabric, creating stains that no amount of washing would remove.

His mouth was dry, his tongue swollen, his limbs
cramped and aching. Scrubbing a hand through his tousled hair, Sebastian tried to piece together the events of the past few days, but the effort brought a heavy pounding inside his brain that would not cease. It took several minutes for him to realize the noise was actually someone knocking on the door.