Page 48 of Sinfully Daring

“My lady,” he said as he reached her, unnerved to hear his voice sound so uncertain.

“I never thought it of you. I knew it was impossible,” she said fiercely.

Sebastian swallowed, so touched by her unwavering belief in him, his chest swelled with emotion. Yet guilt followed hard on its heels, and he felt the overwhelming need to confess to her. “Then you know better than I. You see… I was drunk, quite out of my head and we had the most god-awful row and… and what if I—”

“No! I don’t believe it.” Her words were so vehement that Sebastian took courage from them. “Even drunk, you would never have hurt her. Would you?”

Sebastian racked his brain, though he’d already tried and tried to remember. So far, he had only grasped at fragments, snatching at broken shards of that last terrible row. Now, though, with Rosamund staring at him with such certainty, such trust, the clouded memory of that night returned to him little by little. He remembered the fury raging in him when he had smashed the things in Adelia’s room, then the exhausted desperation of losing himself in brandy. After that, Adelia’s return and that dreadful argument, the things they’d said. For the first time, he spoke aloud what he remembered of that night.

“She attacked me,” he said, seeing his wife’s beautiful face distorted with rage as she flew at him. “Tried to scratch my damn eyes out, but… but I held her off. I told her to leave me alone.” His heart stopped as he remembered, staring at Rosamund. “I… I walked away.”

He let out a shuddering breath, leaning on the trunk of the gigantic oak they stood beneath as relief washed through him.

“Of course you did,” she said, as if she had never doubted it for a moment.

“I walked away,” he said again, closing his eyes. “Oh, God. She was still there when I closed the bedroom door. She was alive.”

He leant against the oak, needing the support to hold him up as the nightmare of not knowing, of not trusting himself, resolved itself because of Rosamund. Because she trusted him to be a good man.

“Oh, Hargreaves,” she said, blinking back tears as she closed the distance between them and took his hands, holding on tight. “Oh, what an ordeal you must have suffered. I am so desperately sorry. I know your marriage was not a happy one, but you loved her once, and… and I am sorry. Truly, I am.”

Sebastian stared down at her in wonder. His wife had destroyed Rosamund’s life—her chance for happiness—out of sheer spite, and yet her concern was all for him, for what he had suffered and for his loss.

“She ruined you,” he said, choked now.

Rosamund shrugged, her lips quirking. “I do not feel ruined. I feel no different from how I did last week. It is only people’s perception. Those I care for know the truth. I have decided this matters more than the good opinion of people too ready to believe the worst of me.”

“You are very brave, and that is well and good, but you may feel differently when you face them all at the theatre, or the Queen’s Levee, or a ball.”

“Yes, my courage may fail me then,” she admitted. “But my friends will bolster me, I know.”

She squeezed his hands and Sebastian stared down to where her slender, gloved fingers held his. Her gloves were a pale fawn, the colour startling against his sombre mourning black. His thumb caressed her knuckles absently, needing the contact with her, until he realised what he was doing and tugged his hands free.

“Forgive me,” he said stiffly, glaring at the ground and cursing himself. What would she think of him? His wife was barely cold, society accused him of murder under its breath, her reputation hung in tatters, and he was flirting with her?

“My lord.” Her voice was softer now, a note to it that made his gaze fly to hers. She reached for his hand again, holding it between both of hers now. “I need to ask you a… a rather indelicate question. Or perhaps it is a delicate one? I am uncertain which, but we can discuss that later, I suppose. I’m certain my mother would know the answer, but I could hardly ask her before I left. Oh, dear. Now I am babbling. I always do when I’m nervous, I’m afraid.”

“You do?” Sebastian asked, perplexed. “I hadn’t noticed.”

“That’s because I am never usually nervous with you, but today… well, the question, you see. But it’s because of that ridiculous hat, though to be truthful, the idea was already in my mind. Then that dare appeared, though, and it seemed like fate. Do you see?”

“I’m afraid I don’t,” he admitted. “I am entirely befuddled, which is likely my fault. I seem unable to think clearly of late.”

“Me either. Hardly surprising, is it?” She gave a little laugh, higher than usual, her nerves showing.

Sebastian shook his head, unable to tear his gaze from her beautiful face, drinking in the sight of her and committing it to memory. It had been foolish to come here, to remind himself of everything that was lost to him, for he was no closer to her now than before he had so abruptly become a widower. And now, now that he saw her here, alone with him, her hand in his, a shaft of longing pierced his heart. Not just a friend, he admitted to himself. I don’t want her to be just a friend.

“Say something outrageous to a handsome man,” she blurted suddenly, her cheeks tinged with pink.

Sebastian blinked. “I beg your pardon?” he said, wondering if he’d missed some crucial part of the conversation. It seemed possible as the realisation he could fall head over ears in love with Lady Rosamund with the slightest encouragement entered his brain and refused to budge, distracting him from whatever she’d been saying.

“That was the dare,” she said, which still made no sense to him whatsoever. “So, that’s what I’m going to do. It’s an old one. The dare, I mean. I think perhaps it was Ruth’s—the Countess of Morven now—or was it Aunt Alice? Oh, no. Hers was a kiss in the moonlight, of course.”

“A kiss?” Sebastian murmured, having completely lost the thread of the conversation now. His gaze fell to her lips as that painful sensation filled his chest, a longing so profound it hurt.

She nodded absently. “Yes, Alice’s dare was a kiss. Mine is the outrageous one. To say something. Outrageous. To a handsome man. So, there’s my question, you see.”

She really was babbling now, he thought with affection. How lovely she was.