The Lady By His Side(110)

They set out to walk the short distance to St. Ives House, and Sebastian observed, “Matrimony appears to be one challenge our fearless Drake is in no hurry to face.”

A few steps later, Antonia tilted her head; when Sebastian glanced her way, she caught his eyes.

The obvious yet critical question hovered between them.

They were ready to face what Drake still shied from, weren’t they?

The answer was there, in their eyes, clear enough for the other to see.

Their expressions eased. As one, they faced forward.

As one, they lengthened their stride.





Chapter 16





Whether it was simply relief—to be home again, safe, with their part in the unfolding drama successfully played, at least to the end of this act—or welling exuberance over their triumph in having established a personal partnership that felt so very right, they were both smiling, and Antonia was actively reining in her delight, when she swept into Sebastian’s room.

There’d been no staff downstairs to witness their entrance, just a lamp left burning low to light them up the grand staircase. In the gallery, his hand riding at the small of her back, Sebastian had guided her along the corridor into the east wing, then down another corridor to the room at the end.

Antonia walked confidently across the large room.

Over the years, she’d become familiar with much of St. Ives house, but she hadn’t ventured into any bedchamber except for that of Sebastian’s sister, Louisa, which was in the west wing. As it happened, Sebastian’s room was the mirror of Louisa’s in placement and size, with a wide bank of windows directly opposite the door through which they’d entered, and a secondary door in the wall to Antonia’s right that she knew would lead to a large bathing chamber. The two doors on either side of the main door would each open into one of the rooms back along the corridor; one room would be Sebastian’s dressing room, with the other the room—very likely rooms—reserved for his marchioness.

His wife.

The massive bed that stood against the wall to the right dominated the room. It was balanced by the huge fireplace in the opposite wall. As she crossed to the windows, she noted a pair of heavy tallboys against the other walls, a desk-cum-bureau against the wall between the windows and the fireplace, and four large, comfortable armchairs—one pair angled before the fireplace, the other pair placed to take advantage of the wide windows.

She reached the uncurtained windows and looked out.

Directly below, she glimpsed the edge of the terrace outside the family parlor; beyond it, silvered by moonlight, spread the lawns and neat shrubs of that section of the mansion’s rear garden.

Curiosity welling, she turned and surveyed the room. Sconces set around the walls had been left turned low, shedding a warm glow throughout the chamber.

The decor was a reflection of Sebastian, of his personality. Expensive, yes, yet a touch austere, with a ripple of reined passion, of innate power, hidden beneath the smooth surface. The creamy ivory of the walls was offset by the richness of old oak, the warm patina glowing golden against the dark forest greens of upholstery and curtains. The frames—of the twin oval mirrors flanking the mantelpiece and of the paintings on the walls—were heavy and strong.

Wilkins would keep the place tidy, but there was a book on the side table beside the armchair before the fireplace, a bookmark jutting at an angle from between the pages, and a riding crop and a pair of riding gloves had been discarded on the low table between the chairs by the windows. The mantelpiece held an eclectic array of odds and ends—scrimshaw, a set of carved ivory figurines, a large ormolu clock, two dueling pistols mounted in a display case, and two lamps—and stuck into the frame of the large, restful landscape hanging above the fireplace were a selection of gilt-edged invitations.

Then there was the bed. Large and heavy—and sumptuously sensual with its forest-green silk coverlet and the mound of ivory-silk-encased pillows at its head.

Sebastian had paused in the doorway, watching her. As he stepped inside and shut the door, the clocks throughout the house struck twelve.

Midnight.

Despite the light cast by the sconces, it was primarily moonlight that lit his face, his long body, as he strolled slowly toward her.

He halted before her; the piercing quality of his gaze muted by the moonlight, he studied her face.

On the two previous occasions they’d come together, they’d been driven, not just by their newly discovered desires but also by a sense of, for one reason or another, needing to seize the moment. Tonight, there was no such blinding imperative; they both knew they could have each other—would have each other—time and again in the days, months, and years to come.