Page 52 of Indecently Employed
She crept up behind him and slid her arms wordlessly around him. He fell back into her, one hand clutching hers in a tight vise. The strong smell of liquor hit her almost immediately.
“You gorgeous thing,” he rasped, bringing her hand up to his mouth, still clutching her as if he were afraid she’d drift away were he to loosen his grip. “Where had you gone to?”
“To bed, naturally.” Susanna shook her hand free, coming around to face him, the fire warming her backside. It felt glorious after spending all day out in the damp cold of the beach. She smiled at him. He didn’t return it. It was then that she noticed his eyes were glazed, his brow anguished. She took a step back.
“What is wrong?”
He reached up and caressed her cheek, his expression unchanged. Finally a sad smile twisted one side of his mouth. “We’ll need to leave tomorrow.”
“What?”
“Christ.” He exhaled, then took a generous swallow from his glass. He muttered, “My brother, Charlotte’s uncle—Elverton Bridge.”
She shook her head, not understanding.
He gestured to the table behind him, indicating an unfolded piece of paper with a message written on it. “My brother is dying. They’ve removed him from London, so that he might give up the ghost at home, at Elverton Bridge, in Surrey. At great inconvenience to the rest of us, might I add.”
The floor fell out from beneath Susanna, and all she could manage was a sorrowful “Oh.” She suddenly felt very small.
What comfort could she offer? Any mention he’d ever made of Tiberius Sedley had reinforced the complicated nature of the brothers’ relationship. She kissed the corner of his mouth, then placed her head on his shoulder, pulling him against her as close as she dared. Perhaps she should just be here with him in his sorrow.
He placed a gentle kiss on her head, then stroked her hair. They remained like that, his fingers idly brushing through herlocks, until she started as she began to doze off. She shifted her position, then rested her head back against his shoulder. She closed her eyes and breathed in his rich, masculine scent, still detectable underneath the sharp, pungent smell of liquor.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured against her hair.
Susanna sat upright, incredulous. “Whatever for?”
“For forcing you to the ends of the earth and back again. All for the sake of us miserable Sedleys.”
She pursed her lips, not sure what to say to that. He seemed on the edge of a precipice, much like the one he’d leapt from that night he’d revealed his deep longing for her, relentlessly damning himself all the while. She ran her hands down his lounging robe, trying to puzzle out the solution to his deep, aching pain. Her eye caught on the empty glass in his hand. Plucking it from his fingers, she spoke before he could object.
“Tell me about them. Your family.” As surreptitiously as she could, she slid the glass onto the nearest shelf, praying it would soon be gone from his mind.
He scoffed, rubbing his forehead. “You do not mean that. No one wants to hear some hapless fool’s tales of woe, let alone mine. For I am not only a fool, but a pathetically rich one. It does not typically arouse one’s empathy, in my experience.”
She took his hands in hers, tugging him toward the chair they’d only recently dallied upon. She couldn’t suppress the curl of anticipation in her belly, but she managed to keep her face steady as she directed him to sit. He sighed wearily and collapsed into the orange armchair, inducing the cushions into sighing themselves.
She knelt before him, positioning her nightgown so she might cover her legs, then crossed her arms upon his knee and laid her chin atop them, looking into his eyes, waiting.
His face darkened and he reached for her, caressing the curve of her cheek with one knuckle as his eyes smoldered. “I have so much I want to give you,” he murmured, his voice a low growl.
She shut her eyes as a small shudder ran through her. “I know,” she murmured, though she wondered if she truly did. Was he speaking of more than just physical pleasure? When she opened her eyes again, she couldn’t help but look away, his gaze was so intense. What else could he mean, if not that?
Fancy riding habits?
She dared not hope for anything more than what he’d promised: a slavish devotion and an exceptional letter of recommendation. Perhaps a decent dress or two, if he was offering. What more could someone as insignificant as a governess expect?
“I’m sorry,” he moaned, his hand raking through his hair.
Susanna shook her head. “You apologize far too much, for things that do not require it.”
He sighed again, and reached out to rub a lock of her loose hair between his fingers.
Susanna waited, neither leaning into his touch nor recoiling from it. Finally, he spoke.
“My brother, Tiberius, had always been more of a father to me than the man who actually was. Our father passed when I was but a boy, and Tiberius picked up the slack.” He stared out at the fire, his thumb stroking his mustache, his eyes searching the flames for something that undoubtedly wasn’t there. “My mother was a beauty, far too young for the lustful old git. Fair, light-haired. Some thirty years younger, in fact.” His voice hoarsened, his eyes glistening.
“You miss her,” she whispered.
