Page 21 of Scandalous Desires on a Summer Morning
He should have walked away. It was evident she had come outside seeking solitude. Yet something in her quiet despair rooted him to the spot. He watched as she drew a shuddering breath, squared her shoulders, and tried—valiantly—to master her emotions.
Sebastian lowered his gaze to the decanter in his hand. Whisky. He had planned to sit upon the wooden planks by the lake, drink, and watch the stars—something he often did when summer nights grew too warm for sleep.
A soft sniff drew his attention back to the swing. Miss Winton kicked her feet lightly, rising and falling with an almost wistful rhythm, her skirts fluttering with each motion. He hesitated, about to turn away and leave her to her solitude, when another quiet sob escaped her.
Perhaps a measure of company might drive away her melancholy.
He cleared his throat.
She startled, her shoes dragging through the grass as the swing slowed to a halt. A vivid flush climbed her cheeks as she turned her head toward him. For a moment she couldn’t seem to meet his gaze; then, quickly, she dashed her hands over her face and managed a small, tremulous smile.
“My lord,” she said, pushing a stray lock behind her ear. “I’d not heard your approach.”
“It is after midnight, Miss Winton,” he murmured, stepping into illumination from the pale moonlight.
“I’m aware of the hour. I wanted to see the moon,” she said wistfully. “Is it not beautiful?”
“It is lovely,” he murmured, wondering if he should ask about her tears.
“Are you enjoying the swing?”
“I… yes.” She sniffed, then smiled. “I’ve wanted to try it all day but thought I was far too old for such silliness.”
He moved toward the adjacent swing, settling onto it with ease. “Too old is usually reserved for crones,” he drawled.
She laughed softly.
A part of him tucked the sound away, hoarding it like something precious he wasn’t meant to have but couldn’t bear to lose. “Permit me to ask your age, Miss Winton. My mother alluded to it, but I am uncertain if it is accurate.”
“I am three-and-twenty. I shall turn four-and-twenty in October.”
“Then you have barely lived.” He glanced sideways at her, the corner of his mouth lifting. “I prescribe that you may swing whenever you wish. Day or night.”
Another small, surprised laugh escaped her, soft and breathy. “Is that so?”
“Quite,” Sebastian said, his tone deliberately lazy. “One of the great joys of living is indulging in what pleases the heart.”
Their eyes met in the quiet, silvery dark, the air between them humming with something that felt far too aware.
“Spoken like a man who has never been denied anything,” she murmured. “Life is rather different for ladies. A single step out of line and the world never lets you forget it.”
He arched a brow. “Then I suppose I should not ask you to share this decanter of whisky with me—to drown your sorrows in a most unladylike fashion?”
Her eyes widened, and the faintest smile tugged at her lips. “You noticed my tears.”
“I did,” he said softly, offering the decanter. “Whisky, Miss Winton?”
She hesitated, studying him with mock gravity. “Goodness, never say we are drinking directly from the bottle, my lord. The scandal of it!”
He grinned. “A delicious sort of scandal, perhaps.”
Taking the bottle, she tilted her chin. “Very well. If I am to be naughty, I may as well do it properly.”
She took a generous gulp—and immediately spluttered, coughing as her eyes watered. “Merciful heavens,” she gasped between breaths. “This is more likely to bring fresh tears than soothe old ones.”
Sebastian laughed, a low, rich sound that curled around her senses. “You were meant to sip, not drown yourself.”
She handed the decanter back with a glare that lacked any true venom. “You might have warned me.”
