Page 11 of Scandalous Desires on a Summer Morning
David laughed lightly, but the sound faded as Sebastian stared into his glass, the amber liquid catching the light. The memory returned unbidden—Maryann’s trembling mouth, vulnerable and soft, at odds with the unflinching strength in her eyes. It was absurd, damn foolish, but something about her tugged at a part of him he didn’t fully recognize. A part long dormant. Untouched.
I barely know the woman,he snarled inwardly, frustration coiling low in his chest.
And yet, no matter how he tried to banish her from his thoughts, he couldn’t stop imagining what she must be enduring now. She was alone and must be struggling. And worst of all, without any family or support. Sebastian stood, draining the rest of his drink. “I’ll see you at White’s tomorrow.”
David lifted his glass in a mock toast. “Where are you off to?”
Sebastian didn’t answer, mostly because he wasn’t quite sure himself. Moments later, he left the pleasure palace behind and called for his horse. A fine mist had begun to fall, veiling Mayfair in a silver hush. The hour was late, and the streets lay cloaked in damp stillness, gas lamps casting blurred halos through the fog.
He guided his stallion with a practiced hand, the reins slick beneath his gloves. The steady rhythm of hooves striking wet cobbles echoed through the quiet as he rode toward his townhouse, his thoughts already straying to the manor in Hertfordshire. There was still work to be done—roofing repairs on the east section of the manor, several more window restorations, and stonework that wouldn’t survive the first hard frost. He’d leave for the country in the morning and remain until the weather made further progress impossible.
His townhouse wasn’t far now. A handsome, well-appointed bachelor’s retreat nestled in Berkeley Square—tasteful, discreet,and mercifully distant from his parents’ more formal residence. He needed that space. His life was a balance of duty and indulgence, carefully measured. The former he met through sound investments and exacting oversight of the estate accounts. The latter required no defense. So long as the land prospered and the coffers remained full, his father asked no questions.
He turned a corner, the fog thickening slightly—
And stopped short, his chest tightening. A figure darted through the misted rain ahead, breaking the quiet with the sudden slap of footsteps on stone. Sebastian stiffened in the saddle, every instinct sharpening. He blinked and reined in his stallion with a sharp tug. A woman—no, not merely a woman, a lushly feminine form draped in a soaked serviceable gown—ran down the street, her hair tumbling in dark, wet waves over her shoulders.
Miss Winton?
Bloody hell. Even as he recognized her, two liveried footmen emerged from the shadows behind, giving chase. What in God’s name was happening? Sebastian rode forward at once, angling his horse across her path. She skidded to a halt, gasping, her gaze flying to his. The relief in her eyes pierced him straight through.
“My lord,” she cried out, pressing a hand devoid of gloves over her mouth.
“What is wrong?” he demanded.
“Please,” she panted, her arms lifting toward him.
Without hesitation, Sebastian reached down and gripped her waist, lifting her effortlessly into the saddle before him. Her skirts rode scandalously high as she straddled the horse, but she barely seemed to care, teeth chattering.
“Go, do not let them catch up to me,” she whispered, breathless. “Please—”
He didn’t wait. With a fierce curse, he kicked the stallion into motion, easily losing the footmen. She held on to his arms with surprising strength, shivering, her fingers tight. She was frightened. And cold. And alone.
“Where?” he asked tersely.
She managed to give him halting directions, her voice thin with exhaustion and an emotion he could not decipher. The journey took several long minutes, carrying them farther from the gentility of Mayfair, until the cobbles gave way to cracked pavements, muddied streets, and gas lamps grew fewer and flickered dimly. He reined in when she pointed to a modest brick building with chipped shutters and a crooked door.
“You live here?” he asked as he dismounted and helped her to the ground.
Her chin lifted in that proud, familiar way, but even as she nodded, tears spilled silently down her cheeks. “Yes, my lord.”
“Why were they chasing you?”
“I…” she hesitated, her eyes flickering away.
Sebastian bit back the impatience rising in his chest and instead said, “Come. Let’s get you inside.”
He helped her dismount, his hands firm but careful. Then he swung down from the horse and followed her into the modest dwelling. The room was small, dimly lit by the glow of a single oil lamp. A plump, older woman sat at a table near the hearth, needlework in hand and spectacles perched low on her nose. She looked up sharply as they entered, her gaze fixing on Sebastian with open suspicion. On a narrow cot beneath a worn quilt, Sarah slept curled on her side, her breath soft and even. Miss Winton moved immediately to her, brushing a gentle hand over the child’s hair, then turned to face him.
“Thank you, Mrs. Crooks,” she said softly.
The older woman gave Sebastian one last lingering glare before rising and stepping out, the door clicking shut behind her.
“She is my landlady,” Miss Winton said, a touch of nervousness in her voice. “She promises to watch Sarah for me when I work… in exchange for a few extra coins. Today was my third day at work, and I never thought… I…”
A raw laugh, teetering on the edge of hysteria, escaped her lips before she could stop it. She pressed a trembling hand over her mouth, as if to hold the rest inside.
The tightness in Sebastian’s chest eased, and he had to fight the sudden urge to cross the room and offer her comfort. “I see.”
