Page 23 of Scandalous Desires on a Summer Morning
Then, with that bright, curious look that always seemed to undo him, she asked, “Tell me, my lord, what else does a gentleman of the ton do when he is not perfecting his flattery?”
He leaned back on the swing, letting it sway lazily. “We attend balls, drink too much, and pretend to enjoy dull conversation. We gamble, sometimes ruin ourselves, and occasionally duel to prove we are still men of consequence. Some take mistresses, others take to hunting—most of us simply take leave of our wits.” He glanced at her then, catchingthe faint wrinkle of her brow. “But I have grown weary of such indulgences. I find greater pleasure in restoring what is neglected. Estates with age and character. There’s something satisfying in taking ruin and coaxing beauty from it again.”
Her expression softened. The moonlight caught the sheen of her hair, the soft line of her throat as she turned to him. “You speak of it as though these old houses are alive,” she murmured.
“They are,” he said quietly. “Every cracked wall and worn stone tells of a life once lived within it. I suppose…” He gave a small, self-deprecating smile. “I like the idea of giving such places purpose again.”
He wasn’t sure when her laughter faded or when the silence between them began to feel weighted with something else. She looked at him then—really looked—and the air thickened between them. Her gaze lingered a fraction too long, her lips parting slightly as though she might speak.
“Is that why you cried?” he asked gruffly. “Your fear of the future?”
“I…” She looked away, tucking a loose wisp of hair behind her ear. “I miss my sisters… my father… my mother.” Her voice softened to a tremor. “I miss my family, and I was overcome with the dreadful sense that I shall always be rootless—having no place or anyone to call home.”
Sebastian’s chest tightened. The soft wistfulness in her tone cleaved straight through him.
“My father was a good man,” she continued quietly. “He never once seemed disappointed that he had daughters and no sons. He taught us all to fish, to ride, even to climb trees, and would laugh as though our muddy hems were a badge of honour. In the evenings, mama gathered us before the hearth. We’d take turns reading aloud from a book, then spend hours talking about the characters as if they were dear friends. I have not known that kind of laughter since. There was a time when our family waswhole. My mother and father still lived, and I knew neither fear nor worry. The world then felt so certain, sosafe. But one by one, those certainties were taken away. First our mother left us, then our father, and with his passing came the loss of everything familiar. We were turned out of the home that had sheltered us all our lives—cast into the world, never to see it again.
And then, as if that were not punishment enough, we sisters were parted. Never before had we been separated, and now I live with the constant ache of wondering—are they well? Are they treated kindly? Will their futures be secure? I torment myself with questions I cannot answer, wondering how I might protect them from afar, how I might ensure I do not fail them. Life is so terribly unpredictable, and I find I do not like that truth. Yet what can be done? I am but a single speck of sand in the vast ocean of existence, at the mercy of waves I cannot command.”
Sebastian’s chest tightened as her voice trailed off. For a long moment, he said nothing, afraid that words might shatter the fragile honesty she’d laid bare. The faint moonlight caught the shimmer of her eyes, and something inside him gave way.
He had never known such loss, never faced uncertainty with the kind of courage she wore like armor. Yet here she was, a woman who had been stripped of everything, but still stood instead of crumbling underneath its weight.
Her voice wavered, then steadied. “I fear I might never be allowed to be part of Lizzy and Vi’s lives again—and the thought is unbearable. I cannot think of a way to mend what has broken.”
Bloody hell. Her words struck him harder than any blow he’d taken in his youth. He’d been born to privilege, to a name that opened every door before he even knocked. His future had been secured before he could speak. His life hadalwaysbeen assured: duty, privilege, inheritance. Even his wealth from investments was merely a supplement to what he would one day possess. He argued for fairness in Parliament, yet the truth was plain—he had never truly understood what it meant to go without, to worry where the next day’s comfort would come from.
And the woman before him, looking so heartbreakingly lovely in the moonlight, possessed more fortitude than any statesman he’d ever met. She reached for the decanter, and they shared the bottle in silence for a time, companionable and strangely easy. Then, with a sudden impulsiveness, she pressed her feet into the earth and pushed off, the swing lifting her higher and higher with each graceful motion. Her hair loosened, tumbling free in a cascade that caught the moonlight, and her laughter rang out—bright and unrestrained.
Sebastian’s mouth went dry. He had never seen a more breathtaking sight. Maryann swung in companionable silence, the hush between them threaded with awareness. She dragged her feet into the grass, slowing until the swing swayed gently before stilling. When she tried to stand, her balance wavered. Sebastian rose instinctively, but before he could reach her, she laughed—a soft, helpless sound—and stumbled again.
Realization struck. “Good God,” he muttered under his breath, “you’re tipsy.”
“I am not,” she declared, straightening with unsteady dignity. “Well… perhaps a little. Is this how it feels?”
When she swayed a third time, he moved quickly, catching her about the waist. Her laughter brushed against his throat as she looked up at him, her breath warm and scented faintly of whisky and summer night.
“Were you always this handsome,” she whispered, her voice husky, “or is it the moonlight?”
A startled laugh escaped Sebastian. “I should say it’s the whisky, not the moonlight, that makes me look so,” he murmured, his gaze caught helplessly by her parted lips.
She smiled dreamily. “Mmm. I dreamed about you once, my lord. It was… rather a wicked dream.”
Sebastian groaned softly. “You shouldn’t tell me that,” he said, his voice strained. “I should want to hear every detail but that would be taking advantage of your state.”
“Rubbish,” she said, then chuckled, pressing her hand against his chest. “I feel splendid. I was miserable and fearful, and then you came, and all of that simply drifted away. I think I deserve a reward.”
He huffed out a laugh. “If anyone deserves one, it’s I for cheering you up.”
“Next time,” she teased, hiccupping as a charming flush colored her cheeks.
“Next time? Do you plan to get tippled often?”
“Perhaps,” she whispered, her gaze softening, “especially if it leads to moments like this… with you.”
The air between them changed—quiet, charged, as if the night itself held its breath. Before he could answer, she rose onto her toes and pressed her mouth to his. Sebastian froze for the span of a heartbeat.
She shifted slightly and whispered against his lips, “This is my very first kiss… and I am glad it is with you.”
