Page 31 of A Marriage of Convenience with a Rake
“No. No. I cannot sing,” she replied swiftly. “Or, mayhap I could, but you would not be pleased with the results.” She chuckled.
She heard a gasp, and tensed, but realized he was laughing.
“I see,” he replied, drawing a breath. “I see. But...you must learn,” he whispered. “How else...will you...make your children sleep?”
Eleanor tensed. A strange, blossoming loveliness ran through her veins. He thought she would have children. He could imagine that she and his son would have a large family. She beamed and came and sat down in the chair by his bed, near where Sebastian sat.
“I cannot sing,” she told him softly. “But I can tell stories. I always told my nephew stories when he was a baby. It helped a lot.”
“A story,” the Marquess breathed. “Could you tell me one? Just one. Just so I can sleep.”
“Of course,” she repeated. She drew a breath, closing her eyes. It felt awkward, sitting in the room with this man who she liked, but barely knew, and with Sebastian, who she feared and who confused her terribly. She imagined the house she grew up in, and the chestnut tree in the garden, and the sun on the lawns. Then the story started to form before her closed eyes.
“Once, long ago,” she began, her voice lilting as it was when she spun stories for her little nieces, “there was a castle. And in the castle was a prince. But this was a very sad prince,” she continued. She imagined it so plainly—a small boy, lonely and afraid, locked in a fortress by himself. The little boy had dark hair and brown eyes.
She continued, saying the prince one day climbed down out of the castle, and found a magic horse, who carried him all over the world. The horse came to be the creature he loved most of all, but that only made him sorrow more, because he had met no other creature who even could be trusted as she could. Then, sitting by an enchanted river, the horse began to speak. She explained that she was really a princess, enchanted into the form of a horse by an evil sorcerer. The waters of the lake could wash the curse away, and so the prince led her into the water and, suddenly, before him stood a beautiful princess. She was the love he’d been waiting for, and he’d known her all along, since he’d climbed onto her back. He just had not been able to see it.
She reached the closing of the tale and looked down at the Marquess. He was fast asleep, his chest rising and falling rhythmically, his hand loose in Sebastian’s. She glanced up at Sebastian. He was watching her with a look of awe in his eyes.
“What?” Eleanor whispered, feeling her cheeks redden. She had no idea why he was staring at her.
“We should go and eat something,” Sebastian said, not answering her question. His voice was tight, as if his throat was sore. “It’s almost three o’ clock.”
“Oh.” Eleanor blinked. As he said it, she realized how tired she was. She stood up, swaying as she stood, and he reached out, catching her hand before she fell.
“Take care,” he said gently. “You’ll fall over.”
“I’m all right,” she murmured, though she really was tired. She became aware of his hand gripping hers and looked down shyly.
“Thank you,” Sebastian said softly. His voice was low, but intense, and when she looked up again, his gaze focused on her. “Thank you. Your prompt action may have saved my father. And thank you,” he added, clearing his throat, “for...what you did for him. And me.”
She swallowed hard. His stare was open and unguarded, pain mixing with gentle warmth. She found herself drowning in that beautiful, chocolate-colored gaze, his eyes so shy and guarded and yet filled with so much emotion.
“I did nothing,” she said softly after a long moment of looking into his eyes. “I didn’t even sing.” She grinned at him. He laughed.
“Let us go and have some lunch,” he said gently. “We can have it brought up to the drawing-room. Then we shan’t be far away, should Papa need us.”
“Good idea,” Eleanor answered softly.
He looked into her eyes. She realized that he was still holding her hand. He looked down too, tightening his grip on her fingers for a moment.
“Thank you, Eleanor,” he murmured. “Thank you, more than I can say.”
He gazed into her eyes, and she looked back. Her throat tightened and she looked down. She could see something there—a tenderness, a warmth—that made her heart ache. She cleared her throat, the emotions that were blocking it almost felt painful.
“Come on,” he said gently. “Let’s go to the drawing-room.You need to sit down. And I do, too.”
She nodded and followed him out of the bedchamber and into the drawing room.
Chapter 12
The morning sunshine crept through the window of the drawing-room, pale at first, then brighter and certain, as the day progressed to noon. Sebastian, reading through the paper, trying to distract himself from his father’s illness, looked up at the bright sunshine and felt his heart leap.
It was almost midday.
The last two days, he and Eleanor had taken to having all their meals in the drawing-room together. It was much easier since they were within a few paces of Papa’s bedchamber. They had discussed it on the first afternoon that Papa had been taken sick, and they had both decided it made sense to eat there rather than in the dining-room, which was downstairs and in the west wing of the house.
He smiled, traces of the story she’d told still weaving through his mind as he found it did often. The lonely young man, locked in the castle all by himself—somehow, he had identified with that character. All his life, he’d felt lonely. It had been just himself and Papa, locked up, as it were, in the vastness of Ramsgate Manor. The story had appealed to him, making his thoughts tread new paths.
