Page 14 of Marriage Most Scandalous
John started to laugh. “You’re really going to charge her?”
Sebastian raised a brow. “When this job was forced down my throat, as it were? I see no bloody difference in what Margaret pulled off due to a slip of my tongue and what that tyrant in Austria tried to do. Neither job would I have accepted without their blasted machinations. So you’re damned right I’m going to take every copper she’s got.”
“I wouldn’t exactly call it a job, finding out what’s happening at home.”
“No, but if I don’t treat it as one, then I won’t go. It’s that simple,” Sebastian said, then added, “I don’t exactly give a bloody damn if she blackens my name across the breadth of Europe.”
He said it without anger, but the anger was there. You just had to know him really well to detect it. And then he shrugged.
“It’s my own fault for being sarcastic with her. She wasn’t supposed to agree to that ridiculous price, but she did, so I’ll live with it.”
“I don’t recall Lady Margaret as a child,” John remarked offhandedly. “Turned out to be quite a handsome woman, though, didn’t she?”
Sebastian grunted noncommittally. He remembered little Maggie Landor as a precocious, daring chit who’d been snooping on her sister’s friends at Eleanor’s engagement party and had interrupted him while he’d been kissing one of them—deliberately, he didn’t doubt. She hadn’t shown the promise of turning out this pretty. Her sandy brown hair wasn’t remarkable, though her eyes were a striking dark brown, almost black. Rich sable came to mind. Her complexion wasn’t quite ivory but a blend of snowy cream. She wouldn’t tan well in the summer was his guess. She wore no makeup. Like many highbrows, she probably considered it too artificial. But then she needed none. Her dark lashes were naturally thick and long. Her dark brows were narrow, delicately arched. Her lips had their own rosy tint and a fullness that almost demanded a taste...
She was on the petite side, her head barely reached his shoulders. But she wasn’t a narrow wisp of a chit. Some women starved themselves so they wouldn’t have to fight with their corsets. Margaret didn’t appear to be one of them. She wasn’t plump by any means, but she was sturdy and curvaceous . . . very curvaceous. A man wouldn’t have to fear she’d crumble in his hands.
She made quite the pretty package indeed, enough so that he’d actually found himself hoping during those few moments before she stated her business that she was one of the tavern wenches come to win the bet, because she would definitely have won it. It was too bad she had that stubborn chin, which had proved to be an accurate prediction of her nature.
He wondered why she hadn’t married. She was a prime catch, after all, very pretty, an earl’s daughter, and apparently rich, if she could frivolously squander one hundred thousand pounds. She hadn’t even blinked at his price, blast it.
But he also wondered if her breasts were really as firm as they’d seemed, pushing against the velvet of her spencer jacket. Probably. He even had a feeling she’d fit very nicely beneath his sheets.
Bloody hell! The brandy must be getting to him at last. Margaret Landor infuriated him. She was the last woman he wanted to see beneath his sheets.
Chapter 7
MARGARET WAITED INSIDE HER COACH. It was toasty warm with a brazier burning and a thick lap robe, so cozy that Edna had fallen asleep on the seat across from her, the hour being so early. Oliver was driving them as usual. It was her father’s coach, crested, and so comfortable she hadn’t been able to bear the thought of traveling without it, so she’d had it shipped to the Continent with her.
It had cost her two extra days’ wait in England for a ship that would agree to take on such a large piece of cargo without prior warning, but she’d been adamant and had waited. She hoped there wouldn’t be another delay in shipping the coach back home, especially now that she’d be traveling the rest of the way with him.
Edna and Oliver had certainly been relieved to find out who The Raven actually was when she’d told them last night. Much better in their minds that she’d be traveling with the disgraced son of an earl who was at least known to them, rather than a deadly foreign mercenary who wasn’t.
There was no light visible from inside the ruins, but then there probably wouldn’t be even if the lamps were lit. The only windows in the livable rooms didn’t face the front, after all. It was barely dawn. Margaret rarely rose so early, but she didn’t want to be accused of being late and give him an excuse to beg off from their arrangement.
The road to the coast and the nearest harbor at Le Havre wound near Sebastian’s ruins. They hadn’t said where they would meet, so she’d taken it upon herself to start the journey and collect him on the way. She could just make out one of the horses inside the great hall, so she was sure she hadn’t missed him. He was in there, and she hoped not still asleep. She’d give him twenty minutes more before she sent Oliver in to get him.
Twenty minutes later there was still no sign of anyone stirring within the old ruins. It had begun to occur to Margaret that her expectations could well be dashed. Sebastian had had time to sleep on it, after all. He’d probably changed his mind, the dratted man. He was going to come out and rudely tell her to leave again.
And then the boy came out, leading a placid mare. He waved toward the coach and flashed a grin so wide that Margaret couldn’t help smiling. Such a likable young lad. She wondered what he was doing living with such a dour fellow as Sebastian Townshend. He was a bit young to have been hired as a stableboy, but she supposed he could be no more than that.
John Richards followed him, leading his horse as well. He stopped to adjust a few straps on the animal. There was no baggage of any sort that she could see. Surely they traveled with a few changes of clothes—or perhaps they weren’t planning to come with her.
She wasn’t going to be assured that Sebastian hadn’t changed his mind until she actually spoke to him. She’d forced his hand, after all. He hadn’t been the least bit serious about accepting the job, no matter the unheard-of price he’d arbitrarily tossed out as the deciding factor. And she’d been temporarily insane to accept that price. She didn’t exactly have that kind of money lying around to pay him with. It could very well pauper her to come up with it.
She should have just accepted his refusal and gone home alone. She’d been gone for four months. For all she knew, there could have been another accident during that time. Douglas might already be dead....
She paled at the thought. Good God, she hoped not. But the irony was there, that she could be paupering herself for naught. She didn’t think Sebastian would have the decency to release her from the obligation if they did find out his father was already dead. He used to be a decent sort and a lot more. He used to be a charming young man, honorable, exemplary, quite the catch in his day, heir to an earldom, rich, exceptionally handsome, and well liked by his peers.
Of course, she knew none of that at the time, hadn’t been interested in such things at the age she’d been before he left England. She’d heard it all after the fact, the bemoaning of certain ladies who missed him, the bemoaning of old dames who’d hoped to lure him into their families with one female relative or another.
But she had been fascinated by him, and she’d never been able to forget the night she’d spied on him in the garden behind her home. The terrace had been well lit, the garden just beyond it hadn’t been, and he’d managed a rendezvous with one of Eleanor’s friends there. She’d followed him only because she’d been surreptitiously watching him from the edges of the party since he’d arrived.
She hadn’t expected to come around a hedge and almost collide with him and the lady. They were already kissing! That was so quick, he must have started it as soon as he’d found the lady there. And they were so involved in the kissing that they hadn’t heard her approach. She’d jumped back behind the hedge, embarrassed at first, but then her curiosity got the better of her and she’d poked her head around to watch them.
Her eyes had adjusted by then to the moonlight filtering down through the treetop. They were in an alcove in the garden, with a tree at the center and a bench set below it, surrounded by flowers and hedges. She used to come there herself to read in the summer. She never went there again after that night, so potent was the memory of watching Sebastian in such a sensual embrace, the lady trapped in his arms and not minding a’tall. Or maybe the lady didn’t notice when his hand caressed her derriere, or stopped briefly to feel her breast. She seemed too enthralled to be aware of anything other than his kiss, and yet, he was doing so much more than just kissing her. His hands were all over her, and his body, oh my, the way he used his body to such titillating effect...
Margaret always wondered what would have happened if she hadn’t broken that twig when she’d lost her balance trying to get a better view of them. That twig had made a bloody loud noise. A slap had followed, then the lady ran back to the house. Maggie had watched her run off, then turned back to find Sebastian’s golden eyes on her. He didn’t appear upset. If anything, his raised brow indicated some amusement.
