“Love, where you’re concerned, that subject is always foremost in my thoughts. You are fortunate I restrained myself.”
“Restrained? Five times is restrained?”
Black eyes met hers. They were hard and feverishly hot. “Aye.”
Good heavens. She could scarcely catch her breath. “Bastian.”
“Stop temptin’ me, Gus. I’d wager you’re too sore for the consequences.”
“How am I tempting you? I simply spoke your name.”
“Precisely.” He glowered. “Perhaps I should go to the club.”
Her vexation with him returned. “It is the morning after our wedding. You will stay here, where you belong.”
“There you go tempting me again. Best finish your breakfast, love. You keep on like this, you’ll need the sustenance.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I’ve done nothing remotely provocative—mmph!”
He’d grasped her nape and pulled her into a kiss before she could finish a sentence. He tasted of coffee and lust. When he released her, her gown felt too warm and too tight and … oh, how she wanted him.
“Bastian,” she panted against his mouth.
“Aye, love,” he replied, stroking a sensitive little spot at the back of her skull, just above her nape. He sent shivers rippling down her spine.
“I am worried for Phoebe.”
“I know.”
“I want to help her.”
He kissed her once more, this time with sweet, slow tenderness. “We will. I’ve a plan.”
“Tell me.”
He sighed. Chuckled. Released her nape. “You are the most obstinate woman I have ever known, Augusta Kilbrenner.”
She smiled, hearing the pleasure in his voice. “It has served me well.”
He answered with a grunt. Then, he sat back and folded his arms across his chest. “The woman Glassington plans to marry.”
“An heiress. Yes?”
“Aye. Her name is Miss Elder. I plan to speak to her father this afternoon. If the man has any sense, he will prevent the marriage.”
Hope—a frightening degree of hope—swelled in her chest. “Do you—do you think it will work?”
“Depends. Shaw mentioned he spotted Miss Elder and Glassington by chance outside a shop on Piccadilly a short while ago. Said she appeared smitten.” He shrugged. “Her father intends to purchase her a title, that much is clear. If the cost is her misery—”
She nodded, nibbling her lip. “Yes, I agree. Unless he bears her a great affection, he may ignore your warnings in favor of making his daughter a countess.”
“What would your father have done?”
Blinking, she considered his question. “Father wanted us safe and happy. Although he believed a title would give us the best chance at the first, he would have wanted us to have both, title or no.”
Sebastian nodded. “He would not have approved of Glassington.”
“No, I expect not.”
Ash entered, carrying a fresh pot of tea. He set it on the table with a clatter and released a dramatic breath. “Mighty ’eavy pot, Lady Reaver. Whew! I might need another slice of bacon, if ye can spare it for a poor, small lad what works ’is fingers to the bone.”
Augusta raised a brow. “Have you completed your tasks in the kitchen?”
“Every one. I carried in wood. I swept the floor. I even cleaned some pots.”
Her eyes narrowed upon him. “And the stables?”
He shifted his feet and dropped his gaze. “Might be a task or two left.”
“Such as?”
“Tendin’ the stalls.”
She waited.
“And cleanin’ the saddles.”
She suppressed a smile. The boy was incorrigible. “Have you entered the stables at all this morning, Ash?”
“Nah.”
“Did you spend the entire night in your bedchamber?”
His sweet little chin went up. “Aye, indeed, Lady Reaver. I promised, didn’t I?”
“Yes, you did,” she said gently, unable to stop herself from stroking his hair. “Very well, you may have more bacon. But I expect you to complete your duties in the stables. And do not run off, understand? You must tell Mrs. Higgins when you have finished.”
As usual, he ceased paying attention the moment she gave him what he wanted. He dashed to the sideboard and filled a plate bigger than his head with a pile of bacon, then returned to the kitchen.
Beside her, Sebastian stood. He bent and kissed her mouth with a bit more fervor than she’d been expecting. She moaned and melted, grasping the back of his head and pulling him tighter against her.
But he drew away to gaze into her eyes. “I must go. You make me want too much, woman.”
“I do?”
“Aye. You’re bloody wondrous.”
She blinked, her throat tightening. “I am?”
“You are, love.”
“Will you be here for dinner?”
“I will.”
“Because I want you home as soon as possible.”
“Is that so?”
“Luncheon, even.”
He kissed her again.
“Or—or midmorning tea.”
And again.
“Now, Bastian. We could go upstairs now—”
He kissed her one last time, grinned wickedly, and stroked her cheek. “I like when you call me Bastian.”
“It is how I think of you,” she confessed in a whisper. “My bastion. A fortress of stone surrounding me.”
“God, love. I’ll be takin’ ye right here on the table if ye don’t stop temptin’ me.”
“Oh. Am I meant to object?”
He pulled away, the skin upon his cheeks and jaw tight and flushed. “Bloody, bleeding hell, Gus.”
As he stalked from the morning room, his pantaloons offering flagrant proof of his desire, she called, “I shall see you at dinner.”
A grunt was his only reply.
~~*
Outside an absurdly ostentatious house on the edges of Mayfair, Reaver watched his breath plume in the frigid air and glared hard at Shaw. “What the devil was that?”
Shaw settled his hat tighter on his head and raised a brow. “To what are you referring?”
“Ye bloody well made a muck of everything.”
A sniff. “One man’s opinion. I would say I made a fair and reasoned argument.”
“You told the man his daughter stood no chance of landing a title like Glassington’s, should he refuse to allow the match.”
“Which is true. You did not see her, Reaver. Sallow skin. Teeth better suited to Colonel Smoots, there.” He nodded at Reaver’s horse.
Reaver ran a gloved hand down his face. “I shouldn’t be surprised if Elder hastens the wedding now.”
“In fairness, Glassington is precisely the sort of gentleman he set out to leg-shackle. Titled and desperate.” He shrugged. “Who can blame a father for wanting—”
“When I told him of Glassington’s tendency to seduce and abandon virtuous young ladies, you said he should prevent disaster by locating a clergyman at once.”
“Sound advice.”
“Then you implied Glassington would ‘mature’ once he was married.”
“It could happen. Some men do.”
“What am I to tell Augusta?”