“So you see,” she murmured at last, “I do know how it feels to be hurt and to carry the bitterness of it around with you always.”
She turned toward him then, tilting her head to meet his gaze. As he stared into her eyes, Sebastian thought he might get lost in them, and found he welcomed the opportunity. They were Cotswold eyes—the warm golden brown of local stone, blended with the vibrant green of the rolling hills. This was where she belonged.
“I know how difficult it is to forgive those who have hurt you,” she continued, “because I have never truly forgiven my relatives. As you said, the best I have been able to do is try to forget them.”
“Do not trouble yourself over it.” He clasped her hands between his. They felt small and cold, desperately in need of his strength and warmth. “Those people do not deserve your forgiveness.”
She considered for a moment then replied, “How many people do you suppose would ever be forgiven if they had to deserve it? I’m not certain I would.”
“Nonsense,” he growled, compelled to protect her, even from her own self-doubts. “What have you ever done that would need forgiveness?”
“What a short memory you have.” She flashed him a rueful grin that faded all too quickly. “The first time we met, I misjudged you and misled you. Most recently I have been a hypocrite, urging you to do what I could not do myself.”
A fine mist rose in her eyes.
“Don’t fret about any of that!” He released her hand and gathered her into his arms. “I don’t blame you. I understand.”
Wasn’t that what she had advised him to do for Lydia?
His effort to comfort Rebecca failed miserably. Or perhaps the anguish of all the painful memories she’d unearthed overcame her. A shudder went through her and then another as she began to weep in his arms. Even after she grew quiet, Sebastian found he could not let her go. It felt so right and natural to hold her like this.
And when she tilted her face toward him, it felt right and natural to lean forward...
Before prudence or wariness intervened to prevent him, he gave her a kiss that seemed to have been lurking on his lips all this time, awaiting just such an opportunity. To his relief and delight, Rebecca did not shrink from it but kissed him back.
It was just the sort of kiss he expected from her—sincere and generous with a refreshing air of innocence. Like a long-lost key, her kiss slipped into his heart, unlocking all the tender feelings he had resisted and denied. Out they poured, washing away painful memories, filling the arid, empty spaces within him, overwhelming every other thought but those of her... and them.
He could have stayed there forever, holding and kissing her.
But too soon, Rebecca stirred, tensed and drew back from him. “I’m so sorry, Sebastian... Lord Benedict! I did not mean to take advantage of your kindness like this. I must go!”
He caught her hand. “Stay with me, Rebecca! Not just now, but always. Marry me, please! Say you will be my wife.”
No sooner had those words left his mouth than dark doubts assailed him. How long had he known Rebecca Beaton, after all? Not much longer than he’d known Lydia when he proposed to her. And Rebecca had even more mercenary reasons to accept him than Lydia had—she’d told him so herself.
His heart sprang to her defense, insisting that Rebecca was nothing like his late wife. She was sincere, kind and understanding—a compound of all the best virtues!
But that argument only made his reason all the more suspicious. The intoxicating ardor he felt for her was all too familiar, though even more intense that he remembered from the last time. By allowing himself to care so much more for Rebecca, he had given her infinitely more power to make him happy... or miserable.
All those thoughts flashed through his mind while his proposal seemed to tremble in the fragrant air between them. Part of him yearned desperately for Rebecca to accept, while another part grew sick with fear that she might. In any case, it was out of his hands now. He’d blurted out the fateful words that had placed him in her power and he could not take them back.
“I...” She searched his gaze for some reassurance that this was what he truly wanted. “I...”
As he steeled himself for her answer, equally fearful of either, she cried, “I must go!”
Wrenching her hand from his, Rebecca spun away and ran up the path as if her darkest terrors were snarling and snapping at her heels.
Sebastian longed to pursue her but the tyranny of bitter memories kept him frozen there. In that moment he realized the only thing worse than either of the answers Rebecca might give him was no answer at all.
Chapter Nine
WHAT ANSWER WOULD she give Sebastian to his unexpected proposal?
After several days spent thinking of little else, Rebecca was no closer to a conclusion than she’d been when she fled the romantic tranquility of the Fountain Garden.
With all her heart, she longed to accept, for so many reasons. The most important of those was that she had come to care for Sebastian in a way she’d never expected to feel for any man. She admired his protectiveness, his concern for others and his willingness to use his high position to do some good. Yet he was no tiresome model of virtue. His company was well spiced with wry wit and informative, entertaining conversation. Besides that, she felt a deep connection to him on account of the losses and hurts they’d both suffered and tried to overcome.
Then there was his fine house and comfortable fortune. She wished she could claim they did not matter to her, but that would be untrue. For someone like her, who had moved so often and felt the humiliating deprivations of living on charity, the security of a home like Stanhope Court and freedom from the grim specter of want would be cherished blessings indeed.
Another blessing was that she would never have to be parted from Hermione. They would be even more like sisters than they had been, connected by family ties rather than terms of employment. If she agreed to wed Sebastian, Rebecca knew he could have no grounds to continue opposing his brother’s engagement to Hermione.
The thought of Hermione made Rebecca glance toward the pianoforte, where her young friend was practicing a romantic but rather melancholy air. It occurred to her that Hermione had been very subdued these past few days. She chided herself for being so preoccupied with Sebastian’s proposal that she had not noticed until now. Was Hermione having more second thoughts about marrying Claude Stanhope so soon? Was she worried about how her future brother-in-law might treat her?