The Demure Miss Manning

‘Perhaps,’ she answered with a laugh. ‘A half-timbered cottage, with a little rose garden, perhaps a cat on the front steps. Or maybe a shining white castle on a mountaintop. A place for a large family.’

‘A family,’ he murmured and Mary was sure she saw a strange shadow cross his face.

‘What would you want, Lord Sebastian?’

He laughed, that shadow gone before she was even sure she saw it. ‘A castle on a mountain sounds rather ideal. A place far from my family.’

Mary was suddenly reminded he was Lord Henry Barrett’s brother, and she shivered guiltily. ‘Are you not happy to be back with your family now?’

‘As happy as most people are with their families, I would imagine, Miss Manning. I am very glad of the friends and parties I have found in London, the distractions.’

Mary stared out into the garden. ‘Diversion, yes. You don’t have to stay out here with me, Lord Sebastian. I know many people will want to talk to you tonight.’

He gave her another smile, one so sweet, so alluring, it made her fall back against the chilly stone balustrade, unsure her legs would hold her upright now.

‘But I like it better here, talking to one person,’ he said. ‘You are most unexpected, Miss Manning.’

‘Me? Unexpected?’ she said, surprised. He was certainly the one who was unexpected—and even more intriguing than he had been before. There seemed to be so much hidden behind his dashing façade. ‘On the contrary, Lord Sebastian. I am most ordinary.’

‘Ordinary is certainly the very last thing you are.’ He reached for her hand, holding it gently between his fingers, as if it was a delicate, precious piece of glass. ‘Is it so unbelievable that I would rather be out here talking to you, watching the stars with you, than be packed into a crowded ballroom?’

Mary couldn’t stop staring at his hand on hers. His was so strong, sun-browned and scarred, against her white glove. ‘Yes,’ she blurted.

He laughed and raised her hand to his lips for a quick kiss. His mouth was warm and surprisingly soft through her thin glove, making her shiver. He looked so golden in the moonlight, so like a dream.

‘How little you do know me, Miss Manning,’ he said. Something like a flash of sadness, regret, passed over his face.

‘I don’t know you at all, surely, Lord Sebastian.’ And now she wanted to—all too much.

‘I feel as if I no longer know myself at all. I have done some wretched things, I fear,’ he said, pressing her palm to his cheek.

‘Wretched?’ Mary whispered. ‘Whatever do you mean?’

He shook his head. ‘I wish I could tell you—and I hope you never know. Yet I think you should see something...’

His expression looked so very far away, Mary was overwhelmed with the feeling of a bittersweet melancholy. She only knew she wanted to make him feel better, soothe whatever pain it was that seemed to burrow inside of him, beyond that golden beauty.

She didn’t know what else to do, so she went up on tiptoe and kissed him. She knew little of kissing outside of books, so her touch was soft, tentative, full of the hope she could distract him. But his lips parted under hers as his breath caught in surprise and the taste of him filled her with a warm rush of delight.

His hands closed over her shoulders and at first she feared he might push her away. Then he groaned, a hungry, wild sound deep in his throat, and his arms came around her in a hard embrace. He dragged her closer to his hard, warm chest and she went most willingly.

His mouth hardened on hers, his tongue tracing the soft curve of her lips before plunging inside to taste her deeply, hungrily. She wanted so much, more of him. She had never felt like that before, as if she soared up into the stars in truth.

She felt him press her back against the balustrade, his open mouth sliding from hers to trace her jaw, her arched neck. He touched the sensitive little spot behind her ear lightly with the tip of his tongue, making her laugh.

How wondrous kissing was! Why had she not known that before? Or was it only him that made it so wonderful? She reached up to twine her fingers in his hair and pulled him up to kiss her lips again. He went most eagerly, his kisses catching fire with a need that made her own burn even hotter.

‘Mary,’ he whispered against her skin and the one word was so full of deep hidden meaning.

She pressed herself even closer to him, wanting to be nearer and nearer. Wanting so much of—she knew not what. She had fallen into the stars.

‘Oh, bravo, Sebastian! That was quick work indeed.’

The sudden sound of a gleeful voice felt like a shower of cold water raining down on the golden sunshine of that kiss. Mary stumbled back from Sebastian and would have fallen over the balustrade if he hadn’t still held on to her arm. She physically ached, as if she had taken a sudden and sharp tumble.

She peered past his shoulder to find three men watching them—Lord Paul Gilesworth, Nicholas Warren and Lord James Sackville, who had been with Sebastian at Lady Alnworth’s house. It was Giles who had spoken and he watched them with a most repulsive, artificial smile. Mr Warren, to his dubious credit, looked red-faced and appalled, while Lord James laughed.

Mary shook her head. This was surely a nightmare. It simply had to be. Only a moment before, she had felt more burningly alive than ever before. Now she felt cold, distant from the whole scene before her, as if she watched it in a play.

What had seemed such a sparkling, wondrous fairy tale had become something strange and ugly. She closed her eyes and prayed for delivery from that bad dream. She felt his hand on her arm and even it was not like before. Now it felt like a shackle.

When she opened her eyes, it was all still there. The men looking at her, Gilesworth looking horribly triumphant. She was trapped, frozen. After so many years of being proper, being careful, she had made one small misstep and been caught. It was a horrible feeling.

She waited for Sebastian to say something, for the appalling embarrassment to vanish, but that one terrible instant seemed to stretch on and on.

Then Gilesworth’s words, all his words, crashed into her mind.

Quick work indeed.

Could that mean—was it really possible? Had Sebastian meant to seduce her into kissing him, for the amusement of his friends?

She swung around to look at him, horrified. He stared back at her, his face wary, unreadable. The man who had talked to her of the stars, who had listened to her confidences and kissed her so sweetly, had vanished.

‘Is...is it...’ she stammered. She wasn’t even sure what she was trying to say. Every word she ever knew had fled from her mind. She felt her cheeks flame with red-hot shame, yet at the same time she was frozen. She could only stare up at Sebastian. She couldn’t see his eyes in the shadows.

‘You should be quite proud, Miss Manning, to have gained the attention of such a hero as our Lord Sebastian,’ Gilesworth said smugly. ‘We weren’t sure the two of you really had it in you to be so bold. But I see that for fifty guineas...’

Fifty guineas? Were they paying Sebastian to kiss her?

Fool, fool, her mind screamed at her. She had never felt so silly, so stupid before in her life.

‘Mary, no, please...’ Sebastian began, his voice rough and hoarse.

But Mary couldn’t bear to hear him say anything, for him to make excuses or, far worse, laugh at her. She felt like the sky, so beautiful with those shimmering stars, was crashing atop her.

She shook her head and pulled her arm free of his touch. What had felt so warm, so safe, now felt like ice. She couldn’t bear to be near him a moment longer, to face the laughter of his friends. She spun around and ran towards the doors into the ballroom, hardly knowing where she was going. She heard Gilesworth’s laughter chasing her.

Only when she saw the bright lights, the blur of the spinning dancers, did she realise she was in no fit state to face a crowd. Even if word of that kiss, that horrid bet, spread, she would have to hold her head up in a dignified play-act. She veered around to the side of the house and found a footman to direct her to the ladies’ retiring room.

It was thankfully quiet in the small sitting room. Mary ducked behind a screen to take a deep breath, to close her eyes and try to slow down her racing thoughts. As she smoothed her hair and straightened her skirt, she heard the door open and other ladies’ gowns rustling into the room amid a cloud of laughter. She had to compose herself, then find her father and go home immediately.

The most handsome rogue in London. Mary bit her lip to keep from laughing aloud in a rather bitter fashion. They were utterly right, on both counts. Sebastian Barrett was devilishly handsome—and a terrible rogue, with no concern for ladies’ feelings. Mary was sure she should have realised that, should have realised that his attentions were all a terrible jest. Men like him had no interest in women like her.

She would never forget that again.

* * *

‘Mary!’ Sebastian called, but she was already gone, vanished into the darkness of the evening like a fluttering pink butterfly. His own head felt cursedly clouded, hazy with the unexpected delight of that kiss, and he wasn’t fast enough to catch her. He had started to tell her the truth, had wanted to tell her, and yet it all came much too late.