He heard their audible gasps; and, yes, he’d had a little too much to drink, perhaps. He knew it was one thing for an old lady to publicly deride the lowly creature who worked for her but quite another for a gentleman of the ton to make fun of the situation, too.
Right now, Sebastian didn’t care what anyone thought. There was no way he was going to let the lowly companion disappear through that doorway. Not when, suddenly, a great deal was at stake.
Riveted, he watched the young woman under scrutiny slowly return, as Lady Fenton settled herself at the keyboard. The girl’s reluctance was apparent; the embarrassment of his hosts was palpable.
And the gathering excitement in Sebastian’s breast was unstoppable.
Even though their songstress kept her head averted as her voice rose above the tinkling notes, certainty and expectation powered through him.
He wasn’t quite sure how he managed to restrain himself sufficiently to remark, not entirely steadily, either, "Certainly, you are right, Lady Indigo, in that the young lady’s talents lie with her playing.” In truth, he had no idea what he was saying, other than it couldn’t have been complimentary as he met the reproving glances of everyone in the room.
"Hmph, well, I think Venetia didn't deserve that," grumbled Lady Indigo, nodding at her companion. "And I'm sorry for what I said, but I'm sure you've had enough of small talk, Venetia. Please will you go and see that the warming iron in my bed is the right temperature."
Obediently the girl rose, but as she did not glance in Sebastian’s direction, he was again frustrated by doubt.
Until one covert glance across the swarm of bodies sealed everything.
And Sebastian had to grip the back of his chair as his vision coalesced into a kaleidoscope of red and black, saying in as unaffected a tone as he could manage, “Perhaps Miss Reeves would entertain us with another piece. And Lady Fenton might be prevailed upon to continue her excellent work at the pianoforte.”
Miss Reeves blushed prettily. She was very good at that, he observed. Her grace and timing were consummate, for she hesitated a perfect moment before conceding with just the right show of shyness and reluctance.
Not that Sebastian cared how prettily she blushed or sang or did anything for that matter. He just needed to be strategic. Nor could he bolt out of the room and after Venetia like the overenthusiastic schoolboy he felt.
“I shall be back by the time you decide what you shall sing,” he added, bowing at the ladies before making for the door, his movements leisurely before he hastened his stride. His departure would be mistaken for the call of nature. He’d been in the house a good few hours and knew his way about.
But he must hurry. The blood was pounding loudly in his ears, and an excitement more heady and exhilarating than he’d felt in his whole life was powering through him.
Quickly, he traversed the passageway, stopping on the threshold of the long gallery. The guest wing was along the passage that led from the far end of this area. Lady Indigo’s bedroom would be one of these. Surely she hadn’t scuttled away as quickly as to give him no chance to catch up.
Surely…
As he stopped to survey the shadows ahead of him, the pounding of his heartbeat was now deafening.
Yet all was silent in the cavernous room with its high ceiling and book-lined walls.
Taking a cautious step forward, he scanned the immediate vicinity. Lord, when last had his palms felt clammy and his neck linen too tight?
He knew the answer to this only too well. It was why he was here; why he was so agitated.
And then he saw her, glancing up at a painting about halfway down the room, to the left, and almost shrouded by a large bust on a plinth.
Without a second thought, Sebastian set his footsteps in her direction, covering the distance in quick time, snatching at her wrist to swing her around so that with a stumble she was in the circle of his arms; and as she tilted her head up with a gasp, he was able to claim her mouth, her soft, sweet lips melting beneath his.
Before she truncated the ecstasy that roared through his body, by giving him a sharp push.
He stumbled back against the window, hurt and confusion warring within him.
“Venetia?” They’d parted on a kiss and a promise. This was not what he’d expected.
Not what he’d dreamed would be the culmination of so many months—no, years—of waiting. Of hoping. “Are you not glad to see me?” He felt his right hand begin to tremble with the familiar painful spasm that came upon him in times of stress, and held it behind his back so she’d not see evidence of his weakness. His dueling injury was not something of which he was proud.
Her eyes were dark and luminous as she bit her lip, staring at him as if she hardly knew what to say. “Sebastian,” she whispered.
“Why did you not acknowledge me?”
She shook her head, unable to speak and, wounded, he went on, “Do you know how much self-control I had to exercise to prevent myself from leaping over the piano and dragging you off in front of everyone…once I’d finally ascertained your identity by your voice?”
“You haven’t exactly displayed much self-control these past few months,” she said softly, turning to look out of the window into the darkened garden below.
The recrimination in her tone was like a lash. Only Venetia had the power to bring him back to earth and temper his excesses. But Sebastian could allay the criticism she would level at him, now. He took her hands, giving them a gentle tug so that she faced him. “The gossip mill had a field day with the story. You know my faults, Venetia, and there are many of them. But I am not a liar, and I’m not a philanderer.”
He watched the play of emotions cross her lovely face, and it was like being transported back to the days of his youth when he had hope. When he truly believed they could overcome the obstacles their respective fathers had placed in the way of the marriage they wanted above all else.
The marriage Sebastian still wanted...above all else.
But, of course, it was unreasonable to expect that she’d been living in wait for him as if their lives had both been put on hold. A great deal must have happened for Venetia to be in the situation he now found her, as a put-upon servant or companion to an exacting old woman.
“Venetia!” He squeezed her hands when she still did not answer, his voice sounding ragged and imploring to his own ears. “Do you know how long and hard I’ve searched for you? Do you remember, when you sent me away, I swore that I would find you if ever I became free?”
“You fought a duel within four months of being widowed, Sebastian,” she whispered. “And you were named as the other party in Mrs Compton’s divorce case not two months later.” He felt the shudder that ran through her as she went on, “I find it hard to believe you searched very hard for me after Dorothea died.”
Sebastian swallowed down the painful lump in his throat. And even though the lack of enthusiasm on her part was wholly dampening, his one hopeful thought was that he surely could offer her a better future.
Even if she had lost her trust and faith in him right at this moment, he could at least do that for her.
“Venetia, please give me the benefit of the doubt until I’ve had a chance to tell you my side of the story.” His throat felt dry. To be so close to the woman he’d ached to be with every moment of his disastrous marriage, and beyond, yet to feel her scorn, was almost more than he could bear. “I searched everywhere for you! I know I showed terrible judgment in the case of Lady Banks and Mrs Compton but...Mrs Compton’s husband has forgiven her.” He took a breath. “And I’m hoping you can forgive me since...since, having failed to find you, I thought you must have left the country or married someone else since we’d both been true to our promise to one another to have no contact after I married Dorothea.”