Page 62 of The Traitor
Milly resumed caressing her beast while Sebastian gave her time to put together some of the puzzle pieces: Lady Flynn had been indiscreet at some point in the past. Milly did not need to know that the indiscretion had involved a Russian diplomat who’d shared the occasional bottle with the professor.
“Both of them? Lady Flynn and Lady Covington?”
“Aunt holds a few of Lady Covington’s markers, so to speak.” Whist being occasionally played for imprudent stakes.
“They seem like such nice women.”
She sounded so forlorn, Sebastian shifted to take a place beside her on the sofa, his arm around her shoulders. The moment was sweet, domestic, and laced with sorrow, because a lifetime of such evenings with his wife would be denied him.
He kissed her temple.
“They are nice women. They will deal with each other civilly, and I daresay, the ladies will call upon you to admire your ring and congratulate you on your married state.”
Outside, darkness settled over the city like a soft summer quilt, and a heavy wagon jingled past, putting Sebastian in mind of MacHugh’s gift of time. A week would not be enough, but then, neither would a lifetime.
“I feel guilty for not notifying my only relations that I’m marrying, Sebastian. They are my family.”
“Sometimes, my dear, the kindest thing you can do is leave your family in ignorance.” Soon enough she’d be widowed, if not thanks to MacHugh, then thanks to whoever next stepped from the shadows, intent on ending Sebastian’s life. Time enough to deal with her family then.
She let her head rest on his shoulder. “You were with the solicitors for quite a while.”
“I am to be married tomorrow, which creates a substantial change in my situation. When we come back from St. Clair Manor, you will take your turn with the solicitors too. You will be not only my wife, but also my baroness.”
And she would need to sign many documents in that capacity. Would she think of Sebastian each time she made her signature?
“I would rather be your friend, sir.”
Between a pat to the cat’s head and a delicate yawn, she had put her finger on the greatest sorrow of their situation, one Sebastian could spare her for the present: She did, indeed, have the potential to be his friend. He would not be marrying her otherwise. In the course of walks through lavender-scented fields, quiet evenings before the fire, and quieter nights of loving, Sebastian might well have found the courage to share with her every shadow on his soul, every regret and hope.
“You’re falling asleep, madam. This is no compliment to your fiancé’s company.”
“It’s a compliment to how comfortable I am in his arms. Is there something about this wedding you’re not telling me, Sebastian?”
“Yes.” This time he followed up his kiss to her temple with a nuzzle to her hair. “You’ll be a wealthy woman, eventually. You must plan for your loving family to try to exploit that, and maneuver accordingly.”
She was silent, perhaps falling asleep. The weight of her against his side was dear and comforting. “I thought the barony was impoverished.”
“The barony struggled badly, but Aunt held matters together. Lately, things have gone much better, in part because I have connections on the Continent for anything I wish to dispose of there. Then too, I had some personal wealth, which my uncle and then his solicitors managed for me. Because I was stuck in France, I was unaware of those funds until after the hostilities were over.”
Which was fortunate, or he would have frittered them away too.
“My life was so simple before,” she said, bestirring herself to kiss his cheek. “I intend that it remain simple after we’re married.”
He loved that she cuddled and kissed him so easily, so generously.
“How will you do that? If nothing else, you’ll have the infrequent occasion of state, the household duties at St. Clair Manor, and quite possibly a baby to contend with.”
“None of which matters much, except for the baby.” She set the cat aside. From his expression, Peter did not appreciate being deprived of her lap, and Sebastian could only sympathize. “What matters, the only task to which I must attend without fail, is to love my husband.”
She snuggled against Sebastian’s chest, which was well done of her. His arms came around her, while grief, joy, a distant sense of Gallic irony, and a sharp twinge of anger collided inside him.
She’d sidled up to the sentiment quietly, avoiding notice but paying attention all the while, and then she’d ambushed him, only a small kiss of warning before she fired her broadside.
Sebastian cuddled her closer. “He’s a lucky fellow, this husband of yours. Damned lucky.” And he wasn’t a coward, either, though he hardly knew in what direction lay the kind, honorable thing to say. “He will make loving his wife his highest priority too.”
He kissed her cheek, stroked a hand over her hair, and wondered how much love two people could cram into a week, or a few weeks, before one of those people was left widowed, her love turning to sorrow, then hatred.
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