Page 74 of And Then There Was the One
She swallowed—and then, like a dash of cold water, his words belatedly registered. “You’re… leaving tomorrow, then.” She tried to play off this observation as light and casual, but didn’t think she’d remotely managed it. If the way everyone else was suddenly looking into their drink was any indication, shedefinitelyhadn’t.
“I’ve a bit of business to attend to in London,” Sebastiansaid, and then, before he—or Georgie—could say anything else, Arthur added, “Speaking of London.”
“You’ve accepted the position withThe Times?” Georgie guessed.
“I have,” Arthur agreed. “I’ll start next month. Should give me time to sort out a flat. And… other arrangements.” He stole a glance at Lexington.
“Well,” Georgie said, draining the last of her whisky with a bit of a grimace and standing. “That’s lovely. But it’s been a long day, and I think I’d like to get to bed.”
Sebastian was on his feet immediately. “I’ll walk you.”
Georgie waved him off. “I’ll be fine. You should stay here—no reason for you to come home early, too.”
“Georgie—”
“I have my bicycle,” she said curtly. “I don’t think you can keep up.”
And then, before anyone could offer any further objections—or even much in the way of a goodbye—she was gone, out the front door and down the steps to where her bicycle leaned against the front gate, waiting for her.
“Georgie.”
Sebastian’s voice was quiet, but it startled her nonetheless; she hadn’t heard his footsteps. She turned and found him a half dozen feet away, hands in his pockets, watching her with an unreadable expression on his face.
“I told you I didn’t need an escort home,” she said, the words sounding more clipped than she’d intended. “You’re leaving tomorrow, anyway—it’s not as though I need you to walk with me.”
“I wanted to speak to you about that, actually,” he said, his voice still quiet, more serious than she’d ever heard it.
And, suddenly, she was gripped by a desperate desire to avoid whatever conversation he was about to attempt with her. She didn’t want to hear his pretty words about how much he “appreciated their time together,” or something along those lines. She didn’t want to think about the feeling of his mouth on hers, or of how the muscles of his bare back had felt beneath her hands, or of how peculiarly safe she had felt tucked in his arms with her back pressed to his chest. And, somehow, most of all, she didn’t want to think of the moment last night—after they’d returned home, triumphant from the success of their meeting with Miss Halifax, and they were having celebratory cocktails with Papa and Abigail—when, as they sat next to each other on the sofa, listening to Abigail discuss her plans for the new desserts she was going to introduce at the Scrumptious Scone, Sebastian had reached his hand over, just enough to hook his little finger around Georgie’s. And she’d thought, in that moment, that she had never felt less alone.
“I don’t think there’s anything to discuss,” she said now, keeping her tone brisk. “You’re going home tomorrow—I know you’re fond of me, but once you’re back in London, I’m sure you’ll have moved on to someone new before twenty-four hours have passed. Soon, I’ll be nothing but a happy memory.”
“Is that what you think of me?” he asked. His voice was still low and quiet, and he took a couple of steps toward her as he spoke. “After the past week of working together, oftalking, of—after the other night, do you still think of me as someone who cares for nothing except luring every woman I meet into bed?”
She reached out a hand, then yanked it back just as quickly. It was best not to touch him now. “Do you think I would have gone to bed with you if I thought that?”
“I don’t know,” he said, and there was the slightest bit of uncertainty in his voice, completely alien in this man who always seemed so self-assured, sounbothered.“You told me afterward—you said that you’d done that. Before. Which I don’t care about,” he added hurriedly, seeing the no-doubt-dangerous look that crossed her face at that. “Of course I don’t—I’d be a raging hypocrite if I did. I don’tcarewhat you’ve done in your past, or with whom. But… well, I’m starting to wonder ifyoucare. About me, and my past.”
“You prattle on to anyone who will listen about your romantic exploits, all your conquests in town. It took medaysto realize that it was just—”
“Just what?” he asked, more quietly still.
“Just a shield,” she said simply. “A defense tactic. If no one knows the real Sebastian—not those women you slept with, not anyone you meet who sees you only as some sort of playboy—then you can’t be hurt when they underestimate you. If you set their expectations low yourself, then you avoid any chance of disappointing anyone.”
He was silent for a long moment, then abruptly stepped closer to her still—close enough that she had to tilt her head back to look him in the eyes.
“And ifyouconvince yourself that no one in this villagecould possibly do without you, then you don’t have to find the courage to chase after what you really want.”
Georgie took a step back. “I didn’t ask for your opinion—the opinion of someone who’s leaving on a train to London tomorrow, who will prance away without another thought for me.”
“Why don’t you ever pay attention?” he asked, reaching out to take both of her hands in his, his grip firm without being painful, strong enough that it would have taken some effort for her to wriggle herself free. “What have I done for the past week, other than try to show you how much I cannot stop thinking of you—how brilliant I think you are? How clever? How impressive, and beautiful, and maddening, and…” He trailed off, searching for something that seemed to evade him. “How perfect I think you are,” he finished, and she blinked as if she’d been struck.
“No,” she said, her cheeks flushing from his words, which in turn somewhat contrarily made her feel a bit angry, because there were few things on earth she despised more than blushing. She refused to stand here and let this man call herperfect, of all things—not when he wasn’t going to stay. Not when he couldn’t be hers.
“You were flirting, and being charming—the same as you do with everyone else. And you kissed me, and—and all the rest—because you’re—well, you’re bored, I suppose, since there are no other ladies in the village to romance.”
“No, Georgie.” He laughed then, a sharp laugh that was not at all similar to the usual winsome sound of his chuckle. “I kissed you, and all the rest, because I am falling in love withyou, and I don’t know how to tell you.” He shook his head. “Except I suppose I just did. And I suppose it doesn’t matter, if you’re never going to take me seriously.” He loosened his grip and raked a hand through his golden hair, mussing it just as her fingers had two nights earlier.
Georgie stood as though rooted to the spot, unable to make the words he had just uttered come together in her mind in an arrangement that made the slightest bit of sense.
