Rested. And at the same time, like he wanted to close his eyes, set his head on a pillow next to hers, and sleep. He’d never felt anything like it.
And now he’d gone and ruined it. She was staring at the ground, her cheeks pinched, and it was as if the color had gone out of her. She looked exactly the same, not pale, not flushed, and yet she was colorless.
It was coming from the inside. It broke his heart.
He could see it now—her life as his uncle’s wife. It wouldn’t break her, it would just slowly suck her dry.
He couldn’t allow it. He simply could not allow it.
“I asked you to marry me yesterday,” he said.
She looked away. Not down at her feet this time, but away.
She didn’t have an answer. He was stunned at how much this stung. She wasn’t even refusing him; she was just begging for more time.
Silently begging, he corrected. Perhaps it would be more accurately described as avoiding the question altogether.
Still, he’d asked her tomarry him. Did she think he made such offers lightly? He’d always thought that when he finally proposed marriage, the woman in question would burst into happy tears, beside herself with bliss and joy. A rainbow would break out of the sky, butterflies would dance overhead, and all the world would join hands in song.
Or at the very least, she’d say yes. He hadn’t thought himself the type of man to propose marriage to a woman who might say no.
He stood. He was too restless to sit now. All that peace, all that lovely weightlessness—gone.
What the hell was he supposed to do now?
Chapter Twenty
Annabel watched as Sebastian walked toward the water. He stood near the edge, almost close enough to get his shoes wet. He looked out toward the opposite shore, his posture stiff and unyielding.
It was so unlike him. It was so…wrong.
Sebastian was loose limbed, graceful. His every movement was a secret dance, every smile a silent poem. This was not right. It was not him.
When had she come to know him so well, that she could tell by the line of his back that he was not himself? And why did it hurt so much, to know that she knew this? That she knewhim .
After what seemed an eternity, he turned around and said with heartbreaking formality, “From your silence I must deduce that you do not have an answer for me.”
She moved her head in a tiny motion, just enough to say no.
“It does prick the confidence,” he said, “to steal your phrase.”
“It’s all very complicated,” Annabel said.
He crossed his arms and regarded her with a quirk of his brow. And just like that, he was back. The stiffness was gone, replaced by an easy confidence, and when he walked toward her, it was with an
arrogant grace that mesmerized her.
“It’s not complicated,” he said. “It couldn’t be simpler. I asked you to marry me, and you want to. All you have to do is say yes.”
“I didn’t say—”
“You want to,” he said, with an unbelievably annoying degree of certainty. “You know that you do.”
He was right, of course, but Annabel could not help but be provoked by his swagger. “You’re rather sure of yourself.”
He stepped toward her, smiling slowly. Seductively. “Shouldn’t I be?”
“My family…” she whispered.
“Won’t starve.” He touched her chin, tipping her face gently toward his. “I’m not a pauper, Annabel.”
“There are eight of us.”
He considered this. “Very well, no one will starve, but you all might get a bit thin.”
She let out a snort of laughter. She hated that he could make her laugh at such a moment. No, she loved it. No, she lovedhim .
Oh God.
She jumped back.
“What is it?” he asked.
She shook her head.
“Tell me,” he prodded, and he took her hand, tugging her back toward him. “Something just happened. I saw it in your eyes.”
“No, Mr.—”
“Sebastian,” he reminded her, touching his lips to her forehead.
“Sebastian,” she croaked. It was hard to speak when he was so close. It was hard to think.
His lips moved to her cheekbone, light and soft. “I have ways of making you talk,” he whispered.
“Wh–what?”
He nibbled on her lower lip, then moved to her ear. “What were you thinking?” he murmured.
She could only moan.
“I shall have to be more persuasive.” His hands moved to her back, sliding down until he cupped her
bottom, pressing her against him. Annabel felt her head tilt back, away from his sensual onslaught, but still, she could barely breathe. His body was so hard, and hot, and she could feel his arousal growing against her.
“I want you,” he whispered. “And I know you want me.”
“Here?” she gasped.
He chuckled. “I’m a bit more refined than that. But,” he added, sounding thoughtful, “weare quite alone.”
She nodded.
“None of the guests have arrived yet.” He kissed the soft skin where her ear met the line of her jaw. “And I think it is safe to assume that your marvelous cousin will not disturb us.”
“Sebastian, I—”
“We shall make her godmother to our children.”
“What?” But she could barely gasp the word. His hand had found its way under her skirt and was moving relentlessly up her leg. And all she wanted—oh dear God, she was wicked—was to bend a little, and open a little, and make it easier for him to do whatever it was he wanted.
“She can teach them all to skip stones,” he said, reaching the tender spot just above her knee. Annabel shuddered.
“Ticklish there?” he said with a smile. He moved higher. “We shall have lots of children, I think. Lots and lots and lots.”
