The Seduction of Sebastian St. James (House of Renwick #2)(53)

His body was tighter than a drum, if the girl decided to move again he would lose all control and truly finish the job John had planned to start, and she didn’t deserve that. As much as his body screamed for it, she didn’t deserve to be mauled the same day she was rescued from someone who had almost raped her.

So immobile he sat, as straight and firm as a statue, lest she touch him and remove all self control he possessed, and even that was hanging on by a fine thread.

And then she squirmed, nearly sending him into a fit of curses, and then repeated it again and again until finally she was awake and tracing his features with her hands.

They smelled like lemons.

Curse lemons and any fruit trying to cause him to sin in the worst of ways.

It would be unforgiveable.

“Sebastian, I need you,” Emma whispered and then he felt her lips brush his.

With the last bit of restraint in his possession, he tenderly returned her kiss, as innocent as he could manage, and then cupped her face. “You’re tired, Emma, go to sleep. You’ve had a long day.”

“No.” Clawing at him, she pulled him closer.

Not good.

“This. You. Right now. I need you, Sebastian.”

And then the minx was kissing him again. In all his years it had been easy to push women away, especially the ones his grandmother had thrown in his direction in hopes he would somehow slip up with his good reputation.

In this moment, as her soft lips pressed innocently against his, he realized he had pushed all those women away so he could pull this one closer.

So he did.

Moaning, he relented, pressing his body firmly against Emma’s softness. It was heaven. He wanted to die.

Though her kiss was innocent, it was perfect. Her lips had a way of burning against his, searing his soul. He took until he couldn’t think straight. And then it occurred to him. He was quite successfully being used.

Yes, he was sure of Emma’s affection, but she wanted him to make her pain go away, to make the past turn into nothing, to make it not matter anymore.

Though she would hate him, and worse of all cry, he needed to stop this madness. To protect Emma from herself. He desperately wanted her to realize that in the morning he married her not because he had to, not because he felt sorry for her or because she gave herself to him, but because he wanted her, and he loved her more than life itself.

“Emma,” he said as he slowly pushed her away. His body cursed his every move. “Emma, no. Not like this.”

She froze. He didn’t know if words would make anything better, or if he merely should pray she would be too tired to remember.

“You—you don’t want me?”

How could she even think that?

“I do, Emma. You know I do.” He pulled at her hands and gently ran them down his torso and even lower until her innocent eyes widened. “Can you not feel the way my body responds to your every move? I ache for you like I’ve never ached for anyone in my life. But I won’t have you this way. I want all of you, not a piece of you because you’re hurt, but everything.”

Abruptly Emma pulled away to the farthest edge of the bed. He could hear her muffled sobs echo through the room.

Rejection never felt good, and he felt like an absolute cad that he had even given in for those briefest of moments. But he intended to marry her, and he didn’t want a shadow of doubt hanging over what should be the happiest moment of her life.

****

To say that Sebastian didn’t sleep a wink would be a gross understatement. He had in fact woken up so early he had to wait for the blacksmith to awaken as well. It wasn’t odd to have a ceremony performed by a blacksmith instead of a vicar, though he hoped the blacksmith could point him in the direction of a vicar. He didn’t want Emma to have to say her vows over the anvil. But considering the innkeeper said nobody would be awake at this horrid hour, his best bet was to have a conversation with the blacksmith, who would surely be awake this early.

An hour went by before the light in the blacksmith’s was lit. Sebastian didn’t waste a moment knocking on the door and pleading his case.

Arrangements were made within the hour, and he whistled the entire way back to the inn. Only to stop dead in his tracks as he watched Emma plead with Rawlings to take her home.

Rawlings, poor chap, looked caught between telling her the truth that she was, in fact, going home not as Emma Gates, but as the Duchess of Tempest and just plain running in the other direction.

Coward.

“Emma, what has you out so early? I thought you’d still be sleeping.”

She refused to make eye contact, only bit her lip and kept her eyes focused on Rawlings, who chose this moment to kick a rock and look up to the sky. Poor chap.

“Rawlings, if you’ll just excu—” Sebastian didn’t even get the rest of the sentence out before Rawlings had tipped his hat and turned on his heel toward the inn.

Emma’s face followed Rawlings’ retreating form, her fists clenched, and as much as Sebastian would love to see her unleash all that pent up anger on an unsuspecting Rawlings, he had better plans.

“Shall we?” Extending his arm, he waited in vain for her to take it.

Instead she fell into step beside him with her arms crossed.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

Emma looked up at him with a fake smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “For what?”