A Passion for Pleasure(23)
She opened another box, a fresh resolve spurring her forward. She tried not to think that if she found the plans, she would have what Sebastian wanted and could then make her proposal.
For marriage.
Her heart stumbled as a wave of heat and trepidation swept through her. Even if it was for practical ends as her union with Richard had been, Clara could not imagine herself wedded to a man like Sebastian Hall with his rough, restless energy and coiled secrets. With his charm, which warmed her blood, and his devilish smile, which made her melt.
But it didn’t matter what she could imagine, did it? The swirls of heat and color evoked by Sebastian’s presence alone didn’t matter. Only one thing mattered.
“I must find the plans,” she repeated, half to herself and half to Granville. “And when I do, I’ll marry Sebastian Hall and get my son back.”
But first she had to convince Sebastian. Now that she knew what he wanted, she could approach him with a proposal from which they each benefited. She just had to pray he wanted the plans badly enough not to reject her outlandish request.
Several hours later, after Granville had gone to bed, Clara conceded defeat for the day. Weariness clenched her muscles tight as she dampened all the hearths and ensured the candles were extinguished, except for the one she used to light the path to her bedchamber. She placed the flickering candle on her bedside table, then washed in cold water and changed into a shift.
After combing the tangles from her hair, she climbed into bed. Her arms ached from prying open crates and boxes, and her hands were sore and dry. Even as exhaustion claimed her body, her mind twisted around and around the idea of marriage to Sebastian Hall and all the implications buried within.
At the heart of it lay the bright, polished jewel of her son, a treasure long concealed by a veil of darkness. And after struggling for so many months to futile ends, Clara feared to hope that this time might be different. Perhaps not even Sebastian could rip away the obstacles keeping her from Andrew, but she held fast to her instinctive trust in him.
She pressed a hand to her chest and felt the rhythm of her heartbeat. Even as her mind sought to convince her that marriage to Sebastian Hall would be no different from her union with Richard in its practicality, Clara’s heart vehemently protested such a comparison.
On the surface, perhaps, it would be a pragmatic arrangement, one that might lead to the fulfillment of her deepest, most powerful wish, but beneath the veneer of convenience, such a marriage would be laced with the restless, unnerving sensations Sebastian aroused in her with every look, every touch.
Marriage to him would be complex, dangerous. She would be required to make choices—present herself as an exemplary but complacent wife or attempt to peel back all his layers to reveal the center of his soul?
For with Sebastian, there could be no middle ground. He would have all of her or nothing. Even now, Clara knew the truth of it.
Dawn broke, red as old roses fading into the grayish blue sky. The sounds of the world filtered into the drawing room—the rattle of a carriage on the street, a boy hawking newspapers, the faint whistle of a bird. Sebastian scrubbed a hand over his roughened face, pulling himself from a brief, restless slumber. His eyes burned.
“Mr. Hall?” A footman paused in the doorway, bearing a silver tray. “A note arrived for you.”
Sebastian pushed himself upright as Giles crossed the room. He took the folded letter. His name spread across the front in a ribbonlike, feminine hand. Clara.
The footman straightened, slanting his gaze over Sebastian’s rumpled clothes and unshaven features. “Shall I draw you a bath, sir, or would you prefer to break your fast first?”
“Just bring me coffee, Giles.”
“Yes, sir.”
Sebastian put Clara’s letter on his lap and stared at it with the sense that it contained a message of great import.
Giles arrived with a tray and poured coffee. Although the footman didn’t speak, Sebastian was aware of his exasperation. In fact, he was growing accustomed to the faintly critical demeanor surrounding his brother’s staff.
He couldn’t blame them. Alexander had been so proper, even rigid, in the way he ran his household, his life. He always appeared for breakfast precisely at seven, clean-shaven, impeccably dressed. The staff’s schedule accorded with his predictable, daily habits.
Since Alexander and his wife left for St. Petersburg, Sebastian had come to live in his brother’s Mount Street town house. The staff was still adjusting to the rather radical change in routine.