A Passion for Pleasure(42)

Clara stepped aside as a black carriage came to a halt beside her. The door opened, and Sebastian descended with a sense of purpose, as if he’d come directly for her.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

Trepidation tightened Clara’s throat. She had not had an opportunity to speak to him in private since Lady Rossmore’s charity ball two nights before. It was for the best, she tried to tell herself, as after her confession she feared that any conversation might result in his withdrawal from their agreement.

“I’ve…I’ve a few errands to run,” she explained. “Why are you here?”

“I’ve come to tell you my father has given his assent for our marriage,” Sebastian said. “Had he not done so, I still would have married you, but his approval will sanctify the union for the benefit of society.”

“Very…very well.” Lord Rushton’s approval was, Clara knew, the last element needed for the marriage to proceed smoothly. Now they needed only to speak their vows.

“I’ll accompany you on your errands, then.” Sebastian stepped aside to allow her to precede him to the curb. “We’ll take my carriage.”

“That’s not necessary. There’s a cab stand at the end of the street.”

Sebastian frowned. “It’s growing dark. Where have you to go?”

Clara stared at the looming interior of the carriage. She’d already told him everything. And he had not retreated. She felt her resolve to keep him at a distance slipping away like raindrops on a windowpane. Not even to herself she could deny her gratitude for his presence, his insistence on remaining by her side.

“My father stays in Belgravia when he is in London,” she said. “I…I sometimes wait outside his town house to see if he’s brought Andrew with him. Thus far, I haven’t caught a glimpse of him.”

His left hand tightened on her arm. “What is the address?”

Swimming suddenly in the need for companionship so she would not have to face the predictable disappointment alone, Clara recited the street number and allowed Sebastian to hand her into the carriage. His deep voice rumbled as he relayed the address to his driver, then climbed in after her. Dusky light slanted across his strong features, his dark eyes glittering as he watched her from the opposite seat.

Clara folded her arms around herself and swallowed hard, her blood pulsing with the troubled urge to close the distance between them, to slide onto the bench beside him and curl her body tight against his. She could almost feel him—the hard, lean length of his muscles, his broad chest, the weight of his arm as he draped it across her shoulders and pulled her closer.

She wanted the haven of his warmth and strength, a safety she had never known. Her untold longing was made all the more potent by the knowledge that he would not turn her away. Not physically, at least.

Clara forced her gaze to the window, aware of the danger Sebastian Hall posed. Her soul was already so threaded with cracks, brittle from repeated breakage and vain attempts at repair. If she allowed Sebastian to slide between those cracks and find his way into her heart, she would then give him the power to deliver a fatal, crushing blow.

And yet she would not renege on her proposition, dangerous as it was to her very being. She could not retreat now, did not want to, or everything would be lost.

She stared at the passing streets. Shadows and waning light skated across the storefronts, the narrow tenement buildings, the fruit stalls and horse-drawn carts. Before long, elegant town houses swept into view, the brick façades adorned with curved balconies and slender pilasters.

The carriage shuddered to a halt. Clara leaned forward, sliding the curtain farther aside to enhance her view of the house across the street. A gleaming black door barred the entrance, and the windows blinked like eyes in the reddish light. A menacing silence seemed to emanate from the house, as if warning passersby that nothing good lurked within.

No lamps shone through the windows. The expected disappointment pierced her heart, sharp as a driven nail.

“They’re not at home,” she murmured. “Or he’s not at home.”

Sebastian leaned across and settled his hand on her knee. The heat of his palm burned clear through her skirts and petticoats. Clara made a fist to prevent herself from placing her hand atop his and tracing the long lines of his fingers.

She continued watching her father’s house. An ache built in her throat. She heard Sebastian’s breath, the sound weaving into her ear alongside the increased beat of her heart.