Bound to Be a Groom (19 page)

The man had walked away, and once again, Farleigh’s mother had prevailed. Even so, Sebastian could see it was wearing on her.

Sebastian suspected she didn’t much care what her son did on his own time, in his own bed, but she had a tender heart and was very outspoken in her desire for grandchildren. Sebastian felt the older woman soften, and he looked up to see the direction of her gaze: Farleigh was laughing boldly and was briefly touching Pia’s gloved forearm.

“Am I wrong to hope?” the duchess asked.

Sebastian smiled kindly. “I believe one is never wrong to hope.”

“I knew I liked you.” She looked at Sebastian for a few seconds longer, assessing him.

It occurred to him that this delicate old woman saw right through his social mask to his pounding heart. What had started as a bit of protracted flirtation—spending time with Farleigh to see Anna’s keen anticipation of some debauched sexual culmination between the two men—had escalated into full-blown madness. Sebastian was falling in love with Farleigh.

Anna was a genius, he had to confess, by encouraging him to flirt and jostle with Farleigh as much as possible, while never letting them get any closer than a manly pat on the back or that one fabulous swat on his bum. At first, gamboling around Farleigh had been a sweet torture; now Sebastian was at the end of his tether. He reminded himself he was escorting the man’s mother across a crowded ballroom and tried to temper his enthusiasm.

“Are you becoming tired, Your Grace?” Sebastian asked the duchess while they weaved through the crush of people who’d formed now that the music had ceased.

“I am. But you young people should carry on. I see your wife has Wellesley sitting in her pocket. Perhaps you should stay for the elegant refreshments Lady Chienjour usually serves.”

Sebastian watched Anna, rosy from her time on the dance floor, laughing amber eyes sparkling up at Arthur Wellesley. Sebastian’s hand was resting on the duchess’s, over where she’d placed hers on his forearm. He must have pressed her hand against his without realizing it.

“There, there, Sebastian. Don’t fret, you sweet man. She sees nothing in him.”

He breathed through the unfamiliar emotion. Welcoming Pia, or even Farleigh if it came to that, into his relationship with Anna felt like something delicious and sensual and ambitious. Seeing Anna snap and spark while she parried with the likes of Arthur Wellesley felt like something, if not sordid and cheap, at best vapid.

If Anna started experimenting with men and women all over Europe, Sebastian wasn’t sure he could remain cavalier. “Oh, I don’t fret. Anna sees much in many people,” Sebastian replied, trying to sound vague and noncommittal. In a perfect example of ill-timed coincidence, at that very moment Anna happened to look at Pia, and a flash of raw hunger passed between them. It was gone in a moment, but Sebastian could tell that the duchess had seen it.

“Ah. So she does. But it’s not the same, is it?”

Sebastian gave up trying to force his way through the packed sea of humanity and led the older woman to a slightly less crowded area near a column at the side of the room.

He and the duchess stood quietly for a few moments. “She is quite animated, that’s all,” the duchess finally said. “Let her have her fun. She’s been holed up in that convent all her life. Let her play a little.”

“I’m not sure I’m as much of a libertine as I thought I was.”

The duchess thought that was splendid, tipping her head back and laughing with the all-consuming glee that was so much like her son’s reaction when he was similarly delighted.

“Oh, Sebastian, I see why he loves you.”

Sebastian’s head flew to face her. “I beg your pardon?”

“Oh.” She opened her fan and slowly, without a hint of unease, began to swish it back and forth in front of her chest and neck. “No one suspects.”

Sebastian couldn’t repress a smile—Farleigh’s sexual antics were legendary.

The duchess smiled back. “I meant no one suspects
you
in particular. Farleigh made such a commotion about that actor last year; the gossip mill really hasn’t stopped turning since.”

“You are an unusual woman, Duchess.”

“Sometimes if you make a few concessions to propriety, you can live a very fulfilling and rewarding life within its supposed confines.”

“And you would know?”

“Yes, I would, young man.” She slapped her fan shut and used it to gesture toward her wrinkled neck and face. “I wasn’t always this prunish, you know. I was quite splendid, really.” Her voice was soft with memory, as if that splendid creature had been someone else entirely.

“You are still quite splendid, I think,” he complimented, letting his voice take on a slightly flirtatious quality.

She snapped open the fan and smiled, but her voice was haughty when she said, “I almost believe you, but that’s no way to be talking to the mother of your . . . very dear friend.”

In that moment, Sebastian felt an unspoken benediction: this woman believed in her son’s right to his own happiness, whatever path he chose in its pursuit. They looked at one another for a few moments, and she nodded once, barely noticeable, and Sebastian felt all of her kindness.

“There you are!” Anna cried dramatically as she pushed her way past the final row of crowded guests that separated them. Sebastian watched, amused, as Lieutenant General Wellesley was relegated to serving as her adjutant, pulling up the rear as he apologized to everyone she’d cut in her wake. Farleigh and Pia were close behind. “We were all desperate to find you,” Anna said breathlessly, looking up into Sebastian’s face. Her shining eyes bound him to her as much as any rope or leather.

He bent down slowly and kissed the inside of her wrist. “I was desperate to find you, too,” he said softly, so only she could hear, then more clearly. “Did you enjoy your dance with my wife, Wellesley?”

“Very much, indeed. She is quite something.”

Sebastian nodded, not liking the satisfied way Arthur Wellesley looked at Anna. “She is,” Sebastian said shortly. “Quite.”

“She tells me you have news from Javier in Badajoz,” Wellesley said as he reluctantly looked away from Anna’s flushed cheeks.

Sebastian straightened. It was easier to set aside what amounted to nothing more than petty jealousy when he remembered the fate of the Spanish nation rested in relaying the information to Wellesley. “Yes, sir. Are you available to discuss the particulars tomorrow?”

“I’d rather discuss them now.”

Sebastian was unsure whether to respect or disdain this man’s arrogant abruptness. Marco and Javi had assured him Wellesley was to be trusted, but Sebastian had his doubts. He set them aside. If Wellesley was able to redirect his troops to Portugal instead of the colonies, he could perhaps defeat the French bastards quickly and thoroughly.

“Very well,” Sebastian said slowly. “You wish to speak in front of the ladies?”

Wellesley looked at Anna and Pia, then his glance slipped to the duchess. He bowed slightly in a show of respect. “Your Grace.”

“Arthur,” she said with familiar ease. She had known him since he was quite young.

“Speak, man,” Wellesley demanded quietly.

“Very well,” Sebastian began, lowering his voice. “By the middle of August, Delaborde will be near Roliça . . .” He continued recounting the specific details—locations, numbers of troops, the name of a traitor in the Portuguese army—weaving all the particulars together in a subdued, confident voice that was unintelligible to passersby. Meanwhile, Anna, Pia, Farleigh, and the duchess spoke gaily about nothing of any importance, in order to further obscure the nature of Sebastian’s report.

Wellesley rarely spoke, merely nodding amiably as if Sebastian were sharing a not particularly engaging tale. When Sebastian was finished, Wellesley nodded once more but gave no other indication he’d registered a single word.

A few days later, Wellesley and nine thousand troops, who’d been preparing for a transatlantic voyage to assist Francisco de Miranda in South America, changed their ship’s manifest and headed to Gibraltar to reconnoiter with five thousand more soldiers and then continued on to Portugal to defeat the French. For the time being.

“It’s July and the Season is over,” Farleigh declared a few mornings later while he pretended to read the paper. “Wellesley has agreed to change course. Your obligations in London have been met. Isn’t that right, Sebastian?”

Sebastian hummed his agreement as he chewed on a bite of ham and eggs.

“Very well, then.” Farleigh folded the paper and tried to sound blasé, but Anna could tell he was a cauldron about to boil over. “I suggest we all retire to the country for the rest of the summer.”

The four of them were sitting at one end of the long table in the formal dining room in Mayfair, enjoying breakfast. Or at least Anna was enjoying herself. She reached her hand into Pia’s lap and said, “Oh, Farleigh, that would be wonderful. Wouldn’t it, darlings?” Anna turned to Pia and then across the table to catch Sebastian’s eye.

She knew she had become quite careless in her flagrant attention to both her husband and her lover, no longer caring if Farleigh’s servants suspected they shared a rather
modern
arrangement. Anna had also realized that the more seemingly outrageous she was with Pia in public, the less people suspected.

When she and Pia had attended a show of paintings last week, for example, it was quite fine for them to hold hands or link arms—almost expected. They were the best of friends, Anna would say, the closest of intimates. When Pia would blush at the double entendre that only she understood, Anna would taunt her further, pointing out how lovely Pia was to anyone who would listen. Of course, the society matrons—and ambitious bucks who were attracted to Pia for both her dark beauty and the large purse with which Sebastian had provided her—would all politely agree and compliment Anna on what a kind friend she was, to be so generous in her praise of another woman.

But at home, here at Farleigh’s, she had another motive. By taking all her liberties so openly, so casually, she was heightening the tension between Farleigh and Sebastian in the most delightfully cruel fashion.

“We all three adore the outdoors,” she said, finally pulling her gaze away from Sebastian and facing Farleigh. “Don’t you?”

“Yes, Anna. I
adore
the outdoors.” His peevishness was obvious, but she pretended not to notice it.

“It’s so freeing,” Anna continued, looking out the window with a dreamy expression. “No confines of society. All that lush grass to lie upon and cool lake water sluicing across one’s skin.”

Sebastian took a sip of his coffee and exhaled through his nose, obviously picturing all of that lush and sluice.

Farleigh merely growled.

Anna smiled sweetly.

Pia sighed.

If he didn’t murder Anna first, Farleigh was going to thank her profusely for the desperate, pliant lover she would present to him when she finally gave Sebastian permission to put himself in the man’s power. When they arrived in the country, she had decided, the time would be right. Anna wanted the two men to have complete freedom, and there were simply too many inquisitive servants around the London town house. There was nowhere to escape notice.

Anna had spent much time with Farleigh’s mother over the past few weeks, and eventually she began asking the duchess all sorts of questions about their country estate, Mandeville House. The old woman had the fluttering heart of a swooning sixteen-year-old girl and soon suspected the direction of Anna’s inquiries. She regaled Anna with a litany of all sorts of suggestions for clandestine meetings: secret bolt-holes, abandoned play cottages in the forest, discreet swimming locations that would permit all manner of folly, and an area of the stable yard that must have conjured wonderful memories, if the duchess’s wistful expression was anything to go by.

“How soon can we depart?” Pia asked breathlessly, resting her hand over Anna’s.

Oh, to be back in the open air with this woman’s body beneath my hands
. It was Anna’s turn to sigh.

“The sooner the better, I say.” Farleigh’s voice was irritated and short. He called across the room to one of the footman and ordered their things to be packed at once. “We leave in the morning.” He pushed his chair away from the table with a grating scuff and stormed out of the room.

Anna took a slow sip of her tea and smiled over the rim at Sebastian. When he resituated himself in his seat, she set the teacup back in the saucer and said lightly, “No squirming, my sweet. You’re almost there.”

With the footmen gone to do Farleigh’s bidding, she turned to Pia and kissed her full on the lips, then said, “We are going to have quite a show. Don’t you think?”

Pia whimpered and reached up to grip the back of Anna’s neck, pulling her in for a deeper kiss.

Moving away slightly, without taking her eyes from Pia’s, Anna said, “Why don’t you go for a ride in the park with Farleigh, Sebastian? I think we all need to blow off a bit of steam.” With that, she began kissing Pia again and trailing her hand up Pia’s bodice and cupping her breast. As Sebastian was leaving the room, smiling at the two women, Anna called, “Be a dear and tell the footmen Pia and I are going to have a leisurely breakfast and don’t wish to be disturbed.”