Page 68 of The Earl’s Forbidden Temptation

Darcy looked away and began walking toward the house, though every instinct warned her to run. Lying in his arms as Red had begun to feel almost natural. Behind the mask, she could choose desire without surrendering the woman the world knew. At Aphrodite, there were no expectations of ladylike propriety and no rules she had not chosen for herself.

Here, wanting him as Darcy felt governed by rules she scarcely understood. To reveal her hunger as herself would expose more than desire. It would expose the woman beneath every disguise, along with the hope and tenderness already tangled within her want. As Red, she could leave him when the affair ended. As Darcy, she feared she might no longer wish to leave at all. Shaken by a desire she could not command, Darcy broke into a run, uncaring that she could feel his stare upon her retreating figure.

The night stretched wide and endlessly above them, the Derbyshire sky unmarred by London’s haze, every star burning with a clarity that felt almost unreal. Darcy stood upon the gentle rise of the hill in a dark yellow wool riding habit, simple in design yet fitted to her figure with a mouth-watering allure and precision that tested Sebastian’s restraint. The summer night remained warm, though a faint chill had begun to gather in the breeze. Her gaze was fixed upon the heavens, her eagerness visible in every lifted line of her body.

“Perhaps we do not even require the telescope,” she said, her voice touched with quiet awe. “The sight from here is already delightful.”

Stargazing had been Sebastian’s suggestion, though he had not expected her to seize upon it with such enthusiasm. This morning, she had discovered a volume on the constellations tucked among the books in his library and become so absorbed in it that he had stopped in the doorway merely to watch her turn the pages. When he remarked that the heavens could be seen with remarkable clarity from the farther hills of the estate, she had looked at him with such bright curiosity that he had offered to bring her after sunset.

He had watched hope, caution, and pleasure pass over her expressive face, his damned heart pounding because she had spent the last two days avoiding him as though he were the devil himself. “I possess a telescope,” he had added,” through which the heavens seem near enough to enter.”

“Yes,” she had said immediately after that, blushing far too prettily and not meeting his gaze.

And so they had ridden out, farther than propriety allowed and remained longer than reason advised.

Sebastian made the final adjustment of the telescope with careful precision before stepping back slightly. “Come, take a look.”

She smiled; it was unspeakably lovely, and something in his chest turned over with alarming force. These small reactions she drew from him were maddening precisely because they were unknown, and he had no notion what name to give them.

Darcy bent to the eyepiece. “Oh,” she breathed. “How close they appear. I do not think I have ever truly looked at the sky and understood how vast it is, or how very small we are beneath it. It is rather incredible.”

“It is one thing to read of the heavens,” he said, “and quite another to stand beneath them.”

She drew the telescope lower by the smallest fraction before lifting it again, searching exactly where he had directed.

“There,” he said quietly. “Do you see that pale gathering of light?”

A tiny gasp of awe escaped her. “Yes!”

Sebastian smiled. He had heard that same breath of astonishment years ago, when his father had first stood beside him on a cold autumn evening and unfolded the heavens one constellation at a time. He remembered his own youthful wonder, the intoxicating realization that the night sky held more than scattered stars. “What do you see?”

“Something like a cloud,” she breathed, wonder softening every syllable. “No, not a cloud. There are innumerable sparks within it.”

“The Great Cluster in Hercules,” he said. “The Pleiades are called the Seven Sisters, but they do not grace the summer evening sky. I shall show them to you when autumn comes.”

Darcy lifted her face from the eyepiece. “Do you expect us to still be friends then?”

That soft question jolted his heart. “Why not?”

A small smile touched her mouth. “Then I shall hold you to that promise.”

The word settled with unexpected weight somewhere near his heart. “You may.”

She returned to the eyepiece, smiling, while Sebastian’s attention wandered from the telescope to her. Moonlight traced the gentle curve of her cheek, caught upon the dark sweep of her lashes, and lingered in the loose curls the evening breeze had coaxed free. The same breeze pressed the wool of her habit more closely to her waist, revealing a slender curve his gaze had no business following. Delight transformed her features, stripping away the caution and propriety with which she cloaked herself in his presence and revealing a woman capable of unguarded joy.

He should have returned his attention to the stars, yet he continued watching her. Sebastian had spent a lifetime trusting reason above sentiment. Desire was simple: lust demanded satisfaction and, once indulged, faded. Affection belonged to his family, whose happiness he would defend without hesitation. Every attachment in his life occupied its proper place, but Miss Darcy Whitley occupied none. He did not know what to call the peculiar satisfaction that stole over him merely from witnessing her happiness, nor why her smile lingered in his thoughts long after it vanished. He had begun to notice absurd details no sensible man ought to treasure: the tiny line between her brows when she concentrated, the cadence of her laughter, the warmth in her eyes whenever one of her sisters spoke, and the astonishing lush softness of her mouth.

In truth, he knew precisely why he noticed her mouth. He wanted to taste her over and over, feel the trembling of her mouth under his as she gave way to passion. What he did not understand was why the wanting persisted, growing more troublesome rather than fading. Reason demanded that he classify the feeling before deciding what ought to be done with it. Should he do what he had always done when he found a woman appealing, seduce her into his bed, sate the desire, and move on?

CHAPTER 23

The thought left an unexpected hollowness in its wake. Darcy deserved better than to become another pleasant memory he carried for a time and eventually forgot. And then there was Red. He would have to end their affair as well, a prospect that felt equally impossible.

Irritation stirred within Sebastian at the realization. Why the devil had these two women become so thoroughly entangled in his thoughts? He did not indulge in romantic nonsense. Never had. His lovers entered his life with clear expectations and departed with equal clarity. They sought pleasure. So did he. No promises. No lingering sentiment. No needless complication.

It had always been enough. Why, then, was it no longer enough? As though summoned by the question, Red rose unbidden in his mind. The memory of her husky voice, the hidden smile beneath her mask, and the forbidden heat that flared whenever she looked at him sent a sharp pulse of longing through him.

Sebastian nearly laughed. In all his eight-and-twenty years, despite having several lovers, he had never found himself captivated by two women at once. He missed Red and desired Darcy, and for perhaps the first time in his life, Sebastian confronted a problem for which logic offered no solution.