Andrew. There was nothing more you could have done.”
“I only hope that this decision”—Granville glanced at Sebastian—“will yield the result you desire.”
So did Clara. The portent of failure loomed before her. She’d devised no strategy for what to do should she encounter it. She couldn’t. Black as oil, impenetrable, failure would swamp her under and take her last breath.
She looked to where Sebastian stood speaking with Lord Rushton. The earl glanced her way and approached. “Congratulations, Mrs. Hall. I wish you and my son much happiness.”
“Thank you, my lord.” Although Clara had no idea how Lord Rushton truly felt about this union, the fact that he approved of their marriage made the idea of having an earl as a father-in-law less intimidating.
Sebastian moved beside Clara, cupping his left hand beneath her elbow with easy grace. “If you’ll all join us in the dining room, I believe there’s quite an elaborate breakfast waiting.”
For Clara, the next few hours passed with rabbitlike speed, although they lingered over breakfast and then, at Granville’s suggestion, went for a walk in the garden of Grosvenor Square to benefit from the brisk autumn day. Rushton returned to his Piccadilly residence, while the rest of the party took some air.
Clara, knowing quite well what awaited her upon their return to Sebastian’s town house, proposed they take the carriage to visit the Regent Street shops for a few hours. They had lunch at Verrey’s restaurant, then went to the Portland Gallery to view the array of paintings and sculptures, an excursion that Clara hoped would take the remainder of the afternoon.
Embarrassment still scorched her when she remembered her behavior in Sebastian’s carriage, the way she’d thrown herself at him with an utterly wanton lack of restraint. Although Sebastian had given her no reason to feel ashamed, Clara knew well that her behavior fell far outside the bounds of decency.
She couldn’t fathom how Richard might have reacted, had she conducted herself in such a manner with him. Then again, nothing about Richard and his detached, stoic presence had ever inspired so much as a modicum of desire in Clara. She hadn’t even wanted to kiss him.
But Sebastian? He was a man who could turn her insides into molten heat with one brush of his fingertips, one intent look from his dark eyes. All she needed to do was gaze at his beautiful mouth, and she was seized by the urge to press her lips to his, feel the sweep of his tongue, drink the hot sweetness of his breath.
Clara shivered at the very idea, turning to study a landscape painting as she attempted to entrap all her wild, furtive imaginings.
Lock your heart, she reminded herself even as she slanted a glance toward her new husband, so disarmingly handsome in a crisp morning coat and a cravat the color of a sweeping, cobalt-blue Dorset sky. The breeze had mussed his unruly black hair and a corner of his cravat had escaped the lapel of his coat, the loose edge rumpling his appearance just enough to remind the world he would not be contained like other men.
A sudden and sharp ache of tenderness constricted Clara’s chest. She averted her gaze from him and tried to focus on the painting.
Lock your heart lest you give him the power to damage it.
And with Sebastian, Clara knew, the damage would shatter her beyond repair.
She hurried to fall into step beside her uncle as they left the gallery and went back outside. The sunlight was beginning to dim and the shadows to lengthen by the time Mrs. Fox remarked that she ought to be returning home, and Granville summoned a cab for her. After she’d gone, he glanced at Sebastian before turning a worried gaze on Clara.
For whatever reason, her uncle’s concern eased Clara’s own apprehension. After all, it wasn’t as if she’d wed an ogre. Quite the opposite, in fact. She became acutely aware of Sebastian beside her, his tall, quiet presence comforting rather than fearsome.
She kissed Uncle Granville’s cheek. “I’ll call on you tomorrow, yes? I’ve still the sewing to finish for your dancing couple, and I’d like to start on the adornments for the next birdcage.”
“You needn’t—”
“I’ll be there at ten.”
Sebastian stepped aside to open the door of another cab. Granville squeezed Clara’s hands in farewell. Before Granville entered the cab, Sebastian lowered his head and spoke to the other man.
A breeze whisked the words from Clara’s ear, but Granville nodded with what appeared to be satisfaction, then clapped his hand firmly