“Some of them. Others involved Andrew’s education, the fact that Richard wanted to send Andrew away to school…I’m sorry to say we disagreed on a great deal. Most of the time I acquiesced to Richard’s demands in order to maintain peace but…I suppose it oughtn’t have been a surprise that he believed my father a more suitable guardian. My father also had very exacting ideas about how Andrew should be raised, especially since he is the only grandchild. I suspect things might have been different had Richard and I been blessed with more children.”
“Brothers and sisters are a blessing,” Sebastian agreed, “though it is sometimes difficult to conform to the standards they might set.”
She studied him from beneath her dark eyelashes. “You’ve never conformed.”
No, and that too had set him apart from his family. The distinction brought an unwelcome thought of his mother to mind, that clandestine sense that he shared something with her that no one else in his family had. She must have known it as well, or she wouldn’t have sought him out after the Weimar disaster.
Certainly none of his brothers had comprehended his proclivity for music, though they eventually came to appreciate the flock of admiring women his success attracted.
Now Sebastian couldn’t remember any of the women who had peppered his life over the years. Like paper dolls, they were flimsy and impermanent, strung together with brittle thread.
Nothing like Clara Winter, who blazed with life and fire and determination.
He stroked his thumb across her lower lip, rubbing away the painful little notches caused by her teeth. “You will have your son again.”
She twisted the ends of his cravat between her fingers, her downcast eyelashes painting crescents on her pale cheeks. She spoke no words of agreement, but she didn’t refute his statement either. That must mean she still had hope.
Of course she still hoped. Nothing would ever extinguish Clara’s essential belief that she would one day be reunited with her son. That spark would burn in her until she held Andrew in her arms once again. No matter how long it took. No matter what she was forced to do.
Clara lifted her lashes to look at him, then leaned forward to press her mouth against his. A soft heat spilled through him at the touch of her full lips, the breathy sigh easing from her throat. He tightened his hands on her waist, his left hand curling against the stiffness of her corset. His right fingers seized and refused to move. He tensed and started to pull away from her, hating his inability to control the way he touched his own wife.
Clara covered his disabled hand, tucking her fingers between his. She parted her lips to deepen their kiss and moved his hand up to her bare throat.
“Touch me,” she whispered.
His fingers remained rigid, locked into place, but he felt the softness of her skin, the pulse tapping at the hollow of her throat. Warmth skimmed from his fingertips up the length of his arm.
She speared her hands in his hair and tilted his head back, her mouth urgent, her hips pushing against him. She shifted closer. Her bottom slid against his lap until his groin nestled within the enclosing arch of her legs.
He grasped the pleats of her skirt with his other hand and drew them up. The heat of her skin burned his palm. She wiggled closer, pulling at the knot of his cravat until his throat was bared to the caress of her warm lips. He breathed her in, stroking his fingers over the supple length of her thigh. Clara dropped her hands to his trousers and unfastened the buttons.
Lust sparked and flared in him. Clara cast him a quick glance, a smile curving her lips as she felt the bulge pressing against her fingers. He shifted to allow her easier access, wincing with pleasure at the touch of her hand against his hot flesh. Clara flicked her tongue against the side of his neck as she moved her hand over him, her body softening with readiness.
Sebastian’s blood pulsed. He gripped her thigh with his left hand to encourage her positioning, already aching to sheathe himself within the tight clasp of her body.
“Sebastian…” Uncertainty rippled through her.
“Slow.” His voice rasped from his chest. He slid his hand up to the juncture of her thighs and stroked. Clara gasped, trembling as she steadied herself with a hand on his shoulder. Her violet eyes searched his as she