The Seduction of Sebastian St. James (House of Renwick) Read online

  Sebastian chuckled. He’d always liked Nicholas. Correction, he loved Nicholas. They were like brothers. It still pained Sebastian that he hadn’t been in the country when Nicholas had been going through such a rough time in his life. The guilt, although small, still ate at him when he thought of not being able to offer the support Nicholas had so obviously needed.

  Sara was apparently the balm he had needed to his soul, and for that reason, Sebastian would always be grateful. Because the woman had brought back the man he had always admired, brought him back straight from the grave.

  “So,” Nicholas said, walking over to the liquor cabinet. “You need a wife?”

  Sebastian took a seat on the nearest chair, trying his best not to laugh at his friend’s bluntness. “You could say that.” He had been searching for a future duchess for many weeks now, but no woman in his acquaintance even held a candle to the beauty of Nicholas’s wife, or to her spirit. It was going to be deuced hard to find a woman who would hold Sebastian’s attention.

  As if reading his thoughts, Nicholas interjected, “You can’t have my wife, so I would greatly appreciate you wiping that ridiculous grin off of your ducal face before I lose my patience. Considering, she is firmly out of your grasp, to your utter sadness, I can see.” Nicholas shook his head. “I believe I am more than capable of helping you find a woman who caters to your…needs.”

  “They’re so young,” Sebastian groaned, ignoring Nicholas’s warning speech. “And boring, and although I am painfully aware I do not need to continue to complain, have you seen what I’m up against out there? Vultures, all of them. Say, why don’t you and Sara just pick one?”

  “Just pick one?” Nicholas repeated slowly, raising his eyes heavenward. “You are aware we are not out shopping for horseflesh but attempting to find you a future duchess? Do keep that in mind, old friend.”

  “It’s the only thing on my mind,” Sebastian said, greedily taking the glass of brandy from Nicholas’s hand.

  Lifting his eyes, he scanned his old friend. Nature had been good to Nicholas. Then again nature had been good to both of them. Each of them were in their early thirties, but neither of them looked a day over twenty-five.

  In his rakish days, Nicholas had had many of the mamas of the ton hiding their daughters from his penetrating gaze. Some said that a look from Nicholas would cause even married women to sway. His appearance was positively sinful. Everything about him was dark, from his hair to his black as night brows. The only light on his face seemed to come from the icy blue of his eyes. It was assumed that associating with Nicholas would cause any woman to sin or worse, send them to Hell. Sebastian never had that issue with women. While women were captivated and a bit frightened of Nicholas, they were mesmerized by Sebastian.

  While Nicholas had been labeled as sinful, Sebastian had been labeled as beautiful.

  Far too beautiful, if you asked him.

  In fact if another woman called him beautiful, he was going to inflict pain on someone, or something. It was blasted hard being a beautiful man, not that it hadn’t given him some pleasure in his earlier years.

  While Nicholas walked around with his devilishly dark features, Sebastian had always strolled around with a glowing effect to his features. Add in his dimples and all around joyful attitude and voila, a perfect recipe for young debutantes and forward mamas.

  It obviously had never occurred to any of the females in Sebastian’s acquaintance how blatantly rude they were being when they literally could not find the strength to tear their eyes away. In fact, many women thought he wanted to be called beautiful, but as a man, the last thing he wanted to be labeled with was the same word he used to seduce women.

  Sebastian took a long sip of brandy and sighed.

  The sigh was not lost on Nicholas, who right away started pouring him another drink.

  "You do realize it’s not as if I have to marry for a purpose other than presenting an heir," Sebastian complained mostly to himself, although Nicholas gave him a head nod to acknowledge he was listening to the lamentation pouring forth from Sebastian’s lips. "Furthermore, I don't see why every single debutante has to be so stupid."

  "Here, here,” Nicholas said, lifting his glass. "I do understand."

  "Spare me." Sebastian shook his head in protest. "At least you have a beautiful wife to dote on whose voice doesn't shriek the way some girls do."

  Sebastian felt a sudden headache coming on. What he needed was an arranged marriage where he could get an heir and also have a mistress on the side, but those days, as he told Nicholas, were well behind him. And although he would die before admitting it, he did want to get married. Call it curiosity or maybe insanity, but he felt it was time to settle down and actually have a family, a real family. He owed his parents at least that much.

  Sebastian watched Nicholas as he went and looked out the window. The poor man probably had a terrible time keeping his hands off his wife. What would it be like to have a companion you both lusted after and loved? His mind was incapable of imagining it.

  A maid entered, carrying a note. Nicholas offered an apology before stepping out of the room, leaving Sebastian alone with his thoughts.

  Sighing, he leaned his head back against the chair, all the while swirling the amber liquid around his glass. It wasn’t that he considered himself an unhappy man. Indeed he felt content and overall satisfied with his life. Women often commented on his optimistic demeanor, thinking it a ruse to get them into bed. But to Sebastian it had always seemed that most men wasted valuable time being upset or angry when they had it within their capabilities to fix their situation in the first place. Was life not meant to be lived to the fullest?

  Most of his existence had been less than charmed. In fact, if anyone had anything to be bitter about, it was Sebastian. He had inherited his title at the early age of one and seven.

  Both of his parents had died in a carriage accident, leaving his grandmother to finish raising him on her own. If one could call bossing the staff around on how to treat the Duke of Tempest raising.

  He did love his grandmother. It wasn’t her fault his parents had died, nor was it his, as she had reminded him that fateful day.

  “Sebastian, my boy, you could not help what happened,” she had said, petting his yellow curls. “It is in the Lord’s hands, dear boy. Bad things happen, and we must trust in Him.”

  He still had trouble processing his grandmother’s wise words. He knew them to be astute, but that didn’t make them easy for him to put into practice. In fact, she had a horrible time dealing with him. It was no wonder she was constantly bossing everyone around trying to gain some semblance of control over her defiant grandson.

  But he had been mourning. Men struggle trying to understand why things happen the way they do. Adolescents who are not yet fully grown have an even more difficult time, especially when it’s their fault the people they loved the most in the world had to perish. He took another sip of brandy as a melancholy fog rested on his broad shoulders.

  He hadn’t thought about his childhood in a long while. He must have drunk more brandy than he originally imagined. Then again, Nicholas was good at refilling his glass when he was brooding. Something Sebastian was hardly ever guilty of.

  Maybe his grandmother could shed some light on his marriage situation. After all she was the one breathing hot coals down his neck about reformation and forgiveness. It wasn’t even as if he had lived such a terribly rakish life. In fact he was known as the angel duke by quite a few of the gentry. It wasn’t necessarily his heavenly and joyous demeanor, though it did seem to help. No, in truth he had been given the title after rescuing a small girl from near death. It also didn’t hurt that people had a hard time attaching any sort of scandal to his name. Oh he had done his fair share of taking mistresses and sowing wild outs across the continent, he was just remarkably talented at keeping people quiet, giving more credence to his reputation that no woman could seduce him.

  He’d like to see them try.

&nb
sp; The one woman ever close to succeeding only did so because she was foolish enough to make it her goal for an entire year, and even then he knew what she was about, finally giving in just so the poor thing wouldn’t run headfirst into the nearest street.

  Unfortunately it was becoming clearer as he aged that women were easy to read and extremely similar in their dispositions. Having a wife would be, in his mind, akin to having a nice pet. A creature you dress up when it was time for fancy dinners and reproduce with to gain an heir. Anything outside of that was relatively pointless. He had his gentleman friends for lively conversation and his grandmother for nagging.

  Yes, although part of him was jealous of Nicholas’s good luck, another part of him was terrified he would find someone who had the ability to take such a strong hold on his heart that he would be in constant terror of losing her. Such a woman did not exist, and even if she did, she was probably boring and ugly, leaving him to feel again quite good about his decision to let Nicholas help him pick out a bride.

  Although Nicholas had been joking, it was quite like picking out a horse. He needed to leave his heart out of it and use his head. What he required was a young happy woman who would bear his children and be a good duchess.

  What he should do was write a list. Yes, a list explaining the characteristics he required of his future bride. Surely it would help Nicholas out.

  Getting up, he walked around to the large desk and sat in the chair. He heard a tiny giggle. Pausing, he looked around the room and shrugged. Must be his imagination.

  And then something grasped his leg. A loud curse escaped his mouth, echoing through the room.

  “My father says that’s a dirty word. Is it a dirty word, your grace?” interrupted a smaller version of his old friend, hiding beneath the desk with mud on his face and some sort of jelly on his fingers.

  Perfect, he only hoped he wasn’t acting as the child’s napkin.

  “Does your dad use that word?” Sebastian fired back with a question of his own.

  The little boy giggled then crooked his finger for Sebastian to lean closer. Like an idiot, he fell for the trick just as the little boy’s hands firmly grasped the crisp folds of his cravat. “My daddy says not to tell my mama. Sometimes he says it when he is angry. Like the time I brought a frog to church. That was fun!”

  You know what else is fun? Washing one's hands.

  “There you are!” Nicholas said from the doorway.

  Samuel sunk behind the desk again. Sebastian closed his eyes, hoping the jelly stains on his perfectly white cravat would somehow disappear as well.

  “Samuel.” Nicholas’s voice took a warning edge, making Sebastian feel the need to adjust the cravat for more air. Devil take it, even he started to sweat when he heard Nicholas’s voice turn threatening. Sebastian stole a glance at Samuel, who shook his head and crossed his arms.

  Not the wisest of choices, young fellow.

  Instead of taking the smart option of apologizing, the boy decided to take the road less traveled and ran.

  Bless him, he didn’t get far. Nicholas’s trained hands darted out and grabbed the boy’s shirttails just as he was passing the doorframe. He let out a screech so mind-blowingly loud that Sebastian was convinced hearing loss would soon follow.

  Fully caught red handed, or in Samuels case jelly handed, he did what any young boy of his age would do.

  He smiled.

  And Sebastian’s heart clenched.

  How Nicholas could even punish the young cherub was beyond him. Yet Nicholas did just that, giving the boy a firm, yet loving, sit down. At the end of the lecture he demanded Samuel apologize to Sebastian.

  Just don’t turn those giant blue eyes on me.

  And the boy circled toward him. Alligator tears slowly dripping down his red cheeks.

  Deliver me, Lord.

  “Y-y-your grace?”

  Sebastian got down on one knee and put out his hand for Samuel to shake. It seemed even at a young age boys knew how often things were fixed by the firm shaking of one’s hand. His face immediately brightened as he shook Sebastian’s hand then saluted him as if he was royalty.

  He had no option but to salute back.

  Samuel ran off, leaving Sebastian’s face still in a smile, until he met Nicholas’s brooding gaze.

  “Uh, it was nothing.” Sebastian dismissed him with a wave of his hand.

  “He shouldn’t be spying,” Nicholas clipped.

  “He’s a boy.”

  “Don’t encourage him.”

  “Don’t discourage him from being so carefree. Boys should grow up to be—”

  “I’m sorry, it sounded as if the Duke of Tempest, sworn bachelor, was just contemplating giving me parenting advice.” Nicholas lifted an eyebrow in shock.

  Sebastian scowled and crossed his arms. “I was merely going to say he deserves room to grow.”

  Nicholas snorted.

  “What?”

  “Nothing. I’ll just enjoy rubbing this conversation in your face when you produce a tiny replica of yourself and that replica decides to hide frogs in your bed.”

  You have no idea how tired of waiting I am. Sebastian dismissed the thought, feeling suddenly uncomfortable that it was in his head in the first place. Something was seriously wrong with him. Taking a mistress, getting foxed, and gambling, those were the things that should be in the forefront of his mind. Not chasing jelly handed children around the house.

  Being surrounded by married friends was obviously playing with his normally calm and cheerful demeanor. He needed another drink. Or had he already had a few? Obviously his memory had been affected as well. The sooner he wrote the deuced list and chose a bride, the better.

  As if reminding himself, he announced rather loudly, “I’ve decided to write a list of things I would like in a wife. Then you and Sara may choose the best fit.”

  “Why is that not surprising?” came the sarcastic remark from behind him. Only the words did not come from a male voice, no. They came from a voice that would haunt him for the rest of the night. Slowly he turned to see what defiant creature belonged to such an irresistible voice.

  Sweet Lord.

  Chapter Two

  Emma Gates pretended the air hadn’t escaped her lungs the minute the Duke of Tempest turned around to face her. She also pretended her pulse hadn’t jumped wildly as she watched his hands clench into fists beside his muscular body. In one last effort to conceal her absolute shock that the rumors of this attractive duke hadn’t even begun to do him justice, she pasted a smile on her face that would have sent a priest to confession…and waited.

  All in vain.

  He didn’t seem the least bit affected.

  Odd, she had once been told her smile made men weep.

  No tears.

  Drat. She’d lost her touch.

  She shrugged her shoulders and did a little curtsy out of respect.

  “Emma, allow me to introduce you to the Duke of Tempest.” Nicholas took a gallant step forward and kissed her outstretched hand. Years ago Nicholas would have been the least likely person to save her from social disgrace. Now he and Sara seemed to be her saving grace daily. They were only too kind in allowing her to stay with them for a season. Desperate to leave the choking presence of her parents, she nearly offered to travel over night in order to arrive sooner.

  Nicholas turned toward Tempest and grinned. “Your grace, I don’t believe you’ve had the pleasure of meeting—“

  “Miss Emma Gates, your grace.” Emma curtsied lower this time and allowed her eyes to boldly scan the muscular stance of his legs. The curve of his thighs molded into firm calves tightly bound in hessian boots. His legs were sinful. He was sinful.

  She hadn’t allowed herself to actually entertain thoughts of the opposite sex in some time. Ever since…the incident. Then again, it had defined her. She was better off not noticing how attractive other men were. It hadn’t been a problem before. Not until now.

  She found herself cursing him all over again
as he bent his wickedly angelic head over her hand and brushed his soft lips across her knuckles. It was the most proper of kisses, yet she felt positively heated as the feel of their momentary touch lingered on her person.

  Recoiling, she stepped sideways and took a seat on the nearest chair. Naturally it wasn’t because she needed to. No, it was because at any moment she was positive she would swoon, and Emma Gates never swooned.

  “To what do we owe this pleasure, Miss Gates?” The duke’s low baritone caressed her body.

  Shivering in response, she answered, “Why, your grace, I should think that would be obvious.”

  “Is it now?” He seemed perplexed. “I await with baited breath. Please, do share.”

  “I’m to be married.”

  “To whom?” He took a seat next to her, eyes riveted on her face.

  Saints above! Did the man blink? Since squirming in her seat was out of the question, considering gentle bred ladies did not shift, she clenched her dress between her hands and managed to calm her nerves. His eyes seemed to read her soul. She should have prayed before entering the room.

  Always known for her bluntness, she admitted, “I haven’t yet chosen him. Never fear, I’ll be sure to notify him before the wedding. Naturally.”

  The duke coughed to hold his laugh in, failing miserably. “Isn’t that a bit presumptuous, dear girl?”

  “Not at all!”

  “How do you figure?”

  “Well.” She shrugged and watched in fascination as his eyes scanned the curve of her neck as she did so. She should be outraged. Instead a feeling of pleasure descended on her. Warmth pooled in her belly. Looks like his were what cause innocent debutantes to abandon their chaperones.

  Angel duke indeed.

  “Do you mean to tell me men attend all of the Season's balls for the sport of it? No, sir. I hate to disagree, but men go for the same reasons women do. They too need to find a mate. So I should say any man would be thrilled to get it over with as soon as possible. I find myself doing them a service.”

  His eyes flared for a minute. Looking away he swallowed slowly, muscles tensing in his classically lined jawbone, before answering, “A service, of course.”