It's been a long time coming :) Enjoy!

Chapter Four

1819

It had been a year since he’d last seen his family. At three and twenty, the pertinence of his duties to the Rochester title had called him away from frequenting Sophie’s abode in London, as well as his travels abroad and his obligations to his studies.

As he stood on the threshold, a sense of eagerness overwhelmed him and he was at once glad that he had accepted his grandmother’s tautly worded summons that he escort Emily to her debut. Sebastian had never stayed away from his family for such an extended period of time before and now he realised he had missed them with a keenness he hadn’t stopped long enough to ponder.

He rapped his knuckles on the wood of the door, ignoring the knocker, and waited patiently for Jasper to open, a smile curving the corners of his lips as he did so. Weatherly House had been his sanctum for much of his youth, a home that had suddenly been filled with light and warmth upon Emily’s arrival. Oh, it had taken time and adaptation, but once the girl had accepted Sebastian and Sophie as her family, the impact of the abandonment of her mother had grown less painful to bear and her post at the window as silent sentinel had been frequented with less regularity as the years wore on. Sophie adored the girl and Sebastian could easily guess why: Emily was witty to the brink of hilarity. She was always willing to accompany Sophie on her rounds, enduring hours of agonizing conversation with her cronies, or alternatively livening up a parlour room with a reading or a game of cards. Sebastian owed Emily greatly and he knew full well her impact on his life. With one of her smile’s, she’d gained a childhood friend and he an angel that had fended off the demons that haunted him long after his father’s death. The Weatherly’s owed Emily everything.

She was the glue that bound them together, the stake that gave them support and kept them from drooping; the sanity that pulled them from the precipice of madness.

The white door swung open and Jasper peered at Sebastian with a scowl already in place. He suspected that the ornery butler specifically set such a look of scathing and unwelcome upon his countenance long before he had open the door and assessed who stood on the other side. Recognising Sebastian ergo the Duke of Rochester, Jasper’s stony demeanour cracked slightly to allow a flicker of recognition twitch his unforgiving lips. “Your Grace,” Jasper drawled, “to what do we owe the pleasure?”

Sebastian frowned at the man, confounded as to why Sophie insisted he stay on at Weatherly House. He had always suspected that his grandmother was rather fond of a sadistic streak in those around her. The valet she had once hired for him had been cruel to the point of torturous, starching his attire to the extent that he could not bend the material at the elbows or the knees. Later, when Sebastian was older, he’d dismissed the surly fellow and hired someone more to his liking. “I am escorting Miss Weatherly to her debut,” Sebastian told the butler stiffly. “If you recall, this is my house and I’d hate to think that you are refusing to permit me entrance.”

“Of course, your grace,” Jasper intoned drolly and swung the door wide, stepping back to allow for Sebastian to enter. He then begrudgingly accepted his top hat and coat, bidding Sebastian to await Sophie’s presence while he summoned her. Sebastian used the time alone to glance about the entranceway, noting that a few articles of furniture still lingered against the walls and the bench by the window was still kept cushioned. He surmised that Emily probably kept an occasional vigil for her mother.

Hardly a minute passed before Sophie bustled down the stairs, dressed from head to toe in gauzy puce satin, a matching turban atop her curling grey hair and an enormous peacock feather pinned strategically in place by an ornate, gold-plated opal brooch in the centre. She halted a few steps before him and pressed her monocle against her left eye and squinted up at him. Sebastian held out his arms fondly, a smile beginning to creep up his lips as fondness swept through him at the sight of her-

“Ow!” Pain sliced through his skull and Sophie raised her bejewelled cane for a second blow to his his already inflicted crown. Sebastian ducked, rubbing furiously at the lump caused by a particularly solid part of that damn cane. “Sophie, for Christ’s sake!”

The cane swooped again and Sebastian had to lunge to the side to avoid contact, the handle whooshing past his ear, erringly close. “Will you stop?” he growled, snatching the cane from her fingers that were clustered with jewels and rings and holding it high above her grasp. “What’s the meaning behind this madness?”

His grandmother fumbled for her monocle which had dropped to her side in the struggle, attached to her bodice by a slender golden chain, and pressed it back to her eye. “You!” she hissed. “Despicable swine! How dare you disappear for so long with not so much as a word why and what and who? A year, Sebastian! An entire year and not a word?”

“My absence,” Sebastian grumbled, his fingers experimentally touching the orb forming on his crown, “hardly warrants a beating. I was busy and I would have called on you sooner. You know I would have.”

Sophie harrumphed and folded her arms authoritatively. “I won’t have it, my boy,” she told him in a firm, dictatorial voice that broached no argument. “By damn, we’re a family. A small, albeit unconventional one at that, but we’re a family and we’re all we’ve got. I won’t have you running amok abroad and forgetting about us because some sultry Spanish harlot-”

“Sophie!”

His grandmother eyed him with such a narrowed look of scepticism Sebastian felt the absurd need to blush. “I know what you get up to, Sebastian,” she said shrewdly. “Just like your father, you are- handsome as the devil himself and very friendly with the women. Just because he chose to share a bed with half the Continent’s looser women does not mean you have to follow in his stead!”

“Sophie,” Sebastian repeated through clenched teeth, “I was in Europe for business.”

“Ah, but what stops men from mixing a bit of business with some fun, eh?”

“Oh, for God’s sake.”

Sophie threw him a look of contemptuous disapprobation. “Language, Sebastian!” she snapped, and then with an agility that belied her late years, she stealthily snatched the cane from his fingers and whacked him across the shoulder. “That,” she said smugly, “is for that vile tongue of yours.”

Grumbling a foul oath under his breath, he rubbed the offending shoulder, ignoring the throb under his scalp for a newer, more pressing pain. “Where is Emily? Are we not going to be late?”

“Fashionably, I suspect,” Sophie sniffed imperiously. “You cannot rush a lady’s toilette.”

Sebastian snorted, deigning not to respond and embedded his hands in the pockets at his side while they waited in silence. Sophie used their respective quietness to study the grandson that was the living replica of the son she’d lost many years ago. A pang of loss struck her as she did so, momentarily thickening her throat with emotion and quickly replaced by pride. She was proud of Sebastian, of his steadfastness to his title, of his proud jaw and striking eyes, and his ability to smile when he had so much reason not to. His father had not smiled often, not as often as Sebastian did, and Sophie believed that Emily was the cause of such a phenomenon.

Fate had given the Weatherly’s one small feisty girl-child that cold day in February who had become a beacon of light in a household blooming with shadow. Despite a mother that had abandoned her and a father that wanted to use her for atrocities unimaginable, Emily had managed to thaw the coldness of both Sophie’s and Sebastian’s heart. Indeed, Sophie loved the girl as her own and loved her more for the impact she had on her grandson. There had been a point when Sophie feared Sebastian would follow in his father’s footsteps becoming the cold, forbidding man Duncan had been. Sophie had become a firm believer that every person had a solitary purpose that guided their actions. She devoutly believed that Emily’s purpose was within the Weatherly house… forever. She didn’t want to see Emily married to some blithering peacock that graced the ballrooms of London which was why, as she observed her adoptive granddaughter blossoming into a woman of notable attributes, she decided to put into practise her long forgotten match-making skills that had lain dormant since her idyllic youth.

Another ten minutes ticked by, their silence only interrupted by the timeously incorrect grandfather clock situated beside the stairwell which indicated that it was quarter to nine rather than quarter to eleven, the actual time.

Finally, a sweetly melodious voice bellowed down from just out of sight at the top of the stairs, “Grandmamma! Is Sebastian here?”

“Yes!” Sophie bellowed in return. “Come on down, child! We are waiting!”

There was an imperceptible pause. “Tell him to close his eyes,” Emily called from her undisclosed location.

“What? Why?” Sebastian returned, perplexed. “Don’t be shy, Em!”

“Oh, hello, Sebastian. Could you please turn around for a moment?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Emily,” Sophie hollered, waving her cane about emphatically. “You look beautiful, my girl, and I’m Sebastian will agree with me wholeheartedly if you but let him.”

“I feel silly,” Emily whined petulantly, “and I’m scared I’ll fall down the steps. Turn around, Sebastian. At least until I’m at the bottom!”

Sebastian stifled a chuckle and the urge to agree with Sophie, so he obligingly closed his eyes. “Alright, Em,” he told her, “I’ve got them closed. You can come down now.”

“No peeking!”

“No peeking,” he agreed earnestly, smiling, and heard her tentative steps begin their descent. He heard each step as it thudded softly on every stair, the rustle of the expensive fabric used to create her gown, her nervous, rapid little breaths, until finally she stood before him and declared triumphantly, “Ha! I did not fall!”

“Of course not! Honestly, Emily, you should have more faith in your own abilities,” Sophie was telling her sternly as Sebastian opened his eyes.

And caught his breath.

In a year, he’d forgotten how pretty she was and her transformation from girl to woman was nothing short of spectacular. Her curves had filled out generously, bestowing her with a set of breasts that strained against the fabric of her gown and bulged spectacularly at the top of her bodice. Short, petite, she barely managed to reach the top of his chest and her head tilted back to smile up at him, his heart thumping madly within his chest. Her startling attributes he recalled vividly- the ruby hair and the emerald eyes- but others were a little unfamiliar. Her cheeks had lost most of her baby fat, shapely curved arches swooping elegantly in the hollows, scraping towards a marginally rounded chin. Her nose was pert, with a delicate curve that upraised the tip only slightly, and her auburn brows arched above her wondrous eyes in a manner that was deliciously feminine and altogether seductive. Emily had a stare on her that could evoke lustful thoughts in a monk. Those desirable lips, wide and plump, were tilted in a toothy smile of delight upon seeing his person and Sebastian steadfastly ignored the fervent desire to pull her into his arms and feel what it would be like to kiss her.

His eyes left her face and swept over her ivory-clad form, wonderingly soaking in the vision she presented. Her white gown clung to her ripe figure enticingly, the satiny material glistening in the light provided by the oil lamps in the entranceway. The waist was high, her bodice emblazoned with creamy tulle and lace that cinched across her breasts, broken only by the soft golden ribbon that scalloped her swooping neckline. The dress was left bare and simple other than that subtle decoration, the skirt flowing with a silken smoothness down to her slipper-clad toes. It subtlety announced the womanly flair of her hip and the dip of her waist. Her slender arms were covered till their elbows with white gloves. Her thick hair was massed in ringlets of glistening red atop her head, artfully coordinated to allow for some to dribble over her neck and shoulders. Strings of pearls were draped across her crown.

The girl he had grown up with, had known, was gone and replaced by this sultry angel with a pair of breasts that made his mouth simply water.

“Hello, Sebastian,” she said fondly, bestowing him with a special smile just for him. It dimpled her cheeks and sparkled in her eyes, leaving him breathless and tingling with awareness.

“Em,” he breathed, his mind so awash with the astounding picture she presented that he could think of little else to say to her.

“You shouldn’t stay away from us for so long,” she reprimanded him playfully. “Sophie and I missed you terribly.” She held up her delicate wrists and Sebastian numbly took them in his own hands, automatically pressing his lips to the back of each of her own hands.

“I’m sure you had plenty to preoccupy yourself with preparations for your coming-out,” he mumbled, struck by the softness of her eyes and the kissable tenderness of her lips.

“Do I look silly?” she asked him, a little frown marring her brow. “I feel awfully silly.”

“You look beautiful, Em.” He meant it. Every wonderful part of her tantalised his senses, making him acutely aware of the woman she had become; the sensuous, alluring woman she was.

A blush bloomed in the apples of her cheeks, becomingly naïve and innocent as she dipped her gaze to study his polished evening boots. “That’s very kind of you,” she told him softly, “although I know it can’t be true. I feel quite silly and I am very nervous. I’m sure I am going to embarrass you and grandmamma horribly tonight.”

“Don’t be absurd,” Sebastian told her firmly. “You are remarkably pretty and tonight you are beautiful. There is nothing you could do that would embarrass us, Em. We are proud to have you at our sides.”

Her eyes swivelled up to his again and she smiled, her small teeth straight and even.

“Enough of this tomfoolery,” Sophie declared loudly, interrupting their small private exchange, “we are going to be late.”

The Crosthwaite’s Ball was a lavish affair that was said to be the crush of the Season. This year, several young ladies would make their debut at the event and among their number was Emily. Lady Crosthwaite, the attentive hostess, gushed at her success at coordinating the event of the year and made it her priority to assign introductions to specific people she thought best suited, even obligating reluctant gentleman to dance with certain ladies.

The opulent ballroom was ablaze with the light of dozens of candles and lamps, all prettily set in glistening chandeliers or crystal brackets interspersed along the walls that separated each French door that flanked either side of the room. As soon as the Weatherly’s were announced and Emily presented, Sebastian could sense the girl’s unease tumbling from her very essence.

Thinking to lighten some of her distress, he offered for the first dance and led her towards the other dancers to partake of a quadrille as soon as the music struck the appropriate chords. “Smile, Em,” he urged, “otherwise they’ll think you are nervous.”

“I am nervous,” she retorted through clenched teeth as her lips parted in a cadaverous smile of epic proportions, “and it is simply despicable of you to tease me. I feel decidedly judged and found wanting.”

“Ignore them all,” Sebastian said as he took her in his arms, “and try to enjoy yourself.”

Her eyes flashed with annoyance, belying the smile that was fixed to her face and threatening to crack her cheeks. “Easy for you to say,” she told him snippily. “You’re male.”

Sebastian chuckled. “When we are finished, we are going to fetch some lemonade. I spy Sinclair who’d do you the honour of a dance after I introduce the two of you. Stay away from Ashcroft, though. He’s as cold as a-” He cut himself short, remembering that he was in the presence of a young lady now and not the girl who’d he spent countless hours indulging in boyish conversation he had similarly with his chums in school. The analogy he was about to use to describe Rhys Ashcroft was not appropriate to use in the presence of a lady.

“Ashcroft?” Em wrinkled her nose in thought. “I heard he told Miss Walcott that she was a stuck-up strumpet with naught but dried hay between her ears.”

“That sounds about right,” Sebastian sighed, making a mental note to assure Miss Walcott that Lord Ashcroft was a lonely, ornery fool who meant not what he said.

“Oh dear,” Emily giggled. “I haven’t met Miss Walcott, but I am sure she is quite lovely and undeserving of such ridicule.”

Sebastian brought Miss Sabrina Walcott to mind and recalled her mousey blond hair and a face that was too narrow. She had made her debut the previous year and he had heard she would be present tonight. “Indeed, she is not,” he agreed. “I shall introduce the two of you later.”

“But not to Lord Ashcroft,” Emily said slyly, her emerald eyes sparking with amusement.

“You’d be safer with a pack of wolves than Lord Ashcroft, Em.”

“Oh.”

He chuckled. “Of course, you must know that Lord Sinclair is an unsavoury gentleman to form an attachment for,” he warned her sternly.

Laughingly, she glanced up at him and nodded with a seriousness that contradicted the mirth sparkling in her eyes. “Of course, your grace.”

“I’m glad you understand.”

“I would never think to go against you most direst of warnings.”

“Emily, you are teasing me,” Sebastian grumbled. “You may think you are capable of handling the attentions of certain gentlemen-”

“No, no most certainly not,” Emily reassured him, although her lips with twitching with a grin. “I shall take your counsel to heart. If you think Ashcroft and Sinclair are unworthy, then they shall remain at arm’s length.”

“No one is worthy of your favour, Em,” he growled a tad more possessively than he meant to. For a moment her face was startled with the tone of his voice, but then she relaxed and pinned him with a gorgeous smile, and tinkled merrily, “But then how am I to find a suitable husband if no gentlemen is worthy of my affections?”

“Don’t marry,” he grunted. The jealousy that unfurled in his soul at the thought of her marrying some pompous oaf just because he was favourable left a bitter taste in his mouth. She was intuitive and sensed the darkening of his mood, wisely leaving him to his brooding silence until the dance was over whereby she curtsied prettily and he bowed… rigidly.

They proceeded to the refreshments and he handed her an ice while he spied Sinclair who waxed on about his successes at White’s earlier to an intent Lord Digby. Roguishly handsome, Lord Gabriel Sinclair had made his claim as a renowned scoundrel and acclaimed rake. Although this tarnished his desirability as a husband, it did little to effect his attractiveness as a duke. Sebastian hated the prospect of introducing his Em to the notorious rakehell, but he’d already heard whispers of rumour flare up around the assemblage at the ball, rumours that would impact Em’s success here tonight. He could not stop their speculation, for though she was presented as a lady of the ton, society had already latched on to the mystery of her origin. It was well-known fact that she had been adopted into the Weatherly household and raised as a lady. However, it became apparent that she was not born one and Sebastian had caught word of several nasty slurs thrown in accordance with Emily’s name and whoever associated with her, despite the appeal of being a Weatherly. He had settled a hefty dowry upon her person in order to dull some of the more jaded whisperings of her unknown past, but that could not dispel the knowledge that Emily Weatherly was born a commoner. Ladies twittered maliciously behind their fans, quickly passing the news to one another, their eyes shrewd and judgmental. Gentlemen turned away brusquely as she passed them, hoping to avoid an obligatory introduction or, worse yet, a dance.

It quickly became apparent to Sebastian that Emily was not to have a pleasant season, that society would make this as hard as possible on her, and his heart squeezed painfully with his anger, fury at his peers and the class into which he was born making him clench his fists until his fingers bit into the skin of his palms.

“Sebastian,” Emily said from his side, gently placing her hand on his arm to draw his attention, “is ought amiss?”

He glanced down at her, meeting those wide jade-green eyes, and allowed his gaze to devour her lovely face with a hunger that ferociously swept through his blood.

And then it hit him.

He loved her.

He loved her with a blinding possessiveness that swelled his lungs and pulsated through his blood, pounding his temples with a burning, irrevocable fury of desire and need that he knew could never, ever, be relieved.

“Sebastian?” Emily asked, concerned.

“I’m fine,” he croaked, harshly, and withdrew from her.

There were several significant reasons why Sebastian Weatherly did not welcome this life-altering realisation and several pertinent reasons why he could never allow his affections to be known by anyone, especially her.

Firstly, and most obviously, she was his family, his ward- the person who’s needs directly affected him foremost. He had to ensure that she married someone suitable and he was not suitable, which brought him to the second important reason.

He was unsuitable.

Wholly and resplendently unsuitable.

He was the very likeness of his father- a man beyond salvation. If one was guided by one’s past, then his father’s depression would be inflicted upon him, and Sebastian knew he could not allow his beloved, his wife, to withstand such tarnished blackness in her life. He could not let Emily endure the scandal of his death or the pain that would follow, that had swallowed his livelihood the very moment he had witnessed his own sire’s suicide. Even if he had not inherited the disease, he could not condone the chance that it might rear its hideous head at a later stage. One never knew and Sebastian wouldn’t take the chance.

Thirdly, his father had been an indiscriminate rake, a scoundrel, and Sebastian was likely to follow in his stead. Even when he was married and had borne one son, Duncan had embarked on countless affairs and, though he was young, Sebastian recalled well his mother’s despair at his father’s infidelity. He would not put Emily through that sort of heartbreak.

No, he thought, best she find some poor fool who could become smitten with her. Someone safe and reliable, not volatile and unpredictable like he.

“Sebastian, you are acting rather queer,” Emily told him teasingly. “Shall I summon Sophie to our side? Look, she is waving to us- Oh, dear. She knocked poor Lady Belmonte over the head with that cane.”

Sebastian ignored the urge to witness the spectacle Sophie was making of herself and instead focused on his current predicament: of ensuring Emily’s success tonight and then washing his hands of her completely. “Come, let me introduce you to Sinclair,” he clipped suddenly, taking her arm and leading her to the aforementioned gentleman.

“Weatherly,” Sinclair nodded in greeting, a roguish smile dimpling his cheeks. “Good to see you again. And what might we have here?”

The notable flirtatious tone of his voice made Sebastian long to plant his fist into his friend’s face, but he bit back the urge and brought Emily forward. When Sinclair’s eyes alighted on her and swept over her form, Sebastian thought he might call him out. “Sinclair, this is Miss Weatherly,” he grunted, barely civil.

Gabriel Sinclair smiled over Emily’s gloved wrist. Sebastian wanted to choke. “A pleasure,” Gabriel purred, straightening. “I am sure Lord Weatherly will not protest should I claim this flower for a dance?”

“You make me sick,” Sebastian snarled before he could stop himself.

Emily looked at him, shocked, and Gabriel chuckled, unperturbed. He threw Sebastian a suave smile and belligerently swept Emily’s hand into the crook of his arm, deliberately beginning to lead her away and eventually they were swallowed into the crowd.

Sebastian sighed and reluctantly turned away, afraid that if he watched them he’d take Sinclair by the scruff of his neck and throw him in the bushes outside. It was good, after all, if Gabriel seemed interested in the Weatherly girl. Where one man strayed, others would follow… just not him.

Once this deplorably painful evening drew to a close, he’d deposit both Emily and Sophie safely home, and find a mistress. Maybe two, or three. Hell, better make it four, just to be safe.

Maybe, just maybe, he would forget about his feelings for Emily, forget that he loved her beyond all reason, and he could continue a normal life as London’s notorious bachelor. Maybe, in a year, he could laugh about his besotted pining for his ward, a red-haired wench with the loveliest breasts he’d ever seen.

He doubted he’d be granted that release, but one could hope...