go ahead. Laugh. Have your fun. I doubt a mere farmer from Norfolk would understand the world I live in.’
She had meant to offend him, remind him his manners were sadly lacking and to put him back in his place, yet he didn’t appear the slightest bit offended. ‘You poor thing! I never realised how the other half suffered. I’m curious—without those...’ he gestured to her head ‘...monstrosities, what does your hair really look like?’
‘It is as straight as a poker. Just like my sister’s.’ Why had she confessed that?
‘Bella has lovely hair.’
‘Yes, of course she does, but...’ Having to justify her choice of hairstyle was ridiculous, so she clamped her mouth shut in case she said things she would rather he didn’t know. Bella didn’t have to be persistently beautiful every waking minute of the day. She had her man. And her enormous brain and copious talents.
‘But you are the Incomparable, therefore your hair has to curl. Your clothes have to be perfect. Every nuanced movement has to convey your sheer perfection. A diamond of the first water.’ He wafted his large hand in the air like a ballet dancer. Mocking her. Earlier he could barely string two words together and now suddenly he was capable of the most cruel and cutting insults. More cruel because they were completely accurate. The insufferable, insightful man.
‘Go back to planting your turnips!’ Clarissa stomped to the door.
‘It was turkeys actually, not turnips. But mostly geese, if you must know. Norfolk is famous for its poultry. Every year my grandfather would walk them to London wearing little leather boots to protect their feet. Always made me laugh as a child. Birds in boots.’ He said this conversationally, his deep voice slurring slightly. Clarissa turned against her better judgement and saw him slumped a little and smiling soppily. It was the brandy loosening his tongue, she realised. She had given him rather a lot of it. ‘Would you read to me? You have a lovely voice.’
‘No, I will not.’ The suggestion alone had brought out a cold sweat and panic. ‘It would be wholly improper.’
‘Can you at least pass me the shortbread before you leave? I daren’t move and I’m starving.’
Of their own accord, her feet moved to do his bidding. She snatched up what was left of the original biscuit and thrust it at him, only to have him snap it in half and pass a piece right back. ‘It was your midnight feast. I’d feel guilty if I ate it all. Does shortbread taste better with jam?’ His eyes flicked to the jar.
‘Everything tastes better with jam.’ To prove her point she dipped the edge of hers in the pot and then held it out for him to do the same. He took a bite, chewed thoughtfully, then nodded.
‘You are right. It does. But if you have such a sweet tooth, why did you refuse the trifle at dinner?’
‘I didn’t feel like trifle.’
‘Of course.’ He said it with a disbelieving note of sarcasm before taking another bite while those dark eyes scrutinised hers. ‘Is he worth it?’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘Your duke? Is he worth depriving yourself of desserts and trying to sleep with all that nonsense on your head?’
This man was too insightful. ‘He’s a duke.’
‘Dukes are merely men in finer waistcoats.’
Clarissa smiled then, she couldn’t help it. Like this, a little bit tipsy and suddenly vocal, Mr Leatham was quite charming. ‘And there speaks a man with little experience with the breed.’
‘I have lots of experience with dukes. My father was one.’
The last bite of biscuit paused midway to her lips. ‘You jest!’
‘Not at all. My father was a very illustrious duke.’ He waved his hand in the air loftily. ‘Very well connected at court—although I’m not supposed to talk about it or mention his name alongside mine. It’s a big secret. He thought himself most benevolent in quietly acknowledging me behind closed doors and providing for me financially. I received a gentleman’s education, I’ll have you know. I even went to Cambridge... Never had a seat at his table though. Appearances and all that.’
‘You are a...’ How did one put it politely?
‘By-blow? Nullius filius? Illegitimate? Born on the wrong side of the blanket? There are many gentle ways to say bastard, my lady—none of them alter the truth.’ He toasted her with his glass. ‘I have a half-brother who’s a duke, too. He’s a pompous man. Once called me a “thing”, just like you did. “Get that thing out of my house.” I remember it verbatim because those are the only words he’s ever said to me.’
Her cornflower eyes widened and Seb wondered what had possessed him to tell her, until he remembered he had consumed two huge glasses of brandy, in quick succession and on an empty stomach whilst physically as weak as a kitten. He’d never been much of a drinker and thanks to his injury hadn’t touched a drop in a month. Was it any wonder the strong spirit had gone straight to his head? ‘Sorry. Didn’t mean to tell you that. I think those brandies have loosened my tongue. I’m not normally this chatty. Usually I’m shy around females. Painfully shy. I don’t suppose a fine lady like yourself would understand what that’s like, but aside from my mother I never really knew any women growing up... Why am I admitting that?’ It hadn’t just loosened his tongue, apparently it had also greased his jaws.
‘By the time I was grown I had no clue what women to go for. Being a by-blow you sort of sit on the fence between the two. I am neither a gentleman nor a peasant. I have nothing in common with the uneducated women and I have no experience of the merchant class, so never really understood where a man in my position hunts for women. And so many look down their nose at my situation, it’s rather put me off trying. Do you know, I can’t even flirt? Never dared try it.’ Largely because he didn’t want to suffer the inevitable reaction when they learned he was nothing better than a rich man’s bastard.
Her multicoloured head leant closer. ‘Are you telling me that you have never...?’ Her words trailed off as her perfect cheeks blushed.
‘No! Of course not. There have been a few women, but fortunately, every woman has seduced me. Thank goodness. Else I’d be hurtling towards thirty with no experience whatsoever.’ Seb started to laugh at his own ineptitude. ‘The first time, I was so green I didn’t realise what was going on until I found myself in her bedroom. Probably shouldn’t have told you that either, but I’m very tired.’ He could feel his limbs getting heavier with fatigue and suspected he would sleep like a baby for the rest of the night. Lord, he was exhausted. So weary he could barely see straight. All she had to do was ask and he probably would confess all his secrets.
Yet sat here with her in the candlelight, his tongue blessedly untied for once, admitting to his shameful lineage and his failings had been surprisingly easy. With her hair poking out of her head in rainbow tufts, jam stains on the front of her nightdress and one unnoticed sticky lump glued just above her lip, the Gem didn’t seem half as terrifying as she had before. There was something endearingly normal about her now and somehow he found this version far more attractive than he did the other incarnation. This woman was real. Vulnerable and much more accessible. Despite the pull of Morpheus, he wanted to spend more time with her. ‘Why do you want to marry a duke? Their privilege and upbringing make them very difficult men.’
She
