Smuggler's Moon Read online

  Sebastian was caught off-guard by a shock of arousal. He stopped, wondering at himself for being so stirred by so simple a sight. Perhaps, he reflected with an arch of one eyebrow, he was more deeply attracted to his new fiancée than he had realized.

  Just then, as if feeling the heat of his gaze, she turned to face him. “Ah, good morrow, my lord.”

  He blinked, realizing that it was not Sarah who addressed him, but her vexing sister, Julia. The two females might look remarkably similar, but there was no mistaking Julia’s crisp gaze or the very direct tone of her voice, and now he could see the sleek sable curls that peeked out under the brim of her bonnet.

  “Miss Faircloth, good day. Where have you hidden your sister?”

  “Sarah wasn’t feeling quite the thing today, so I have come in her stead.”

  “To walk with me in Sydney Gardens?” he inquired coolly, fooled not at all by the radiant smile she turned up at him.

  “I came because you were expecting her, and because you wrote her that you needed to know her precise Christian name before the banns can be posted for your wedding.”

  Noticing that the coachman appeared to be eavesdropping, Sebastian lightly grasped her elbow and led her away toward the gardens. “All right then, let us walk together, since it appears that we have matters of business to discuss.” He gave the man a short nod. “You may wait for Miss Faircloth. I shall return her to your care shortly.”

  Julia looked up while hurrying along at his side. “My lord, once again, your manners are sorely lacking. Are you certain that you are of noble birth?”

  He wanted to tighten his grip on her arm, but forced his fingers to relax. “I shall overlook your impertinence. Have you seen the labyrinth, Miss Faircloth?”

  “No, although I have heard that it is twice the size of the one at Hampton Court. Would it be prudent for us to wander in a maze if we mean to have a serious conversation?”

  “Prudent?” Sebastian gave a short laugh. “That is one of my least favorite words.”

  She surprised him by laughing herself, in a refreshingly spontaneous fashion. “I am forced to admit that I agree with you, my lord. “

  “Do you indeed?” He arched a brow. They had come into a sylvan glade carpeted by butter-yellow daffodils that nodded under the darkening sky. “A shocking development!”

  Julia let him guide her onward, past the bowling green. Her senses were thrumming with something that she realized was more than just the antipathy she liked to tell herself stemmed from Lord Sebastian’s treatment of her father, and now her entire family. When he drew a branch back to allow her to pass, she found herself noticing the breadth of his shoulders. And again, she was struck by the strong male beauty of his ungloved hands, remembering for a tingling instant the sensation of those hands touching her the day he had kissed her at Turbans.

  “Shall we sit on this bench to converse about the license?”

  Julia blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

  His knowing gaze was maddening in the extreme. “Are you well, Miss Faircloth?”

  She looked around at the shady little grotto that was overarched by budding trees and evergreen shrubs. In the center was a whimsical stone bench. It really wasn’t a bit proper for them to be alone together in such a setting, but this was a business matter, after all. “Yes, thank you, I am fine.” She tilted her nose up at him and perched on the bench. “This is much better than that maze. Even with the map, we could easily become lost there, and rain threatens.”

  “I defer to your greater wisdom, Miss Faircloth.”

  There was a faintly mocking smile that played over his fine mouth, making her heart beat faster with an array of vexing feelings. Drawing off her gloves, she opened her reticule and extracted a folded sheet of parchment. “I have brought the information that you requested.”

  “I hardly think that you needed to write it down. How many names can your sister have besides Sarah?”

  “Well, it’s a bit more complicated than that, my lord.” To her consternation, Julia felt hot blood rushing to her cheeks, and prayed he wouldn’t notice.

  “I am in suspense.”

  “You see, my mother is very fond of the letter J. So fond, in fact, that she gave all three of her children names that began with that letter.” As her words poured out, she stole a glance at Sebastian and saw that one of his eyebrows had begun to arch. Sitting up straighter, she continued firmly, “It’s preposterous, I know, but that is the nature of our mother. She named me ‘Jillian Julia’ and Sarah was christened ‘Julianne Sarah.’ My brother’s given name is ‘Julian Frederick.’”

  “Fascinating.”

  “So you see, to avoid confusion, our relatives quickly began to refer to us by our second names.” She gave a bold laugh so that he would not suspect that she was trembling inside as her lies mounted. “Julia, Sarah, and Frederick…rather than Jillian, Julianne, and Julian.”

  “Ah. I see.” His expression was wary. “And which of these names does your sister plan to use during our wedding?”

  “Why, of course, the license should read ‘Julianne Faircloth,’” she replied briskly. “And the vicar would address her as ‘Julianne’ during the ceremony.”

  Sebastian stared at her. His head had begun to hurt. He watched as Julia held up a paper with the name she had just spoken written out in clear letters. “A most bizarre situation.”

  “Quite fitting, my lord, since you have had a hand in creating it.” She looked directly at him, her gaze compelling under the blue brim of her bonnet. “I would like to ask you a question.”

  The pounding at his temples increased. “Proceed.”

  “Why do you want to marry Sarah when you barely know her, and certainly do not love her?”

  “Gad, Miss Faircloth, you are brash. I will tell you only that I know that love is the least important ingredient in a marriage. In fact, it is to be avoided, for love only leads to misunderstandings and disillusionment.” He actually had come to believe that love in any human relationship was a conduit for pain, but it was too intimate an opinion to share with Julia Faircloth. Instead, he continued coolly, “You females, I perceive, have grand notions about romance, but that is all they are: notions. Romance between two people is fine as an amusing interlude, but far too ephemeral to last a lifetime.”

  “You have not answered my question, my lord. Why do you insist upon marrying my sister if you have no tender feelings toward her?”

  “I am in need of a wife, and I like her. She is lovely and soft and docile, which suits me. She will not fight me at every turn.”

  Julia looked as if she would like to strangle him. “You are shocking!”

  “Have I shocked you, Miss Faircloth?” He laughed softly. “Perhaps I may acquit myself by adding that I have chosen Sarah because I saw that it would save your family from losing Turbans as well as your income. And she will be content as my wife, I can assure you. No doubt Sarah will come to enjoy all that London society has to offer, and will scarcely notice if her husband is not following her about like a puppy.”

  “Do you assume that my sister is lacking emotional depth?”

  “This conversation grows tiresome and I am hungry. I should return you to your carriage.”

  Bright spots of color stained her pretty cheeks. “Take this, then, my lord.”

  When Julia thrust the paper at him, their bare fingers brushed for an instant, and Sebastian felt an unwelcome stirring in his loins. He stared at her, nostrils flaring slightly. There was a palpable heat radiating from her body, and he wanted to take her in his arms and kiss her, to open her prim gown and reveal her breasts, to hear her moan aloud…but of course, that wouldn’t do, particularly now that he was betrothed to her sister.

  In one smooth, powerful movement, he stood and coolly extended a hand to her. “Your servant, Miss Faircloth. And, may I add that there will be no banns posted. I shall procure a special license and the wedding will take place one week hence.”

  * * *

 
; The kitchen building at Turbans was fortunately located a few steps behind the house itself, so that if Cook, who was elderly and forgetful, set something on fire, the entire estate wouldn’t go up in flames. Nearby, there was a pretty kitchen garden, complete with a variety of herbs planted by Julia.

  On the day before her wedding, Julia went to visit Cook. Passing through the garden, she glanced at her herbs, which were just pushing out of the ground again in the spring sunlight. What would become of all the projects she’d overseen at Turbans? What if her mother took to bed again? And who would see to it that the wild birds were fed each day?

  “Ah, Miss Julia, it’s a treat to have a visit from you,” Cook called out. Her plump cheeks were red with the exertion of mixing the cake batter, but the results looked promising. “Leave it to you to see that everything is being done properly. What would your family do without you?”

  Julia’s heart sank. She made her way to the stout wooden table where Cook was pounding almonds mixed with a bit of orange flower water. Nearby, the new roasting range gleamed in the morning light, and the baking oven was heating in anticipation of the cake pans.

  “You’re just trying to make a plain spinster feel useful,” she said lightly.

  “What a lot of nonsense. You know better.” Cook began grating a bit of nutmeg.

  Julia sighed. It was the most difficult decision she’d ever made, choosing between her life at Turbans and a new life as Lord Sebastian’s bride. She told herself that sweet Sarah might not survive the trauma of a wedding night to a man she did not love, but that she could, and then go on to make something useful of the match. It was the only logical plan. Her family would remain at Turbans, and she had the backbone to deal with a loveless marriage.

  Still, whenever she thought of becoming Sebastian’s wife, a pleasant sort of gooseflesh broke out all over her body. The future might be daunting, yet it was also thrilling beyond her understanding.

  First there was the wedding to get through. Her plans could easily come apart. If Sebastian saw through her flimsy scheme, poor Sarah might find herself in his marriage bed after all, and there would be nothing Julia could do to save her.

  * * *

  “Highly unusual, having a wedding in the evening,” muttered Parson Cumberstone, squinting through the shadows that filled the Turbans library.

  Julia smiled. “The hour was requested by my sister, the bride,” she explained. “Sarah wanted a family wedding, away from prying eyes, and we decided that she was right, given the recent passing of my father. Will you have more wine, vicar?”

  “Awfully dark in here, though, don’t you think?” He extended his glass. “Yes, thank you.”

  The library was lit by a few flickering wall sconces, a fitful blaze in the fireplace, and a branch of tapers near the window where the ceremony would take place. Outside, thick rainclouds choked the rising moon, further darkening the walnut-paneled room. “I hope you will be able to make out the marriage service, vicar.”

  He gave a snuffling chuckle. “I don’t need to see it. I’ve performed so many weddings, I could recite the service in my sleep.” Just then, there was a loud knock at the front door and Parson Cumberstone jumped. “I say, was that thunder?”

  “No, I believe it is the groom, announcing his arrival. Will you excuse me? Do help yourself to more wine.” As she hurried out into the entry hall, Julia thought that Lord Sebastian couldn’t have found a better vicar to perform the ceremony. Parson Cumberstone hadn’t previously met the Faircloth family and, handicapped by the dim light and too much wine, he would be aware of the vows and little else.

  Flinging open the front door, she was positively beaming. “Welcome, my lord!” Spying Keswick standing behind the bridegroom’s imposing figure, she added a second greeting. “Do come in out of the wind, gentlemen. Rain is threatening, I believe.”

  Sebastian glanced around. “Where are your servants, Miss Faircloth?”

  “They had to attend some family festivities of their own, and we rather liked the idea of keeping this gathering small and cozy. Don’t you agree? My sister is very shy, I fear, and like all of us she is missing Papa. It will be easier for her if there are only a few of us present tonight.” Julia had been staring at him, quite struck by the rakish picture he made in his caped greatcoat. His dark hair was windblown, and his eyes were as stormy as the rain clouds. “You seem a trifle tense, my lord…”

  “Not at all!” he snapped.

  “Would you care for a whiskey?”

  “Perhaps. There is a bit of a chill in the air.” Sebastian found a mirror and straightened his snow-white cravat. “Nothing for Keswick. He does not imbibe.”

  Behind his back Julia smiled at Keswick then rushed into the sitting room to pour drinks. Returning, she put the whiskey in his lordship’s exceptionally attractive hand. “I think you’ll be more comfortable in the library, where a fire is burning quite merrily. You and Mr. Keswick may join the vicar there. Meanwhile, I’ll hurry upstairs to see if your bride-to-be is ready…”

  Sebastian drank down the liquor. “I know the way, Miss Faircloth, and I’ll get myself another whiskey en route. Tell your sister that she must not rush on my account.”

  Keswick watched him and sighed. When Julia had disappeared up the stairway, he muttered, “We wonder if we are napping and having a very bizarre dream, my lord! Whatever possessed you to propose marriage to Miss Sarah Faircloth?”

  Walking off in search of the whiskey, Sebastian replied cynically, “I don’t remember. It must have been divine inspiration.”

  * * *

  “Thank heavens you’ve come, Julia,” Polly Faircloth cried as she met her in the upstairs corridor. “Your sister won’t put on her wedding dress, and she won’t come out of your bedroom!”

  “Let me have a word with her.”

  “I’ve talked myself blue in the face, but she won’t listen!”

  “Mama, please!” Julia’s nerves were worn to a frazzle as she hurried into the room where Sarah was sitting in a corner, reading from a stack of Charles Whimple’s love poems. “I thought I asked you to pretend to Mama that you were going along with this charade.”

  “I can’t. I’ve never been able to deceive her the way you can.”

  “Those are hardly the words I would have chosen, but I won’t waste time arguing semantics. What if Mama tells Lord Satan?”

  Suddenly the door burst open and Polly entered, her face drained of blood. “What is it? What mustn’t I tell Lord Sebastian?” Her expression was anguished as she pointed at her elder daughter. “Julia Faircloth, why must you always put your fingers into everything and spoil it? Why couldn’t you simply let your sister do this one thing for me in peace?”

  With that, Sarah burst into copious tears. “Oh, Mama, how can you say it? If I’m forced to marry anyone but my beloved Charles, I shall wither away and die!”

  Julia tucked her sister into the big four-poster bed, bade her rest, and led her mother to the window. One side was cracked to admit a storm-scented breeze. “We haven’t time to discuss this situation, Mama. You must do as I tell you—”

  “I will not!”

  “Kindly listen! The wedding will proceed, and you will keep Turbans. Does that cheer you?”

  “Why…yes! But, my dear, how can it be?”

  “Simply enough. I shall take Sarah’s place.”

  “Madness!” Polly wailed.

  “Sit down. It’s simple enough, Mama. She is in love with Mr. Whimple, and I could not allow her to be sacrificed when there is a much more reasonable solution. I’m strong enough to bear this match, don’t you see?” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “The fine points of marriage, at the hands of Lord Satan, would be devastating to Sarah, but I shall endure.”

  Polly was staring at her through narrowed eyes. “He’s quite splendid, or hadn’t you noticed? The two of you talk as if Lord Sebastian were some sort of wild boar!”

  “I take your point, Mama, but you must concede that he is fearsome. Hard
ly Sarah’s cup of tea.”

  “On my honor, I cannot take part in so great a deception!”

  “Don’t be nonsensical. Why should we suffer pangs of conscience about tricking his lordship when it was he who tricked poor Papa and caused him to wager Turbans? It is Lord Satan’s fault that we have lost everything, including dear Papa, and now he means to steal Sarah’s virtue as well!” Warming to her speech, Julia paced to and fro, wagging her forefinger. “Why shouldn’t we thwart him?”

  From under the covers on the bed, Sarah called weakly, “I believe that Julia has feelings for Lord Sebastian, Mama.”

  “So does a murderess before she raises her dagger, child!”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake!” Julia cried. “Can we please get on with it? Mama, do go downstairs and inform the vicar and his lordship that I have suffered an attack of dyspepsia. Then, say that Sarah will come down to the library for the wedding in just a few minutes.” She grinned as a new plan occurred to her. “Have Freddy come for me. I’ll enter on his arm.”

  “And just how will we make his lordship believe you are Sarah? You two may resemble each other, but not enough to fool him!”

  Julia laughed. “Oh, I have my ways, and I’m aware that you have it in you to spin a tale or two yourself if the need arises.” She gave her wide-eyed mother an encouraging little shake. “Fortunately, Lord Sebastian believes that his bride is very timid, especially tonight. Now then, do go downstairs, Mama, and give everyone another drink. Perhaps by the time I glide into the library, they won’t care what I look like!”

  Chapter 9

  “This is the oddest damned wedding I’ve ever encountered,” Sebastian whispered, brows lowering.

  “We strongly agree, my lord,” said Keswick. “And we find ourselves thinking of your departed parents. One can only imagine what Lord Caverleigh would have to say.”