Sebastian poured a healthy splash of bourbon into a tumbler and swallowed it in one gulp. He poured another.

Then another.

Gabriel watched impassively, brown eyes flickering with amusement. While Sebastian sipped the third ration, he acquired his own, and glass in hand, took a seat in one of the oversized leather chairs situated in Sebastian’s study.

The earl paced before the fireplace in agitation.

“I assume milady has not adjusted to the idea of being your countess,” Gabriel remarked dryly. “Or your wife.” He amused himself by counting how many times Sebastian completed the pattern on the expensive rug.

Sebastian halted just long enough to throw a black scowl at Gabriel. The stalking resumed for several more minutes before he flung himself into the chair behind his desk. “Damned if she’s not going to drive me to drink.” The two men, in a masculine salute to exasperating femininity, clinked glasses across the massive desk.

“A wifely duty, some people say,” Gabriel noted.

Sebastian sighed, frustration with his reluctant bride easing a bit as the bourbon unknotted him. It had been a long day. Restraining his desire would surely test the limits of his sanity from time to time. Raising the glass to examine its amber-hued contents, he said, “I hope to not make this a nightly habit. I’ve done too much of drinking lately as it is.”

Gabriel chuckled in agreement then turned to a more serious subject. “Basford has yet to appear in London. Indeed, his family is most tight-lipped regarding his absence. They’ve spread the tale that the viscount was seriously injured in an accident outside the city and now recuperates in an undisclosed location. To better facilitate his recovery.”

“Alan has been to Basford’s estate twice. His staff claims he’s not in residence. Perhaps he is at a smaller family estate elsewhere.” Sebastian toyed with the cut glass tumbler held loosely in his hand. “We’ll need to determine for ourselves if he is indeed holed up in Staffordshire.”

Gabriel grimaced. “I thought you might say that. I have a man watching the estate. You still intend to go through with the duel?”

Sebastian hesitated, his first instinct to say yes. He was quickly realizing the reluctance to disappoint Ivy. She made no secret of her disgust with his methods of dealing with her abductor. “I am not sure. Perhaps it would be worthwhile to persuade him to leave the country instead. Although I must admit, I have relished the idea of killing him.”

“No duel and you find yourself in milady’s good graces, is that it?”

“An avenue to consider. The countess has no wish for the duel to take place. Much depends on Basford himself…he must be agreeable to leaving.” Would Ivy be pleased? By this restraint? Sebastian considered her assertion a duel would create a scandal, casting a shadow on their new marriage. He did not wish her touched by any hint of gossip. It was very hard to admit, but maybe she was right. “It may be the best course, as much as I am loath to concede my wife’s good sense in pointing it out.”

“It appears in a few days we shall travel to Kent in search of the elusive viscount,” Gabriel stated jovially. “But for now, a toast to celebrate your discovery of such an intelligent woman. How you managed it is a true mystery.”

* * *

Dinner was strained, but eventually, the conversation settled into a safe discussion of Beaumont and its history. Neither Sebastian nor Ivy mentioned the contentious incident earlier that day.

Ivy wore a gown the color of dark gold doubloons, the shade accenting the chestnut of her hair and deepening her eyes to a shade of luminous green. The hue favored her, drawing attention from the fading bruises on her wrists and the purple welts in the shapes of fingers on her upper arms where Brandon gripped her so tightly.

Sebastian’s eyes touched on the marks. Their presence seemed to disturb him. Did evidence of another man’s cruelty serve as a reminder to restrain his own? But she needn’t worry. Annie's prediction proved accurate. The earl was attentive, charming and one would never guess their exchange of harsh words only hours earlier. Ivy nervously toyed with her dinner, drinking far more wine than she intended. If he noticed the tendency for her glass to be filled often, he did not comment. Their conversation remained agreeably neutral, more like their old exchanges before the terrible night that ruined things between them, changing their relationship into something hurtful and dark.

"Tell me of Gabriel,” Ivy prodded when the final course of cherry tarts and fresh clotted cream was served. "He is very intriguing. How did you come to meet him? How does he owe you his life?"

"It’s not a very noble story, I’m afraid. We met in a rather disgusting alleyway behind a house of ill repute in Paris.” Sebastian held up his hand at her opened mouthed surprise. "I was merely playing a game of cards with an acquaintance of mine when a disturbance took place. It seems a woman had been ill-treated and Gabriel came to her defense. He and the lout abusing the female were tossed from the establishment. And as these matters usually go, the troublemaker, along with three of his friends, decided to take their displeasure out on the one deemed responsible for their removal.”

Sebastian frowned, remembering the scene that night. "It hardly seemed fair to allow the four of them to beat one man to death so naturally, I stepped in. Although Gabriel was holding his own, he would not have lasted much longer. They nearly got the better of him. My friend was always ready for a tussle, so he and I easily routed three of them. Drunk as they were, it was really no contest. But Gabriel and the initial agitator were locked in a struggle far beyond fists. The other man had a knife and was atop Gabriel, trying his damnedest to slit his throat. I grabbed the first thing I could find, a piece of wood from a rubbish pile. Knocked the scoundrel over the head with it. When the others saw their companion was unconscious, they scattered.”

"Then you cared for Gabriel and his injuries.”

"He was in terrible shape. Busted ribs, broken nose. He’d suffered several stab wounds, and his eyes were swollen shut.”

“Is that where he got the scar?” She leaned forward in her chair with barely concealed excitement. “The one on his forehead?”

Sebastian grinned. “No, that he already possessed. And I never had the courage to ask how he obtained it. But, getting back to the story, had I left him in that alley he most likely would have died. I took him to the chateau I was leasing at the time, called in a physician to patch him up. I tasked a few servants with tending to his needs and went about my business. A couple of weeks passed before my guest recovered enough to remind me of his existence. He was an Englishman, the bastard son of a nameless lord who saw fit he received an education and the scratch to make a start in the world, but little else. Gabriel had no one. No family, few friends. In exchange for saving his life, he vowed to serve me, although I assured him such devotion was entirely unnecessary.” He shrugged as the tale came to an end, "Gabriel has been with me more than five years. I consider him as close a friend as Alan. Indeed, they are both like brothers to me. The man’s loyalty is unquestionable.”

Ivy swirled the wine in her glass, considering this side of her husband; the compassionate nature which did not hesitate to come to the aid of an unknown man. She knew of few in their social circle who would dare do the same, placing their blue-blooded necks at risk for someone they did not know, much less someone of a lower class.

"Why have I not met him before today?” A yawn was stifled behind her hand. The wine and the soothing tone of Sebastian's voice left her relaxed and drowsy.

“I’ve kept him very busy with important matters.”

“What important matters?”

He chuckled, helping her rise from her chair. "That is none of your affair, my curious little wife. Now, you are exhausted and understandably so. It’s been a long day. Much has occurred since this morning when you first woke.”

Ivy leaned into him, yawning again. Their wedding seemed to have happened a century ago. He’s so warm. I wish his arms were around me. I wish he would hold me. I wish… She wanted to feel secure. Loved. In a rational portion of her brain, she knew her fatigued state and the wine she consumed left her vulnerable to such dangerous sentiments and tender emotions. Still…she wanted his arms wrapped tight about her.

"You are right, of course,” she conceded. “It’s been a long day.”

"Will you find your way all right?"

"Yes, thank you.” As difficult as it was to ask the next question, she had to know. She tried her best to sound nonchalant. "Are you retiring too?"

"No.” Sebastian smiled. "My head won’t find a pillow for a while. Sleep well, Countess.” Pressing a quick, cool kiss to her unsuspecting lips, he left her standing alone in the massive hall.

* * *

Sebastian made his way to bed and only then because he was utterly exhausted. He attempted to work on some neglected estate accounts, but the figures merged and swam. Adding the same column incorrectly for the third time, he conceded it was time to retire.

A lamp burned on a table in the alcove next to his bed, the low light casting dark shadows. Sitting on the blue tufted bench, he tugged off his boots, tossing them to the side. He gave William leave of his duties for the next few days, so he managed his own disrobing.

It was bizarre, he thought, sliding between the sheets. Ivy's distinctive perfume lingered within the bedchamber. With tired bemusement, he wondered how he would keep from dreaming of her when her scent surrounded him. Especially tonight, their wedding night, for God’s sake. It seemed unfair to spend it alone.

Settling against the pillows, Sebastian threw an arm over his eyes. A sigh of pure exhaustion escaped him. He stretched, yawning, and as the softness of the bed enveloped him, the awareness he was not alone seeped into his consciousness. A sleek figure, with skin scented of oranges and lilies and smooth as silk, wiggled close.

Ivy was in his bed, a tousled, sleeping ball of warmth. Like a kitten seeking a cozy spot, she instinctively rolled from the far side of the mattress, curling next to him, her hand resting on his chest. She wore a cloud of a nightgown, the muslin fabric sliding against his bare skin as she burrowed close to his heat. Pulled into a fat braid, her hair lay across her shoulder, and if he wished, he could grab that silken rope; use it to tug her to him, to hold her still while he devoured her.

Remaining on his back, Sebastian shifted his arm to wrap it about her. Her sleepy sigh of contentment melted him, a sense of fulfillment and peace seeping into his bones. It had nothing to do with desire or lust. He treasured holding her. Drifting off, he realized he’d never fallen asleep with a woman in his bed without first making love to her.

What a novel experience.