Cinders & Sapphires by Leila Rasheed Page B

had never expected her father to support her in her desire to go to Oxford. But now she knew what he did want. He wanted her to marry well—brilliantly, in fact. Perhaps if she did that, going to Oxford would be possible. Perhaps.
    She did not regret refusing Varley. But if she were not to be forced by her stepmother into a marriage with someone little better, she had to make a success of the season and find a husband who her father and society would entirely approve of. And an Indian student with no prospects was not such a husband.
    There was no choice in the matter. She had to forget Ravi.

“Sir, I really think you should slow down!” Oliver shouted above the roar of the engine. The dirt and dust of the road rattled by and the hedgerows passed in a blur of green.
    Sebastian glanced at him, an exhilarated grin on his face. He looked like a Greek god in his chariot, golden and vengeful.
    “Ah, come on, Oliver. Don’t you like to live dangerously?” he shouted back.
    He held Oliver’s eyes for just a second longer than was necessary before the De Dion–Bouton reached the next bend and he had to look back at the road. It was just long enough for Oliver’s heartbeat to speed up in response. He looked away, pressing his lips together to stifle an answering, unvaletlike smile. You don’t know the half of it, he thought.
    “Where are we going, sir?” He glanced back at the picnic hamper in the back.
    Sebastian pulled the car to the side of the road, slammed on the brakes, and brought them to a shuddering halt. The silence was like a thunderclap. Oliver blinked at the blue sky. Small noises like the birds in the trees and the creaking noise of the car’s metal became audible in the sudden stillness.
    They had stopped on a patch of grass surrounded by willows and small shrubs. Oliver climbed down, aware of his dusty face and the hot sun making him sweat inside his uniform. Sebastian got down too. He brushed his blond fringe from his sweaty forehead and, with another provocative—at least, Oliver thought it was provocative—glance at Oliver, strode toward the trees.
    Oliver hesitated before following. He went to the car and lifted out the picnic basket. One thing was for sure, he was not going to make the same mistake as last time. Caution was everything.
    He followed Sebastian down through the trees, trying not to slip as he carried the picnic basket down the narrow, muddy path. He was so busy looking at his feet that when he looked up he was startled to find himself on the shores of a small lake. The water was calm and blue as the sky, and a jetty led out into the water, a rowing boat moored to it. In the distance was Somerton, small as a doll’s house, and Sebastian stood at the end of the jetty, stripping his shirt from his muscular, clean-cut chest.
    Oliver found himself breathless. He was glad Sebastian was not looking in his direction. He turned away and looked for a dry spot for the picnic basket.
    When he turned back, Sebastian was in the water, and his clothes were tossed aside on the jetty.
    Oliver went to collect them. Sebastian, treading water at the end of the jetty, looked up.
    “I hope you like this spot. It seemed the best place to go to get away from all that rot.”
    He nodded toward the house. A month had passed since Lord and Lady Westlake’s wedding, but the stream of guests arriving to congratulate the new couple seemed endless.
    Distantly, the sound of shots cracked the air.
    “The shooting season, sir?”
    “Yes. I fail to see why humans find their amusement in destroying life.”
    He swam a few slow, strong strokes out into the lake. Oliver watched the water ripple from his shoulder muscles.
    “I must say I agree, sir.”
    Sebastian turned in the water, smiling up at him. It was a devilish smile, which Oliver knew very well by now. He suspected that Sebastian also knew its effects.
    “Why don’t you come in too? It seems a shame to have you stand there hot and sweaty when you could be