Once a Wallflower, At Last His Love (Scandalous Seasons Book 6) (16 page)

“He must possess a keen wit.”

“I have been assured I’m quite clever,” he said automatically.

Her lips pulled at the corner. “No lady, gentleman, or servant would ever dare say otherwise.” She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Have a care, Sebastian or I’ll believe you desire a spot upon my list.”

He stilled. Her words from any other woman would have been construed as calculating. Not from this woman, Hermione, who spoke and teased with a candidness he’d not known existed in the opposite sex.

Her shoulders shook with the force of her silent laughter. “You may be rest assured, Your Grace, there is no list. And if there was, I’d not place you at the top of that very important list.”

He imagined she merely intended to reassure him she didn’t have designs upon his title, and yet… A muscle ticked at the corner of his right eye as he considered the following: one, Hermione Rogers did not consider him worthy of a placement upon that
very important list
and… two, there were other gentlemen she
would
place there.
If
she had one.

He shot a hand out and wrapped it loosely about Hermione’s waist. A startled gasp escaped her as he drew her close. He brushed his knuckles along her jaw. “I imagine a woman who craves the romance to be found in a Gothic novel should require more from the gentlemen she places upon her very important list.”

“Are you making light of me?” She leaned into his caress.

By the very nature of their closeness, they danced with ruin and yet, he could no sooner set her away than he could lob off his own right arm. “I wouldn’t dare,” he whispered against her lips. He pulled her closer.

“You shouldn’t.” But she didn’t move away.

“Make light of you?” He dropped his brow to hers. “I’ve already assured you, I wouldn’t.”

A startled laugh escaped her. “No, I referred to…” He ran the pad of his thumb over her lip. “That.” Her lids fluttered wildly. “You shouldn’t do
that
.” She sucked in breath as though delving deep within herself for strength. To step away? To ask for his kiss? “It is dangerous for us to be this close. A-and you certainly shouldn’t touch me.” Nor did she draw away from him.

And he wanted her more than he’d ever wanted another. “Hermione, I am—”

She stuck her finger in his chest. “If you say you’re a duke and are permitted even these liberties, then I’ll clout you.”

A chuckle rumbled up from deep within his chest.

She sighed. “It is as I feared. You are one of those arrogant—”

“Though not stodgy.”

She nodded. “No, not stodgy, types.”

Sebastian claimed her lips.

“Hermione!” The girl Addie’s voice echoed from somewhere within the shop.

She jumped away, her skin waxen, and she glanced around frantically. “I shouldn’t…I—”

“Hermione,” he said quietly.

“I must go, Your Grace.” She squared her shoulders. “And you would do well to avoid me.” With that cryptic warning, she slipped out of his arms and all but flew down the row like a fey creature taking flight.

Except her warning only had the opposite effect as he was filled with an insatiable hungering for more of the spirited minx.

C
hapter 14

S
ebastian paced back and forth in the empty office. The steady tick-tock of the long case clock grated on his nerves. He frowned. The longer he paced the familiar sapphire blue Aubusson carpet, the more the foolishness in this particular visit settled in.

Bloody hell. Where in hell was he? Sebastian had arrived nearly…He tugged his watch fob from his pocket and consulted the time. And frowned. Had it really only been ten minutes since he’d arrived? Footsteps sounded in the hall and he spun around, just as a once detested, now tolerated figure stepped through the door.

His brother-in-law, the Marquess of Drake narrowed his gaze and strode over to his wide, mahogany desk. He perched a hip on the edge and folded his arms almost expectantly.

Sebastian inclined his head and studied the man who’d been betrothed to Emmaline since she’d been a girl and Drake a mere boy. He’d spent years hating this very person for his ill treatment of Emmaline. The irony of this moment, coming here for help from that same man, was not lost on him.

Drake broke the silence. “I don’t presume you’ve called—” He glanced at the long case clock across the room. “—at this ungodly hour, to simply glower in that menacing fashion?”

“Not this time,” Sebastian mumbled. He quite detested the spell Hermione Rogers had cast upon him. She’d upended logic, reason, and order and made him—his lips pulled in a grimace—God forbid, do foolish things like read Gothic novels. He gestured to the sideboard, suddenly requiring liquid fortitude. “May I?”

“You do realize it’s but seven o’clock in the morning?”

Sebastian opted to take that question as permission and strode over to the sideboard. “Of course I know what time it is.” He frowned at the collection of port, sherry, and whiskey, in search of a good bottle of fine, French brandy. “Where the hell is your brandy, man?”

“I don’t drink the stuff.” Wry amusement underscored Drake’s response.

“Can’t trust a man who doesn’t drink brandy,” he muttered.

“And I say you can’t trust a man who does.” His brother-in-law’s lips tipped up in a crooked grin. “Very well, I see it’s your desire for good company that’s brought you by for a visit.”

Sebastian settled for the nearest bottle. “Hardly.” Rather, he required assistance from someone who could be the sole of discretion. Even with Sebastian’s previous dislike for the man, Lord Drake’s bravery in the Peninsular Wars had proven him to be honorable. He picked up a glass and splashed several fingerfuls of whiskey to the rim. He took a sip and grimaced. “Foul stuff.”

Drake sat back in his seat and studied him with a probing stare. Sebastian returned his attention to the contents of his glass. He swirled the amber depths. “Might I be correct in saying you didn’t care to wed my sister?”

The other man’s body jerked erect. His eyes became near-impenetrable slits. “Why don’t you say what it is you’ve come to say?” he ordered through tight lips.

He waved his glass. “I’m merely stating a matter of fact.”

Drake jerked his chin up. “A bit late to change the terms of the contract,” he said, his tone droll. “You had your opportunity to find her another. And you failed.”

Sebastian set his glass down and liquid droplets splashed over the side. He tugged at his cravat. He really was making quite a bumble of this whole meeting. Thick tension blanketed the room as shame filled him over the role he’d played in trying to thwart Drake’s courtship of Emmaline. He’d quite happily released Emmaline from the age-old betrothal contract and tried to orchestrate a union between Em and his closest friend, Waxham. “I did it because she was my sister,” he said, a touch of defensiveness in his words.

He’d have protected Emmaline from hurt at any cost. And she’d known no small amount of pain over Lord Drake’s indifference through the years. He slashed the air with a hand. “Regardless, I see my sister is happy.” Which was really all that mattered. “And that is not why I’ve come to call.”

“Then why have you—?”

“You were determined to avoid marriage to my sister. Why did you decide to make her an offer?” Silence met his question. A slow understanding glinted in the other man’s eyes. Sebastian tugged at his cravat once more. “There isn’t,” he said on a rush.

Drake’s lips twitched. “There isn’t…
what
?”

“A young lady I intend to offer for.” Eventually, he would have to make a match. The idea of settling down into the predictable life of a married gentleman hadn’t held much appeal—but then it hardly appealed to
most
gentlemen—until a certain Gothic novel-reading young lady.

“No gentleman cares to have his hand forced.” His brother-in-law rolled his shoulders. “It took some time, nearly too much,” he added, “to realize bitterness in my circumstances prevented me from seeing that which I’d denied over the years.”

He rocked forward on the balls of his feet. “And what was that?”

“That I needed Emmaline, that I couldn’t live without her, even though you were indeed correct in that she deserved more.”

Sebastian picked up his half-empty drink. He took a long swallow and stared at the droplets clinging to the edge of the glass. Unlike Emmaline and Drake, whose families had been intimate friends through the years, and through that relationship the couple betrothed as children, Sebastian hardly knew Miss Hermione Rogers. Intrigue and interest was certainly not love. Nor did he believe himself so impractical as to fall in love with a young woman after a mere handful of meetings. And a kiss. And a waltz. And a near ravishment inside a bookshop…

Drake cleared his throat, pulling Sebastian back to the moment. “I take it there is, perhaps, at least a certain young lady to merit at the very least your questioning?”

He let his silence serve as his answer.

“I see,” Drake said in response.

Sebastian finished the contents of his whiskey. He set the empty glass down hard on the edge of Drake’s desk. “I hardly know her,” he said, hoping Drake, with his constant ribbing, would prod some practicality back into him.

His brother-in-law captured his chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Does this mysterious lady have a name?”

“It matters not,” he replied automatically. As much as he trusted the other man’s discretion on the matter, his brother-in-law hardly required knowledge of the young lady’s identity. After all, if Drake knew then there was the likelihood Emmaline would know and though loyal, he’d rather not risk her mentioning the woman who’d captivated him, to the Countess of Waxham or his mother…

The other man spread his hands out. “Very well, then. If you’d rather not share any details of the—”

“She’s spirited,” he interrupted, because really there ought to be another person aside from the lady’s unappreciative brother and young sister who knew the lady’s worth. A rueful smile pulled at his lips as he remembered her shredding her hem to avoid Lord Bull’s attentions. “And quick-witted.” It was certainly hard to not admire such resourcefulness in a woman who knew unwaveringly what she wanted, and in last evening’s case—what she did not want. “And she seems singularly unimpressed with my dukedom,” he murmured, more to himself. The lure of that held a great appeal to a man oft-desired for his title alone.

“Ah,” Drake said slowly. “There is certainly something to be said for a young woman interested in more than a title and wealth.”

He nodded in agreement. “Though such things are hardly the grounds on which to base marriage.” Good God. Marriage. To a stranger? Yes, his father would be sitting behind his desk head in hands likely with a list of flawless, English ladies with impeccable lines. Only, she was no longer a stranger. She was Hermione, so very different than any other lady to come before her. Not mercenary or title-grasping, she was the first woman to see him and see…a man. Not the title. Or duke. Or gads of wealth. Simply Sebastian. A lightness filled his chest. By God, he loved her.

His brother-in-law eyed him contemplatively. “If she’s a woman uninterested in the title of duchess,” he said in quiet tones. “Then there is certainly more to the young lady’s character than quick-witted.”

“And spirited,” Sebastian replied automatically.

She is bold. Humorous. Passionate.
And more, he enjoyed being with her.

Sebastian fixed his gaze on the other man’s desk. “Yes,” he said quietly. “You are correct.” However, he was not one of those foolish romantics. Not the sonnet-sprouting fellows, who’d do something as mortifying as to say, barge into an intimate dinner party and proceed to recount lines of a horribly crafted poem as Drake had done with Emmaline. Even as he’d held out for the hope of a marriage built on more than power and wealth, he’d silently resigned himself to the inevitability of wedding a lady who revered the title more than the man.

Until a young lady had uttered, “
You’re
a duke,” in that disappointed little manner.

Out the corner of his eye, a small black leather book caught his attention, the sweeping font of the gold lettering upon the cover familiar. He crossed over and picked up the book by Mr. Michael Michaelmas—
The Earl’s Entrapment
. An unwitting grin tugged at his lips in reminder of the lady’s outrage over his response to her reading selection. He turned it over in his hands.

His brother-in-law gave him a sympathetic look. “I imagine your circumstances are a good deal more…er, serious if you’ve begun reading Gothic novels.” Then he grinned. “Gothic novels generally precede the offer of marriage.”

The book tumbled from Sebastian’s fingers and fell damningly open at his feet. He bent and scooped it up. “I’m not…” He let the lie remain untold. With a sigh, he tossed Mr. Michael Michaelmas’ work atop Drake’s desk.

A grin tugged at the other man’s lips. “Well,
if
you are reading Gothic novels upon a young lady’s recommendation, I should give you fair warning it is indeed a sign there may be more than…” He gestured to Sebastian. “…than the
nothing
of which you insist.”

And as much as he detested admitting his brother-in-law was correct in any matter, in that moment he was forced to concede it appeared as though Drake was, at least in
that
very important matter—correct. Sebastian scrubbed a hand over his face. “I imagine you find this of the utmost hilarity,” he muttered.

Drake snorted. “Indeed, not. I’d not wish the tumult of sorting through one’s feelings for a young lady on anyone.” He grinned. “Even you.” Somberness replaced his earlier mirth. He held his palms up. “I expect the only way in which you’ll determine if this lady could be your duchess would be to court her.” He paused. “I believe I’d heard mention of a visit with a young lady?”

Of course, the other man would be aware. Sebastian’s minx of a sister would certainly regale her husband with the words bandied about the scandal sheets as well as her recent visit and subsequent discovery of his latest reading pursuits.

“It was but one visit,” he said at last. And a waltz. And a kiss. And a meeting in Lord Denley’s office. And his Christian name upon her lips. And an escort to a bookshop. He spun on his heel and started for the door.

“I gather you have a visit planned this morning?” Drake called out, forcing him to stop.

Sebastian turned back.

The other man spread his arms wide. “It is my suggestion you at least manage to wait for a more, uh, fashionable hour to call.”

Sebastian glanced at the clock and frowned. Yes, a visit at seven-thirty in the morning would earn considerable frowns…and further gossip. Furthermore, every woman but for the exception of his sister detested rising early and he suspected Hermione was not much different in that regard. “Thank you for receiving me at this early hour.”

His brother-in-law inclined his head. “Mallen?”

“Yes?”

“Good luck.” Drake’s grin deepened. “I suspect you’re going to need it.”

He turned for the door handle and froze once more. He shot a glance over his shoulder. “I was wrong, Drake,” he said.

The other man folded his arms at his chest. “Oh?”

“You have always been deserving of Em. It just took me a bit of time to realize that.” With a slight bow, Sebastian took his leave. After all, he had a visit to make. He pulled out his watch fob once more. Just as soon as time permitted. He frowned. Which meant he had several hours or so before he could pay Hermione a visit. At this ungodly hour there was not much a gentleman could do. With a purposeful step, he turned back on his heel and re-entered Drake’s office.

The other man stood at the window, hands clasped behind his back. Sebastian opened his mouth. “It is on my desk,” Drake murmured, without taking his gaze from the London streets below.

“Right, right,” Sebastian muttered and strode across the room. He swiped the copy of
The Entrapped Earl
from the other man’s desk. “It’s merely that I have…” No plausible explanation that would ever be a good one to account for his return for the scandalous work of Mr. Michael Michaelmas.

Drake turned around and arched a sardonic eyebrow.

Sebastian held the copy up. “Well, then, thank you for this. If you’ll excuse me?” With book in hand, he took his leave—again. His footsteps echoed through the long corridors of Emmaline and Drake’s townhouse. He moved with a military-like precision for the Italian marble foyer. The butler, a gentleman missing an arm, who’d served under Lord Drake in battle, held out his cloak. Sebastian shrugged into it with a murmured thank you.