Lord of Intrigue (Inconvenient Brides #10)

Epilogue

“And I felt myself being turned away from the eternal day and toward the night of wretchedness.”

Dante’s Divine Comedy

M arco entered the breakfast room with the air of a victorious Roman general returning from a glorious campaign. His head was held high, his chest almost puffed out in smug triumph, and he beamed as a man who had acquired new aspirations and was heading down a promising path.

He was well aware that anyone who encountered him would know that he had been properly bedded—had properly bedded? He waved the distinction away—he was wed and well satisfied from a long night of bed sport with his incomparable Molly. They had completed the act just the one time, Marco mindful of her inexperience and the soreness she was sure to feel this morning, but there had been other delightful activities to engage them well into the dawn of a new day. His bride had not stirred even a little since she had eventually fallen into an exhausted slumber.

Gathering up a plate from the sideboard, while a footman deposited a silver coffeepot on the table for him, Marco heard muffled voices quarreling in Italian. It would seem that Sebastian and Lorenzo were at it again, in the family drawing room adjacent to the breakfast room. He paused—angling his ear to shamelessly eavesdrop through the thin connecting doors and ignoring the footman’s presence. His friends’ continuing standoff had been piquing his interest since Florence, and he wondered if he might learn something about their disagreement.

“Siamo qui da un’eternità! Il nostro amico ha incontrato una fanciulla e si è sposato, mentre tu continui a ritardare!”

(We have been here an eternity! Our friend has met a maiden and married, while you continue to delay!)

Lorenzo sounded agitated, and Marco grimaced in sympathy. His impatient friend was growing ever more frustrated, it would seem.

“Non è il momento giusto.”

(The time is not right.)

Sebastian’s low growl was hard to hear. Marco pursed his lips, staring down into his coffee cup while contemplating Sebastian’s continuing reluctance and wondering what he should do to help.

“Non è mai il momento giusto! Che cos’ha questa … questa … questa pezzuola di mussola che ti fa nascondere sotto le scale come un ragazzino?”

(The time is never right! What is it about this … this … this bit of muslin that has you hiding under the stairs like a schoolboy?)

“Attento a come ti comporti!”

(Watch how you act!)

“No! Non questa volta, Sebastian! Continui a rimandare, e non è da te comportarti in modo cos codardo. Abbiamo bisogno di quel dipinto se io ? —”

(No! Not this time, Sebastian! You keep delaying, and it is unlike you to behave so cowardly. We need that painting if I?—)

Lorenzo broke off, apparently defeated. At least, for this instant.

Marco sighed heavily. He was afraid whatever their strange quest was, if Sebastian did not act soon, he might rend their lucrative partnership in two. Which would be a pity because the two men had been close friends for a long time, and Marco wanted them to continue their success. Who on earth was the woman who caused a man such as Sebastian to balk so?

There was a long pause, until, finally— “Hai ragione. Le mie scuse, Lorenzo.”

(You are right. My apologies, Lorenzo.)

The scraping of a chair announced that the Italian—the lighter of the two men—had left, perhaps storming out, loud footsteps sounding out in the hall. Marco picked up his cup and sipped while he thought about what he could do.

Sebastian appeared seconds later in the doorway, stalking over to the sideboard and rifling around until he turned to take a seat at the table with a laden plate.

Marco refrained from commenting, watching the Norseman with a sympathetic gaze.

Sebastian stared at his plate but did not pick up his fork, or commence eating.

“You overheard our argument.”

It was not a question, so Marco said nothing.

The giant Englishman raised two large arms to comb through his mane of hair, his elbows bracketing his head as he exhaled deeply.

“I know you were not the same after that English girl died of consumption. It makes me wonder how you have found the courage—” He stopped, evidently overcome by a tempest of emotions, and Marco wished he knew what comfort to provide as Sebastian rubbed his jaw to peer out at the garden with unseeing eyes. “How do you find the courage after your heart has been so utterly crushed beyond repair?”

Marco understood his friend’s pain even if he did not understand the circumstances of his heartbreak. He weighed his words carefully because Sebastian needed a hopeful answer. Despite his good nature, it would appear his Nordic friend had been burdened these many years, which he had hidden well until the day Marco had announced he was leaving for England.

“What choice do we have, mio amico ? We cannot give up on the future when it has so much more to offer than the past.”

“You believe I should stop delaying?”

“I think you have an opportunity to close the door on an old chapter. As painful as it might be, it must be done if you are to … resuscitate.”

His friend’s face was blank over the next few minutes, but Marco waited with patience as he allowed Sebastian to think. Something Lorenzo was ill-equipped to do due to his restive character, which had likely prolonged the arrival of this moment.

Sebastian nodded, exhaling a puff of air as he finally reached a decision and announced, “Then the time has arrived to pay a call on Lady Slight.”

Lady Harriet Slight wants to begin again. Sebastian wants to set things right. When goals collide, can a renewed courtship lead to a second chance at love? Find out in The Courtship Trap , Book 1 of Inconvenient Ventures!