Chapter 1
“Wherein lifelong friends discuss the idiocy of the past and plan for the future.”
Sebastian remembered that fateful day, some seventeen years earlier, with a wry smile.
He hadn’t seen his closest friend for almost six months and was chagrined to find he’d missed the insolent fool.
Beau could push his temper to the limit like no one else, never mincing his words or curbing his sharp tongue.
But for Sebastian, who was at the receiving end of constant toadying and flattery in most every other quarter, it was as refreshing as it was brutal.
A slight scratching on the door made him aware of the presence of his butler, the redoubtable Biddle, who announced the marquess as the man himself walked into the room.
“Well, well,” Sebastian drawled, lounging back in his chair and regarding Beau with amusement. “The return of the prodigal son.”
Beau lifted an eyebrow, his cool blue eyes amused. He turned to Sebastian, raising his hands in a beatific manner. “Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you. I am no longer worthy to be called your son.”
“Well that I do believe,” Sebastian replied, snorting with amusement. “I’m only amazed you could remember the quote, you heathen.”
“Don’t talk to me of heathens,” Beau said in disgust, taking a seat and waving his hand to indicate Sebastian should get him a drink.
“Six months! Six whole months in that God forsaken place. I was almost ready to cast myself in the river, I can tell you. And I’d have been damn sure to find myself one that was good and deep. ”
“Ah yes,” Sebastian said, grinning as he got to his feet to pour them both a drink. “And how is the estimable Lady Worth?”
Beau scowled at him and took his proffered drink with a huff of annoyance. “Bearing in mind I’ve been in Scotland for the sole reason of not knowing how Lady Worth is, I can’t help but feel you are trying to annoy me.”
“As if I would,” Sebastian murmured, returning to his seat. “Still, she lives at least, that much I do know. No more the worse for her plunge into the river Cam,” he added, chuckling.
Beau gave him a dark look. “It may seem amusing to you, but I have suffered on account of that idiotic creature. I’m almost sorry the fool didn’t realise the Cam is rarely more than three feet deep and tried the Thames instead.
Though if she really intended to put a period to her life it’s a wonder she didn’t think to try it without a dozen of her admirers there to pull her out again. ”
“Well, perhaps that will teach you to trifle with married ladies,” Sebastian said, his tone chastising, though his eyes still danced with laughter.
“So, tell me,” he continued, ignoring the look of disgust on his friend’s face.
“Are you getting the cut direct or do people still acknowledge you in the street?”
Beau snorted and stretched his long legs out in front of him.
“Oh, it seems as if I may have come through it well enough, though I’ve not seen my father yet,” he added with a casual tone that didn’t fool Sebastian for a moment.
Beau’s father was a cruel and malicious man who delighted in tormenting his only son and heir.
“Are you going to?” Sebastian watched the shadow flit over Beau’s face before he looked up, seeing Sebastian watching him.
“Not if I can help it,” he replied, the glimmer of a smile appearing. “Actually, I was going to go down to Cornwall. Gower invited me, said you could come too by the way.”
“To Carn Brea?”
Beau nodded. “He’s promised entertainment,” he added, grinning and downing the last of his drink in one large swallow
Sebastian pursed his lips. He had a fair notion of their friend Lord Gower’s entertainments and was discouraged to discover the idea bored him.
In fact, he had been aware for some time of a creeping sense of disquiet and dissatisfaction.
Since his father’s scandalous exploits, he had become hardened to gossip but, besides a shocking and well-deserved reputation with the ladies, he rarely did anything to set tongues wagging too hard.
He gambled moderately and rarely drank to excess.
Unfortunately, his friendship with Beau was such that he didn’t need to.
Beau was a scandal looking for a place to happen and Sebastian was tarnished by association.
“Oh, come on, Sin,” Beau wheedled. “Don’t say you won’t. I’ve been devilish bored, and it won’t be the same if you don’t come.”
Letting out a breath, Sebastian frowned and stared at Beau. “Oh, very well, I could do with getting out of London, truth be told. Not that the weather looks very promising.”
“God no, it’s bloody freezing, more like March than August though it was worse in the North I can tell you,” Beau grumbled. “I was surprised to find you here, actually. Thought I’d have to head out to that crumbling pile of yours to ferret you out.”
“It is not crumbling,” Sebastian retorted, though he well knew Beau was baiting him. His interest and the amount of time he devoted to his estate was something that had always bewildered Beau who had begun referring to him as Farmer Grenville. “And I’m hiding from Mother,” he admitted.
“Ah,” Beau nodded his understanding. “On about you getting riveted again I don’t doubt.”
Sebastian acknowledged this with a grimace.
He was well aware of what was due to his rank and his obligation to provide an heir.
He had agreed over eighteen months ago that he should take a wife and soon.
Agreeing to do the right thing and actually going through with it, however, were entirely different things.
Now, though, everyone knew he was in the market for a wife and he was heartily sick of having every eligible young woman thrust in his face at every turn.
The sight of another simpering miss batting her eyelashes at him in the hope of becoming his duchess was enough to turn his stomach and have him running for the hills.
He had even gone so far as to compile a list of all the attributes necessary in his future spouse in the hope of making a sensible decision - something Beau had thought hilarious in the extreme.
In Beau’s absence, however, he had met the Comtesse de Lavelle and thrown the list away.
What a beauty she had been, and not at all in the ordinary way.
There had been an intelligence and a weight of experience in her eyes that belied her youth.
But Celeste Lavelle was missing. He didn’t believe for a moment the story that Lady Seymour had spread she had gone to stay with family in France and guilt twisted in his stomach.
There was something between her and Falmouth, he was sure.
The foolish child was in love with him but a rake like the earl would never marry her.
Sebastian had been struck with the chivalrous longing to save her, to protect her from her own folly, and all his plans and lists had gone out of the window.
In a move he now shuddered to remember he had sent Mrs Morris, Falmouth’s glamorous mistress, to the man’s London home to make a scene.
A scene that Celeste would be unable to ignore.
She would see just the kind of man Falmouth was and when Sebastian came the next day to make his offer of marriage, she would be moved to accept.
But Mrs Morris had gone too far. She’d had her own score to settle with Falmouth and settle it she had.
When Sebastian had arrived the next day, he had been greeted with frigid politeness by Falmouth’s sister-in-law and given the news that Celeste was not at home.
When she continued not to be at home for another ten days and rumours began to circulate, he had forced Mrs Morris to tell him everything. His anger had been something to behold.
“Penny for them,” Beau demanded, forcing him out of his reverie.
He shook his head.
“Still no news of your French fancy then?” he asked, one eyebrow cocked.
Sebastian scowled. Beau had an uncanny habit of knowing what he was thinking. He should never have told him about Celeste, but the guilt of his actions had been eating away at him and he’d needed to unburden himself. Beau, as ever, was a good sounding board.
“What about Mrs Morris?” his friend asked, curiosity glittering in those cold blue eyes. “Are you still her protector?”
“After what she did?” Sebastian replied in disgust. He shook his head and traced the pattern on the crystal glass he held with one long finger. “I think not. Why?” he asked, looking up. “Are you interested?”
“Good God no.” Beau grimaced and flicked a piece of lint from the sleeve of his perfectly tailored jacket. “A ready buttered bun has never been to my taste,” he murmured, a flash of malice in his eyes.
“Vulgar, Beau,” Sebastian said, his tone reproving. “Vulgar.”
Beau laughed, perfectly unrepentant.
“So, as we speak exactly how many lonely Scottish ladies are languishing with broken hearts or throwing themselves off bridges now you have left them alone, pray tell?” Sebastian asked, turning the conversation back to Beau.
His friend raised one haughty eyebrow. “A quite respectable number I’m sure,” he replied with utter seriousness.
For a moment Sebastian was appalled by Beau’s apparent lack of regard for the women he dallied with.
It was something he had always had a problem with, how Beau, who was such a loyal friend and capable of quite humbling, if capricious, acts of kindness, could be such a cold-hearted brute where women were concerned.
“She’s ruined, you know,” he said, watching Beau’s face for any trace of regret or guilt. He found none.
“Well that’s what you get for throwing yourself off a bridge in front of a dozen or more spectators,” he said in disgust. “When I think of the pains I took to be discreet ... and it’s not the slightest bit of use looking at me with such reproach.
It’s not like I seduced an innocent. Idiotic woman, she well knew there was nothing serious in it. ”
“You don’t always choose who you fall in love with, Beau.”
“Love?” Beau replied, his face incredulous. “She didn’t love me. You know as well as I do a woman like that doesn’t love anything more than your title and your purse.”
Sebastian was shocked by the vitriol of his words, not that he could contradict him.
He’d learnt at a very young age the truth of it and shut his true feelings far away, though perhaps not quite as far as Beau had managed.
Celeste had reminded him it was possible for him to feel, though he had no illusions about being in love with the girl.
They had only met a handful of times, but it had reminded him he was flesh and blood and that his feelings were still there, dormant, but not dead.
“Well then, it’s agreed,” Beau said, returning to the earlier point of their conversation. “We’ll head down to Gower’s in the morning, yes?”
Sebastian nodded his agreement. “I’ll pick you up at eight. Do not keep me waiting,” he warned, giving him a fierce look from under thick dark brows.
Beau rolled his eyes. “Why do we have to leave at such an ungodly hour of the morning?”
“Because I say so.”
“Yes, your grace,” Beau replied, giving a rather impressive imitation of Biddle.
Sebastian grinned. “Quite so. But mind we keep off Falmouth’s estate. It borders Gower’s if I remember rightly, and I doubt he’ll be glad to see me.”
“Really?” Beau said, his expression thoughtful. “I wonder if I could arrange it. Now that would be entertaining.”