Chapter 21
“Wherein old lies tangle up the future.”
Sebastian woke with a start and clutched at his head. It was throbbing in the most violent manner and as he forced himself to sit forward, the empty decanter at his feet told its own tale. He groaned, shivering as his stomach turned, acid burning in his chest and throat.
The fire had long since died in his office and the room was freezing, dark, and more unwelcoming than he’d ever known it. This had been his father’s space. His sanctuary. The room where Sebastian had always felt closest to him.
He looked up at the portrait of the man whose image still hung on the chimney breast. A severe-looking man with dark hair and darker eyes, but there was humour lurking behind the fierce expression and kindness too.
Mother had told him that Lady Dalton had taken his father away from them.
That she’d bewitched him and driven him mad.
Mad enough to kill the woman’s husband and run away from his lawful wife and son.
The betrayal of that had been more than he could bear.
He’d hated Lady Dalton with a cold, burning fury that would have consumed him whole, if Beau hadn’t turned up and shown him life could still be worth the trouble of living it.
Almost as if he’d conjured him the door opened, and he was confronted with Beau’s furious blue gaze.
He’d known, of course, that he’d have to face this. He got to his feet, a trifle unsteady, but he stood, walking a few steps into the room and waiting as Beau advanced on him.
The blow hit him square in the jaw and he fell backwards, sprawled across the study floor with lights exploding behind his eyes.
“You bastard!” Beau, yelled at him, the furious sound ringing through his tender brain. “I ought to damn well kill you,” he raged. “Damn you for being drunk!”
Beau turned his back on him in disgust while he staggered to his feet, rubbing his jaw and testing his teeth one by one to see if they were all still intact.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, collapsing back in the chair with a groan. He looked up, watching as Beau glowered at him. “I am sorry, Beau.”
“What exactly is it you’re sorry for?” Beau demanded, leaning against his desk and folding his arms across his chest. “Forgive me if I’d like a little clarity, but there appear to be a number of crimes to be laid at your door.”
“All of it,” he croaked, as his throat closed up. “For God’s sake give me a glass of water.”
Beau scowled at him and tutted but did as he was asked, pouring out a glass from a jug on his desk and putting it into his hand.
“Thank you.”
“I should throw it in your face,” Beau muttered. “You know you nearly ruined her last night. How could you?”
Sebastian downed the glass and tried to ignore the way his stomach clenched in protest. “I didn’t mean to,” he said, putting the empty glass aside and clutching at his head. “It was just ... such a shock, seeing her there.”
“Not as much of a shock as she got when I introduced myself the other day, I assure you,” Beau replied with a pointed expression.
“Oh, God,” Sebastian groaned. “I am sorry, Beau.”
“So you keep saying.”
He looked up and frowned, staring at his friend. “She ... She was truly shocked? She didn’t know?”
“Of course she didn’t know!” Beau exploded, making him wince as the sound tore through his head and slashed at his brain. “How the devil should she when you are apparently the Marquess of Beaumont. Came as a bit of a shock to me, I can tell you!”
“I know, I know ... I can’t ...”
“Why?” Beau demanded. “Why in God’s name would you do such a thing? Isn’t it enough you’re a duke, that you’ve money enough to buy me a hundred times over without even noticing?”
Sebastian dared to look up at his lifelong friend and wished to God he hadn’t as he’d never seen such hurt in his eyes.
“Damn it, Sebastian, all I have is this,” he shouted, gesturing to that perfect face. “And the dubious honour of being the Marquess of Beaumont. Why would you want that too?”
“I just ...” He closed his eyes and sighed, wondering how on earth he could make him understand.
“It was only meant to be for a day or two. It was just ... I was so tired of being hunted, of knowing these bloody women only want me for my title and my money. I just ...” He paused and shook his head, running a shaky hand through his hair.
“I just wanted a bit of fun and I thought ... if she believed I was you, she’d know I was never offering anything serious.
She’d know I was just playing with her and that there was no money to be had from me.
If she wanted to be with me, it could only be because . .. she wanted to be with me.”
He looked up again and met Beau’s eyes, overcome with shame and humiliation. “I didn’t mean it to go so far. I ... I never meant to fall in love with her.”
Beau gave a snort of disgust. “That, at least, I do believe.”
They sat in silence for a while, until Sebastian heard the chink of a decanter and looked up as Beau offered him a small measure of brandy. He grimaced and turned away, but the glass was forced into his hand.
“Hair of the dog,” Beau said, his voice gruff. “Make you feel better.”
He downed the measure in one go and shuddered. “Oh, God.”
“You have no idea how I am enjoying your suffering,” Beau said, his voice dark. “But what do you intend now?”
Sebastian swallowed, the acidic taste in his mouth making him want to retch. He looked up at Beau, needing to know the answer to his question before he could reply to that.
“Did ... did she truly not know who I was?”
Beau returned an incredulous look.
“Of course she didn’t know, you fool! You believe she could fake a reaction like that?
” He got to his feet and stalked over to the chair, glowering down at him.
“You’d damned well better sober up fast because I want to hit you again!
” Turning on his heel he marched to the door and grabbed the handle.
“And I give you fair warning, Sin. I meant what I said. I’m going to marry her, and I’ll be damned if I’ll let you or anyone else get in my way. ”
With that he slammed the door on Sebastian and left him alone.
***
They stayed at home for the next few days, a respite that Georgiana was only too relieved by, but she knew she couldn’t hide forever.
So tonight, they were out, to a grand ball, though she couldn’t find the interest or the will to discover whose or where. It would be just another sea of critical faces, all of them judging, all of them believing they knew what she was about, whether they viewed her kindly or not.
The idea that she might have to face the Duke of Sindalton on top of all that was not a thought that helped in the slightest.
Sebastian Grenville.
Sebastian.
She tried to fit the new name to him but somehow it felt foreign and awkward to think of him like that.
Beau, however, ... the Marquess of Beaumont lived up to his name quite perfectly.
She remembered her thoughts when she’d first encountered Sebastian.
He hadn’t been what she’d expected of the notorious rake.
Beau, however, Beau was exactly what she had believed him to be, just as she had imagined.
Though in truth her imagination couldn’t have conjured a face and figure that embodied masculine beauty to quite such a perfect degree.
He was breathtakingly handsome, charming, witty, indolent, and rather kinder than she had expected.
In a last-ditch effort to cheer her up and take her mind off tonight’s trial, Céleste had suggested a trip back to Hatchard’s.
She had told the countess all about the fabulous book shop and her friend had been just as eager to sample its delights.
So, a pleasant morning had been spent among its thousands of books and she did indeed feel a little lighter in spirit.
Until they reached home, and she saw the serious look on Lord Falmouth’s face.
“Georgiana, might I have a word with you please?” he asked, and though he smiled at her his eyes remained grave.
“Of course,” she replied as her stomach turned with anxiety.
Céleste went to turn away and give them privacy but she reached out and grabbed her friend’s arm. “No, there’s nothing you can’t hear, and I think I might need the support,” she said, laughing though she was only half joking.
Céleste smiled in return and squeezed her hand and they followed the earl into the masculine confines of his study.
Georgiana had always liked this room. It was quite sparsely furnished compared to the rest of the house, but the dark wood panelling and shelves upon shelves of books gave it a cosy feel. Especially on a cold, damp day when spring was not yet making its presence felt.
The fire crackled with a merry snap in the fireplace and the room smelt subtly of cognac and cigars. The earl took his place behind a massive oak desk and she sat and waited as Céleste settled herself in the chair beside her.
“I had a visit from your uncle this morning,” he said with no preamble. The look of disgust in his eyes gave her the clear impression he had been as unimpressed by the baron as she’d been.
“Oh,” she said, her heart sinking.
“Oh, indeed,” Lord Falmouth replied with a grimace. “And a more ill-mannered, over-stuffed piece of self-importance I’ve never had the misfortune to deal with.”
“I’m so sorry,” she muttered, blushing at the idea he’d had to deal with one of her obnoxious relations because of her.
He waved her apology aside. “You cannot be held responsible for your relations, Georgiana. Not in my mind at any rate,” he added, as they all knew among the ton everyone could and would be held responsible.
“But the man is intent on causing trouble. It appears you missed an appointment to meet your cousin, Mr Rufford?”
Georgiana shuddered and gave a brief nod. “He was supposed to propose to me, and I was expected to accept him. A man I’ve never met before in my life,” she added with such venom that Céleste reached out and grasp her hand again, squeezing the fingers.