Chapter Ten
Sebastian rolled over, blinking. Images from the previous night still pursued him—flashes of heat and softness, the memory of yielding curves under his hands, the taste of her breath against his mouth.
It was all half-glimpsed, half-imagined, and entirely tormenting.
He shut his eyes again, wishing he could recall it with less feverish ambiguity.
Instead, it rose before him in fragments: pale skin, satin warmth, his own reckless hunger.
“You’re a fool,” he muttered. And now she’s probably afraid of you.
He swung his legs over the bed, irritated with himself, and crossed to the washstand.
The chill water cleared his vision but not his guilt.
He had sworn to himself that he would not touch her.
Not for her sake alone, but for his own as well.
And yet he had come so near to breaking that vow that he scarcely recognised himself.
He dried his face with the cotton cloth that his manservant, Mr Ormesworth, had laid out for him, and then strode to his wardrobe to choose some clothing for the day.
He chose a grey tailcoat at random—not because he hoped to impress Evelyn, he told himself sternly. It was simply the first morning she would spend under his roof, and he meant to feel steady, composed, capable of facing his mother’s barbs.
A glance at the clock made him curse under his breath. Nearly eight. He pulled on pale grey trousers, a high-necked shirt and a simple silk cravat. He would reach the breakfast room before Evelyn. He must. He would not leave her alone to face his mother’s disapproval.
He hurried downstairs.
“...and I shall be checking the silverware today,” his mother was announcing as he approached. He tensed, pausing at the doorway.
“Mama, I can do that,” Gemma offered.
“Why should you? It is the Duchess of Brentfield who ought to see to it. Not the Countess of Chelmsworth. Though I daresay the new one will not trouble herself.” She sniffed sharply.
Sebastian entered. Even his imposing height did nothing to quell her when she was in this mood.
“Good morning,” he said evenly.
Gemma returned the greeting with warmth and reached for the teapot. “Tea, brother?”
“Yes, thank you.” He managed a grateful smile. She was trying to keep the peace as always.
Nicholas greeted him; William nodded over his newspaper. Sebastian wished he could hide behind it as well, but there was only one copy, and he would not ask for it.
“Did you see the article?” Mama demanded, tapping the paper. “Lord and Lady Carlington will be in the countryside soon, and Lady Belinda with them. Now there is a fine young woman. The Diamond of the Season, they say. A fine lady.”
Sebastian winced. His mother’s longstanding fantasy—that he ought to have married Lady Belinda—was as persistent as it was irrational.
Lady Belinda was polite, pretty, and entirely uninterested in him.
He had returned the sentiment gratefully.
Yet his mother clung to the idea with a stubbornness he could only attribute to nostalgia for her own youth.
“Mama? Has the Ladies’ Gazette arrived?” Gemma asked brightly—too brightly. She was trying to divert the conversation before the familiar argument began.
“No. Not yet,” their mother replied, affronted. “We shall have to wait to see the new illustrations for hairstyles.”
“A pity,” Gemma murmured.
Sebastian smiled at her. She had no real interest in the Gazette; she was only rescuing him yet again.
A soft step in the hallway made him look up sharply.
Evelyn stood at the doorway, hesitant, almost shrinking.
She wore a blue-and-white muslin gown that must have been part of her modest wardrobe; it fitted a touch tightly across her bodice, drawing his eye before he forced it away.
Her hair was tied with a matching ribbon. She looked pale. Frightened.
He rose at once. William and Nicholas followed suit.
“Come in,” Sebastian said gently, going to her and taking her hand. She stepped inside, still uncertain, and followed him to the empty seat beside his own. He ignored his mother’s glacial expression.
Gemma smiled kindly. “Some tea?”
“Bread?” Nicholas said at the same instant, already offering the basket. “Or do you prefer toast?”
“Um…toast. Yes—thank you,” Evelyn said.
Sebastian’s throat tightened—not with irritation, but with gratitude. Gemma and Nicholas were trying so hard it verged on overwhelming her, yet their intentions were good.
Gemma poured her tea. Nicholas returned the breadbasket and took a pastry, crunching into it. Normally, Sebastian would not notice such a sound, but tension sharpened everything this morning.
“We plan to ride later,” Gemma said pleasantly. “Do you ride, your Grace?” she asked Evelyn.
Across the table, Mama emitted a derisive little sound.
Sebastian stiffened. Enough. Just because Evelyn came from reduced circumstances did not mean she lacked accomplishments. For all his mother knew, Evelyn might have spent her entire youth on horseback. Many country families did.
“Did you have horses?” he asked Evelyn gently.
She inclined her head. “When I was a little girl, I learned to ride.” Her gaze flicked to Gemma—tentative, hopeful.
“Well then—that settles the matter,” Gemma declared, beaming.
Sebastian felt the first true easing of tension since the meal began. Evelyn leaned back a little, the stiffness in her posture softening, and—blessedly—she reached for some toast. His own throat was so tight he doubted he could swallow more than a few bites.
He managed two slices, well buttered, before hesitating. Ought he remain to support her, or withdraw before his mother’s barbs grew too pointed? But Gemma had already drawn Evelyn into a gentle stream of conversation, coaxing her into ease with the same quiet skill she had shown since childhood.
“...and riding mantles are all the fashion this season,” Gemma was saying. “I ordered a new one, though I fear the colour may have been ill-chosen. Red can be so very showy.”
“If it is a darker red, it need not be,” Evelyn offered, shy but friendly.
“That is true,” Gemma agreed, her smile brightening.
The two women were smiling at one another, and Sebastian’s heart filled with warmth, relief unknotting the tight knots in his muscles. At least Gemma was being friendly to her. He shot his sister a grateful look.
William surfaced from behind his newspaper. “Shall we depart?” he asked his wife.
Gemma laughed softly. “It is nine o’clock, dear. There is no need to fly.”
“Nine?” Sebastian tensed. “I must look over the books.” He had assured the butler that he would review the household accounts before their meeting at ten.
He glanced sorrowfully at Evelyn, wishing that he did not need to hurry away and abandon her to the mercies of his family.
She gazed up at him and for just a second, his body flooded with heat, her gaze filling him with longing.
He looked away, his mind too busy with the half-remembered sensations of kissing her.
“Excuse me,” he said quietly.
“I trust we shall meet again at luncheon,” Evelyn murmured.
“Of course.” The simple assurance gave him a wholly unreasonable sense of gladness.
He hastily retreated to his study, shut the door, and drew a steadying breath. His own reactions unsettled him more than his mother’s disapproval ever could.
He settled at the desk and opened the account books, but the columns blurred. A memory—heat, silk, the taste of her breath when she had trembled beneath him—rose unbidden. He seized a quill, hoping numbers might discipline his thoughts.
A knock startled him.
“Come in,” he called.
Nicholas slipped inside, grinning uncertainly. His dark hair was tousled; concern warred with curiosity across his features.
Sebastian gestured to the chair opposite.
“What troubles you?” he asked.
“I wished to see how you fared,” Nicholas admitted. “When you rose so abruptly from the table, I feared you felt unwell.” His brow creased.
“I am well,” Sebastian said, touched. “Only...” He hesitated. As eldest brother—and as a duke—the burden was his to bear alone.
“Mama?” Nicholas asked quietly.
Sebastian nodded, glad that his brother understood without him having to say.
Nicholas sighed. “You know, perhaps she will come to see matters from your point of view. After all, you did act honourably. Everybody will say so. And Miss Caldwell seems like a pleasant enough person.” He smiled.
“She is,” Sebastian said—and felt heat rise at even that small admission. “She is... polite and affable,” he added cautiously.
Nicholas’s grin widened. “One cannot object to such qualities.”
“No.”
Yet his brother wore that faraway look again. Sebastian had observed it more than once lately.
“You have done rightly,” Nicholas said softly. “You protected a young woman who needed it. A good woman—by all accounts.”
“By whose accounts?” Sebastian asked, curiosity pricking.
“A friend,” Nicholas said, colouring. “A friend of Miss Caldwell. Although—well—perhaps she is something of a friend to me, too.” He trailed off, crimson.
Sebastian raised a brow. “I trust she is… polite and affable too?” he teased.
“Oh, yes. Exceedingly,” Nicholas laughed.
They were both laughing as Nicholas stood and exited, excusing himself to go riding.
They were still smiling when Nicholas excused himself to prepare for the ride.
Sebastian returned to the accounts, focusing this time with greater success. Sunlight brightened through the curtains; he must have been working for nearly an hour. Gemma and William were likely gone by now—perhaps Evelyn with them.
An image of Evelyn came unbidden—wearing the new gown he had commissioned for Lord and Lady Elridge’s annual ball. It was going to be blue, that was all that he knew about it. Blue silk and made in the most fashionable style. That was what he had ordered.
His mind ran to flights of fancy, imagining her in a low-cut blue gown, the thin silk falling like water from a high waistband.
She would smile up at him, and he would take her in his arms, his hands moving over the soft silk, drawing her close as his lips sought hers eagerly, her chest straining against the thin silk of the fabric to press against his firm chest.
He sighed, then pushed the thought firmly from his mind.
“Do not be absurd,” he muttered. She was wary of him—and rightly so. And he had sworn never to lose himself to such entanglements. For his own sake, he must keep that vow.
He pushed the thought aside, forcing his attention back to the figures before him. There was work to be done—and promises to keep.