Chapter 3
The Duchess of Ashworth stood across the room, flanked by two ladies of her acquaintance, holding a glass of champagne.
And she was watching him.
Not the way others watched him, with furtive, darting glances. The duchess watched him the way one watched a chess opponent.
He felt compelled to hold her stare. To meet the challenge.
The duchess was a striking woman. Her nose was slightly long, her lips too thin, and her dark hair threaded with a hint of gray. But her eyes were bright with intelligence, and she wore her jewels with a confidence that commanded attention.
And right now, her eyes were fixed on him with an intensity he didn’t understand.
It wasn’t as though they were strangers. He knew her. But not well, and not comfortably. Their acquaintance was built on shared wreckage. Her sister had died in the same fire that killed Andrew and scarred Sebastian—in the house Sebastian had owned, at the party Sebastian had hosted.
By rights, she should hate him. He'd spent two years bracing for that hatred, waiting for the blow.
It had never come. And somehow that made it even worse. If anything, her manner toward him in the rare instances their paths crossed was one of careful assessment, as though she were trying to determine what sort of man he was.
Hatred he could have endured. Being studied was another matter entirely.
She raised her glass to him. A slight tilt, barely perceptible.
Then she turned to the nearest footman, murmured something, and returned to her conversation as though nothing had happened.
Sebastian did not have to wait long. The footman materialized at his elbow moments later. "My lord. Her Grace, the Duchess of Ashworth, requests a moment of your time. She is in the blue sitting room on the first floor."
Sebastian glanced over. Sure enough, she’d left her acquaintances, and was, he reasoned—waiting for him.
Sebastian set his glass on the nearest surface. He cast one last glance toward the dance floor. Estella was turning through the figures with Fairchild's hand at her waist, her face bright with laughter.
He followed the footman upstairs. The blue sitting room was small and quiet, removed from the noise below. The duchess stood by the window with her champagne, her posture as composed as if she were receiving callers in her own home. The footman withdrew and closed the door.
"Lord Blackwood." Her voice was cool and gave nothing away. "Thank you for obliging me."
"Your Grace." He inclined his head. "I confess I'm uncertain what I'm obliging."
"Directness. Good. I was hoping you'd be the sort who preferred to skip the pleasantries.
" She met his gaze evenly. "I'll be direct then.
You've been managing the Hale family's affairs for some time now.
The debts, the household…" She arched a brow.
"Those unfortunate suitors who never quite made it to courtship. "
Sebastian's expression didn't change. "I'm sure I don't know—"
"Oh, but you do," the duchess said. "And so do I. Your intermediaries are competent, my lord, but I have been watching the Hale family for my own reasons, and your fingerprints are not as invisible as you believe."
Silence. Because he had no idea what to say to that.
But…her own reasons? He filed that away. He also took note that even if she knew of his meddling, she hadn’t told anyone. Or, at least, not Estella.
It was a temporary relief, but wariness coiled in his gut.
"What do you want?" His voice came out flat. Rude, probably. He didn't care.
The duchess studied him for a long moment. Her eyes were dark and sharp. "The same thing you want," she said. "To keep Miss Hale safe. But your current methods, effective as they've been, are not sufficient for a London Season."
He tried to hold still, but that blasted left hand twitched. He wanted to argue. There was nothing he couldn’t and wouldn’t do to keep Estella safe. But one look out at the dance floor and the way she was smiling up at that cad Fairchild was a solid argument to the contrary.
It was with discomfort that he finally said, "I'm aware."
"Are you? Because I watched a fortune hunter introduce himself without so much as a mutual acquaintance."
His nostrils flared. "Fairchild will be dealt with."
"I'm sure he will. You'll have a quiet word, and the man will disappear, and Miss Hale will add him to her growing list of admirers who inexplicably vanished." The duchess’s tone was merciless and impatient. "And then the next one will appear. And the one after that."
The duchess set her glass down with a loud clink. "You cannot swat them away one by one from the shadows forever, Lord Blackwood. Not here. London is not a country village where one man's influence can clear the field."
She was right. He knew she was right. He'd known it for months.
"What are you proposing?" he asked.
"An alliance." She moved to the settee and sat, gesturing for him to take the chair opposite.
He remained standing. "I intend to take Miss Hale under my wing for the remainder of the Season.
House her if her father's arrangements prove insufficient.
Chaperone her. Guide her. Ensure she is seen with the right people and shielded from the wrong ones. "
His eyes narrowed. "Why would you do that?"
Her smile was cold as he sifted through every possible connection between the duchess’s family and Estella’s. There were none. Not that he knew of, at least, and he was far more knowledgeable about Estella’s family connections than any could guess.
"Why?" he asked again when she continued to merely smile.
"My reasons are my own. They need not concern you."
Sebastian waited. A “but” was coming, if he could withstand the silence. And sure enough—
"But I need you," the duchess finally said.
He frowned. "To do what?"
"To step out of the shadows." She met his gaze squarely.
"You've been her invisible guardian for two years.
I need you to be her visible one. Andrew's oldest friend, stepping in where her father cannot.
Escort her. Be seen with her. Make it clear to every fortune hunter and drawing room predator in London that Miss Hale is under the protection of the Marquess of Blackwood. "
I can’t, he wanted to say. But he could. They both knew he could.
I won’t. But who was he fooling? He would. He’d do anything for her happiness.
I don’t want to. Now that was the veriest lie, and he had no doubt the duchess would say so if he were foolish enough to say it aloud.
Which left only one excuse. A true and reasonable one, at that.
"She's afraid of me." The words came out rough. But he could still well remember the way those violet eyes had widened when he’d caught her. In surprise, at first, but then…
Her gaze had caught on his scars. Her whole body had gone rigid.
But the worst part was the recognition. She’d known precisely who he was, and rather than put her at ease, it had made her more fearful.
"Mmm," the duchess murmured her agreement. "She likely is. Because you've given her every reason to be. Two years of silence and a look tonight that could have frozen the Thames. But I'd rather she be afraid of you than charmed by the next Mr. Fairchild who takes an interest in her dowry."
Her dowry. The dowry that Sebastian had quietly ensured remained intact, funding it through channels so circuitous that even his own solicitor had raised an eyebrow.
"Her father—" he began.
"Is in the card room losing money he doesn't have," the duchess said. There was an edge beneath her composure that made her tone sharp. "I suspect you know that better than anyone, given that you've been paying his debts."
Sebastian said nothing.
"I'm not asking for your coin, Lord Blackwood.
I have plenty of my own. I'm asking for your presence.
" She paused. "Andrew Hale was your closest friend.
It's the most natural thing in the world for you to take an interest in his sister's welfare.
The ton will respect it. Miss Hale will understand it. "
Uncertainty was not an emotion he was accustomed to. He prided himself on being decisive. There was black and white. Good and bad. Right and wrong.
But this…
To look after Estella was good and right. But to get close…
To let himself so close to temptation and trust that he’d be selfless enough to keep his distance…
A knot lodged in his chest, and his gut twisted with indecision. Everything in him wanted to latch onto the excuse to get close, to stay near. But reason and conscience would not be denied.
"I’m trusting you to keep her safe when I cannot," the duchess added.
And that, apparently, was everything his reasoning mind needed to hear. He felt some part of himself gobble up the words, all too eager to believe them.
Yes, he could keep her safe. He could be close and still walk away when she made a match. Of course he could, because it would be for her benefit. He could withstand any pain if it was for her good.
The duchess’s lips curved up in a smug little smile. She knew she had him.
"Tell me why," he said.
"I told you, my reasons—"
"Not good enough." His voice hardened. "I won’t let you anywhere near her if you do not tell me why."
The duchess’s brows came down, her lips thinned. She was very clearly a woman who rarely, if ever, had to explain herself.
He thought for a moment that she would refuse.
The conversation seemed to be over. But just as he went to turn away, she shifted.
"No young woman should have to navigate this world without someone standing between her and the wolves.
I learned that lesson too late for someone I loved.
I don't intend to watch it happen again. "
Sebastian thought of the ballroom below.
Of Estella in her ill-fitting gown, laughing at a fortune hunter's jokes because he was the only person who'd been kind to her all evening.
Of Charlotte at home in the country, too young to understand how precarious her future was.
Of Andrew, who would have been here himself if Sebastian hadn't cajoled him into staying for yet another party.
Then he thought of his plan. The simple, clean, utterly insufficient plan to manage from the shadows, see her settled, and then leave London.
The duchess was right. It wasn't enough. One charming fortune hunter had proved that tonight.
"When do we begin?" he asked.
The duchess's smile was small and satisfied…and just slightly terrifying.
"Tomorrow. Tea, at my residence. I've already sent Miss Hale an invitation."
Sebastian stared at her. "You were very confident I'd agree."
Her smile grew as she rose from the settee. "I was confident," she said slowly, "that you care about that girl too much to refuse."
The words hit him like a slap. "I don't—"
"Oh, I know." The duchess was already moving toward the door. "It's all duty and guilt and a debt to your dead friend. You've told yourself that story for two years, and I'm sure it's very comforting." She paused with her hand on the door. "I'll see you at three o'clock, Lord Blackwood."
She left. Sebastian stood alone in the blue sitting room and stared at the place where she'd been and told himself she was wrong. She was presumptuous, and manipulative, and entirely, categorically wrong.
He did not love Estella Hale.
He was simply going to dedicate every waking moment to ensuring her safety, and rearrange his entire life around her Season, and stand beside her at events, and scrutinize her suitors, and escort her through a world that wanted to eat her alive, and then, when she was settled…
He would leave and never think of her again.
He straightened his cravat as he strode toward the door.
Yes, that was the plan. And that was very clearly not love.
Merely obligation.