Chapter Five
Sebastian really did not want to be here for this.
A formal dinner, of all things, when what he truly needed was a quiet bed, a hot brick, and the right to wallow in peace.
Soup in a plain cup. Tea with honey. Blankets.
Silence. That was what a sick man required.
Not polished silver, cravats starched within an inch of suffocation, and forced smiles across a sea of strangers.
But here he was.
Because Thomas was his best friend, and when your best friend summoned you to dinner with his fiancée and her friends, you showed up—even if you felt like death in evening wear.
He could feel the air stir with trouble. With eventfulness. With peace-disruptive, emotion-provoking nonsense.
He sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He wasn’t made for this sort of evening. But he was here now, so he’d do what was asked of him. That was something, wasn’t it?
“Miss Madeleine Hunt.” Thomas pointed toward a familiar young woman as they took a sip of whiskey.
The name rang a bell, but it was the sight of her that hit harder.
Miss Madeleine. Of course. He remembered her from the Royal Ascot.
But this time, she didn’t wear a big hat and her hair…
not just that… there was something about her…
Heat crept to his chest and he took a swig of the amber liquid.
The burn was a welcome sting in Sebastian’s throat, but he didn’t care for the thin liquor.
He preferred something velvety and rich altogether.
Speaking of velvety… she was just striking.
He hadn’t noticed it before—perhaps because she’d been too busy shooting him glares like twin pistols—but now that he saw her from a distance, without the full brunt of her disapproval, she was… arresting.
If she weren’t so clearly unimpressed by his existence, she might’ve even looked inviting.
His eyes stuck to her, a siren with a bosom that had Sebastian staring like a green boy.
Wham!
His friend elbowed him. “Ouch! What was that for?”
“This is Ashley’s friend. Stop ogling her bosom,” Thomas growled in a low voice.
Sebastian winced. Right. He was a guest, not a ruffian.
“If she didn’t want me to look, why did she put it before me then?”
Whack!
Linsey stepped on his foot with the precision of someone who’d been waiting for that moment all evening.
Excellent. Now he was cold, congested, and quite possibly going to be challenged to a duel.
He muttered something unintelligible and lifted his glass again, reminding himself this was not the time for mischief. He’d promised Thomas he’d behave. He could manage that—for an hour. Maybe.
“Stop it!”
“I mean it. They are thick as thieves. You know, girls are more dangerous with their tongues than most men with a sword.”
“She doesn’t look dangerous,” Sebastian muttered as he cocked his head. Even though his neck was stiff and his sinuses irritated, he wasn’t too sick to appreciate the beautiful young woman across the room.
“Can you sit with her and behave like a gentleman?” Thomas asked, setting his glass down. “This is a celebratory dinner after all.”
But Sebastian moved. He was nothing if not dutiful. With practiced ease—and an uncomfortable awareness of just how tight his trousers suddenly felt—he approached her.
She hadn’t said a word to him, and honestly, that might’ve been a mercy. He deserved her silence after the sneezing incident. And the ogling.
But she was looking right at him now. Eyes sharp, lips soft, dress sinful.
With a bow—perhaps a touch too graceful—he pulled out the chair for her, fingers brushing the velvet fabric as he guided it into place.
He accepted his wine, though he would’ve traded it for a pint of ale and the blessed relief of distance. But he peeked at her lips again.
And regretted it immediately.
They were glistening. Crimson. Wicked.
“Do you like Chablis, Miss Madeleine?”
“Not particularly, my lord.” She took a sip, her lips wet with the sheen from the wine.
Sebastian had never wanted to be wine before.
He cleared his throat and adjusted the napkin over his lap. “Please. Call me Sebastian. And shall we call a truce?”
“You mean because our first and second meetings were less than stellar?”
He exhaled. “Yes.”
“Very well.” She studied him. “Chablis. Is it one of your favorites?” she asked, and her tongue caught a drop of wine.
Sebastian forgot how to breathe.
He’d seen plenty of women drink wine. None had ever made it look like foreplay.
“Chablis is made from Chardonnay grapes in northern Burgundy. A waste of the grape, if you ask me.”
He blinked. She wasn’t just lovely. She was clever. And opinionated.
“You are a connoisseur, then?”
“Hardly.” She set the glass precisely beside the water goblet.
“The Kimmeridgian limestone gives it its pale color and green apple acidity, with a hint of…” She licked her lips again. “Salinity.”
Sebastian took a large gulp and nearly choked. “Too steely for me.”
“That depends on the barrel. If it’s aged in oak, it has a fresher finish.” She blinked at him with slow, devastating lashes.
He was going to have a fresher finish if this went on. Right here. At dinner. All the more reason to go to his chambers, curl up under a blanket, and avoid polite society.
But something about Miss Madeleine made him want to be not so polite. Not rude, of course. Kind. Loving. Gentle. Slow at first, but then harder… argh!
Her collarbones glowed like porcelain beneath lace, and the pearl resting there looked criminally lucky. He wanted to kiss that spot. Wanted to press his mouth there and hear her gasp.
Now he needed stronger wine. Or cold water. Or the castle moat.
“I hear you are a bosom friend of Lady Ashley?” he asked, hoping the word “bosom” would not trigger his entire body into betrayal.
She lifted a brow. “Indeed. We’ve known each other a long time.”
“So she tells you all her secrets?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Girls talk,” he said, feigning innocence. “I wonder if you know Lady Ashley’s secrets… or her plans for the du—”
Clink!
Thomas tapped a silver spoon against his goblet, and the room hushed. Footmen glided in with trays of champagne. The table held its breath.
Sebastian turned to Ashley, who sat composed and elegant, a sly smile just playing at her lips.
“My dear friends,” Thomas began, his voice ringing clear. “It brings me great joy to make an announcement this evening.”
He paused. “I am proud to say that Lady Ashley and I—” his voice softened as he turned to her, “—have set a date for the wedding. In seven days.”
Sebastian had known they’d be in a rush with a baby on the way, but it still hit him like a shove.
Young. In love. Everything ahead of them.
It was oddly beautiful. And it stung a bit.
The table burst into applause. All but one person.
Miss Madeleine was frozen. Her hands clapped, yes—but her face…
Her expression cracked right down the middle. Surprise, certainly. But also something softer. Sadder.
As if she’d suddenly realized she was still waiting for her turn.
Sebastian leaned closer, his voice low. “Are you feeling quite all right?”
What he really wanted was to brush a hand down her spine, to draw her into his side until she could breathe again.
To tell her, your turn is coming.
But she didn’t look at him.
She just smiled—a little too tightly—and nodded.
And it made him strangely ache.
Because she was the sort of woman who would always applaud for others, even when her own heart seemed to be breaking.
*
A wedding so soon?
Charlene leaned in close, her breath warm against Maddie’s ear.
“It’s all so sudden, isn’t it? She didn’t even tell us,” she murmured, voice low with mischief. “But then, I suppose Ashley needs to be a bride before her belly begins to show.”
Maddie blinked. Belly. Show.
“You mean…?”
Charlene winked, pleased with herself.
“A baby.”
Ashley with child. Joy startled through her—bright, a little blinding—and then the breath caught as the room went on cheering. Of course Thomas would know first. He should. Still, the old hedge-maze vows pricked—flowers in their hair, promises made side by side.
Maddie kept applauding. I am happy for you, she told her friend in silence, even as something tender ached open inside. Please let there be a turn for me as well.
One more misstep and the marriage proposals would vanish. As her mother warned. Replaced by an arranged match. To someone horrid, that was certain.
And now this.
A baby. Conceived before a wedding.
If her mother learned of it… she’d claimed Maddie to be ruined by association.
Love, choice, hope would be off the table. Permanently.
She darted a glance toward the duke. She had hoped to be seated beside him to perhaps better understand the man beneath the title but secretly dreaded speaking to him again. This evening could have been an opportunity. Instead, she was seated beside the unfortunate gentleman with the handkerchief.
He wasn’t sneezing now. That helped. A little.
But that wasn’t the point. Besides, who was he to call it if he’d been the slimy offender?
The point was, her dearest friend had just announced a rushed wedding—in public, sort of—for reasons unknown.
“Miss Madeleine?” Lord Cambridge’s voice rasped through the haze. “Are you quite well?”
She turned slowly. “Did you know about this? You’re like a brother to Thomas.”
He looked at her, puzzled. “Only found out earlier. Why?”
“Why?” Maddie whispered. “They’ve announced their engagement, and this was meant to be an engagement celebration but it’s being turned into a wedding!” Her eyes darted to Ashley—still poised, still smiling. “They’re mad. Both of them!”
Her friend could at least have warned her! Well, Ashley knew about her mother, so perhaps she had tried to spare them. Or perhaps, it was a last-minute decision. She could hardly sit there and judge, she supposed.
The marquess, wisely, said nothing.
She slid her chair a fraction away from his. He noticed and arched a brow. The man seemed to notice everything.
“You might sneeze on me again,” Maddie muttered.
“It was an accident,” he muttered back. “I don’t go about assaulting ladies with illness.”
“You’ll forgive me if I remain wary.”
“I have apologized, Miss Madeleine. Will you not accept?”
“We shall see.” How vexing!
She turned from him, trying not to let her trembling fingers show.
She had come here hoping to follow in her friends’ footsteps—to hopefully find love.
Plus, she didn’t want to give her mother any more reason to rule over all her decisions.
And now she might be in a scandal that wasn’t even hers.
If someone like Paisley were to find out about the baby before Ashley’s wedding… oh, she couldn’t even think it.
“If I may ask, why do you keep looking at Paisley?”
Her head snapped toward him. “I am not.”
“You did. Twice.”
A pause.
“Why can’t I?”
His eyes widened. “My apologies. You may. But if I may ask, do you… like him?”
“I do not.” Not yet. But she could. If he made an offer. If he rescued her from the life her mother had planned. Hah. Though, there did live a little doubt in her heart.
“Little liar.”
She sucked in a sharp breath. Did he truly just call her that? “What cruel twist of fate seated me next to you?”
“If you must know,” she hissed, “the Duke of Paisley is the perfect male specimen.”
He scoffed. “Perfect? Paisley?”
“He is calm, composed, and yes, handsome.” Not honorable if her friend, Ashley, was questioned about Paisley’s character though. And suddenly Maddie realized that it was important to her what her friends thought of her potential suitors. If only he could already be a friend…
“He’s not that handsome.” The marquess combed a hand through his hair, which was denser, darker, and altogether rather invitingly a little messy.
“More handsome than you.” Why on earth had she just said such a thing? Honestly! Well, at the moment, anyone would be more handsome than the stuffy, red-nosed marquess. But not as wonderfully disheveled?
His eye twitched. “I beg your pardon?”
Still, it was rude to point out his reddish nose if he was ill. “Nothing.”
“Is it because he’s a duke?” He folded the napkin in his lap into halves, then quarters, then eighths, and then twisted it into a bullet that Maddie could have sworn was meant for Paisley.
She gave him a tight smile. “Do you think me that shallow?” Yes. A little bit. However! If it were to be him, she did hope to still find love.
He said nothing.
Truthfully, she had followed her mother’s wishes and aimed high. But not just for the title. For safety. For freedom.
“All ladies want a duke or an earl,” he muttered. “Wealth. Status.”
“Well,” she replied sweetly, “you just admitted he’s wealthy. That makes him a catch in society’s terms, does it not?”
His jaw clenched.
“You have me there,” he said flatly. “If you think money can buy love, passion, and a happy family, help yourself to him.” He looked down as if she’d vexed him.
Maddie took a sip of wine and tried not to look smug. Still, something inside her twisted. A strange sort of pressure. Why did he unsettle her like this? Why, when he spoke, did her heart beat the way it did when her mother caught her sneaking a novel under her bedcovers?
All around them, cheers and congratulations echoed. Ashley glowed. Thomas beamed.
And Maddie—Maddie sat frozen.
She didn’t know if she felt betrayed by the surprise or left behind.
Then again, that was also not her friend’s fault or burden.
But now was not the moment to dwell on the fact.
She forced a polite smile to her lips and sat straighter.
She meant to look back at Ashley, but her gaze darted instead toward the head of the table.
Toward Paisley.
No. No, don’t look.
She forced her eyes sideways.
And met Cambridge’s stare.
Heat rushed to her face. Of course, he’d noticed.
He arched one brow.
She arched one in return.
And so, it began. Again.
The brow waggling war.
Until a throat cleared near them, and Maddie snatched up her glass of wine and averted her gaze. If she had to survive an entire dinner beside this insufferable man, she would need more than a glass. A barrel, perhaps.
The man was impossible.
He was also too clever by half. And worse still, he saw too much. Of her. She pressed her palm to her forehead and drew in a slow breath.
She would not fall ill.
Not now, when her life was at stake and she needed to find the right husband as quickly as possible. Not just anyone would do.
But still… if she fainted… maybe the marquess would catch her?
Now that was an idea worth exploring.