Chapter 13 #2
After dinner, the guests gradually drifted into the grand parlor.
, where small clusters of conversation formed beneath the glow of candlelight.
Some guests gathered around mingling, others occupied comfortable chairs near the fireplace, while a handful lingered beside the refreshments discussing everything from politics to horse breeding.
Damien moved amongst them with practiced ease, exchanging remarks and nodding at appropriate intervals. To any observer, he appeared entirely engaged in the social proceedings. In reality, he could scarcely focus on a single conversation.
His attention kept straying towards Lady Seraphine.
She stood near one of the windows speaking with a group of ladies, her dark hair catching the candlelight whenever she turned her head.
Every few minutes his gaze found her again.
It was absurd. He had managed thirty years of life without behaving like a fool.
Yet somehow, he had spent the better part of this house party tracking the movements of one woman across a room.
The realization irritated him immensely.
He took a sip of brandy and silently questioned whether he had suffered some sort of head injury.
His mind returned unwillingly to the ball.
The balcony. The kiss.
Damien clenched his jaw slightly as the memory resurfaced with alarming clarity.
He could still remember the softness of her mouth beneath his, the way she had looked at him afterwards, and the split second in which every sensible thought had abandoned him.
He had been drinking that evening, certainly, but not enough to excuse his actions.
Not nearly enough. The truth was far more inconvenient.
He had known precisely what he was doing.
I wanted to kiss her.
The thought settled heavily in his chest.
Not because she was beautiful, though she undoubtedly was.
Not because she was available, because she certainly was.
No, what troubled him was that he had wanted something he had already decided he could not have.
Damien did not lose control. He did not act on impulse.
He especially did not jeopardize the reputation of innocent ladies because he found them appealing.
Yet the moment Seraphine had placed her hand on his chest, all his carefully cultivated discipline had nearly shattered.
“Brother.” The familiar voice interrupted his thoughts.
Damien turned to find Laurent approaching through the crowd with an amused expression upon his face. His younger brother looked entirely content with life, which Damien found vaguely suspicious. Men should not appear that pleased with themselves.
“Laurent,” he greeted.
Laurent clasped it firmly. “We've hardly exchanged a word since arriving.”
“You have your hands full with your wife and child,” Damien replied, glancing briefly across the room where Rosaline sat speaking with several ladies. “As you should.”
A warm smile crossed Laurent's face.
“Yes,” he said simply. “I am blessed.”
The sincerity of the statement caught Damien off guard.
For a brief moment he studied his brother.
Their father had never been an easy man.
Strict, demanding, and often impossible to please.
Damien had spent years fearing that harshness would pass down through the family, in fact he lived by that fact.
Yet whenever he observed Laurent with Rosaline, he saw no trace of it. His brother looked genuinely happy.
Damien found himself unexpectedly grateful.
“Come,” Laurent said, gesturing towards the terrace doors. “A cigar?”
Damien welcomed the distraction from a certain lady.
They stepped outside into the cool evening air where several lanterns illuminated the stone terrace.
The sounds of the parlor became muted behind the closed doors.
Laurent produced a cigar case, offering one to Damien before lighting both.
For several moments they stood in companionable silence, watching the darkness settle across the gardens.
“How fares Scotland?” Damien eventually asked.
Laurent exhaled a stream of smoke.
“Quite well. The investments have been prosperous this year. Better than expected, if I'm honest.”
“You always did have a talent for making money.”
“I learned from the best,” Laurent smiled.
Damien snorted. “I sincerely hope not.”
“I did,” Laurent replied. “Though you make it sound like a terrible burden.”
“It is a terrible burden, running the estate,” Damien said as he pressed the cigar to his lips.
Laurent laughed softly.
The conversation shifted naturally towards estate matters, tenant concerns, and various business interests. It was familiar territory, one Damien preferred. Numbers were simpler than people. Estates behaved predictably. Investments could be managed logically.
Human emotions, however, possess an unfortunate tendency to ignore reason entirely.
Which was perhaps why Laurent's next comment caught him off guard.
“I've noticed something,” Laurent said at last, turning slightly to lean against the stone balustrade.
Damien immediately disliked the tone. “Have you?” he asked dryly, lifting his cigar to his lips.
Laurent nodded, smoke curling around his head as he exhaled. “You spend a remarkable amount of time speaking with Lady Seraphine.”
Damien stiffened. Only slightly. Unfortunately, Laurent noticed.
“She is merely an acquaintance,” Damien replied, keeping his voice deliberately neutral as he flicked a speck of ash over the terrace railing. “Nothing more.”
His brother raised an eyebrow and regarded him with obvious skepticism.
“Is that so?” Laurent asked, lifting a brow as he leaned casually.
“Yes,” Damien said curtly, taking a slow draw from his cigar.
“Hm.”
Damien hated that sound.
Laurent took another draw from his cigar, looking entirely too amused as smoke curled into the night air between them.
“I have never seen you give that much attention to a lady before,” he remarked, studying Damien far too closely for comfort.
“There is no attention,” Damien replied, folding one arm across his chest and fixing his gaze on the gardens.
“Of course.”
“There isn't,” Damien insisted, shooting him a pointed look.
“Naturally,” Laurent said with a solemn nod that was ruined by the twitch at the corner of his mouth.
Damien narrowed his eyes. “You are becoming irritating.”
Laurent's grin widened as he tapped ash from his cigar. “I learned from the best.”
Damien sighed heavily and rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. For several moments neither spoke. The distant sounds of laughter drifted from inside the house while the lanterns flickered softly around them.
Then Laurent smiled. “You realize your denial is only making this more suspicious,” he said, turning slightly to face him.
“There is nothing to deny,” Damien replied, perhaps a touch too quickly.
“Very well.” Laurent lifted both hands in surrender, though the amusement never left his face.
The smug expression on his brother's face suggested he believed precisely none of that. Feeling increasingly annoyed, Damien flicked ash over the terrace railing and straightened. “We should return inside.”
“As you wish,” Laurent said, pushing himself away from the balustrade and gesturing towards the doors.
The moment they stepped back into the parlor, Damien froze.
Music filled the room. Not merely music. Singing. His gaze instinctively sought the source. There, beside the pianoforte, sat Rosaline. Her fingers moved gracefully across the keys as she accompanied the singer standing beside her. The singer in question happened to be Lady Seraphine.
The conversation around them faded into insignificance. The room seemed to narrow until only she remained.
Seraphine stood with perfect poise, one hand resting lightly upon the pianoforte as her voice floated through the room. It was not the loudest voice he had ever heard. Nor the most technically impressive. Yet there was something undeniably beautiful about it. Warm. Clear. Effortless.
Seductive.
She smiled at something Rosaline played, and the expression transformed her entire face. Candlelight danced across her features, illuminating the freckles scattered over her cheeks.
Damien found himself staring. Again. Like an idiot.
A complete idiot.
He should have looked away. Instead, he remained rooted to the spot. The song ended with enthusiastic applause. Several guests immediately praised the performance. Seraphine laughed softly and dipped into a graceful curtsy.
And Damien's attention remained fixed upon her.
Blasted. Entirely blasted.
Because in that moment, watching her sing beneath the candlelight, he realized he was in far more trouble than he had originally thought.