Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
As the evening continued, Seraphine found herself enjoying Mr. Harper’s company more and more. He possessed a quick wit and an easy confidence that put her at ease.
Yet every so often she felt it. A gaze. Heavy.
Persistent. Waiting. Whenever she glanced across the room, she found Damien watching.
Sometimes near the fireplace. Sometimes speaking to another guest. Once standing entirely alone with a glass of brandy.
Always watching. It became impossible to ignore.
By the time refreshments were announced, she felt oddly unsettled.
Mr. Harper rose and offered her his arm. “Shall we seek sustenance before Lady Branson devours all the cakes?” he asked.
Seraphine laughed as she accepted. “I did notice she has remarkable determination where pastries are concerned.”
Together they crossed the room. They had barely reached the refreshment table when a familiar voice interrupted.
“Harper.” Caspian appeared holding a billiards cue. There was a determined gleam in his eyes that suggested he had arrived with a specific purpose.
Mr. Harper looked up, spotted him, and immediately groaned theatrically.
The sound drew a smile from Seraphine before a single word had even been exchanged.
“No,” he said, shaking his head before Caspian could speak.
“Yes,” Caspian replied, pointing the cue at him.
“No.”
“You beat me last time,” Caspian said.
“Skillfully,” Mr. Harper said, smoothing an imaginary wrinkle from his sleeve.
“I demand a rematch,” Caspian continued.
“My first triumph was not enough?” Harper grinned.
Several nearby guests glanced over, clearly sensing an entertaining argument in progress.
Caspian narrowed his eyes and folded his arms across his chest. Mr. Harper only looked more delighted, clearly enjoying every moment of his irritation.
The two men reminded Seraphine of schoolboys squabbling over a game rather than grown gentlemen at a fashionable gathering.
“You owe me a rematch,” Caspian declared again.
Mr. Harper turned towards Seraphine. “Would you object terribly if I were absent for a moment of honor and glory?”
“I suspect neither is involved,” Seraphine replied.
Caspian barked a laugh. “See?” he said. “Even Lady Seraphine knows you're talking nonsense.”
“Lady Seraphine wounds me.” Mr. Harper pressed a dramatic hand to his chest and staggered back a step as though mortally injured.
“You shall survive.” Seraphine fought back a smile as she lifted her glass.
“I shall endeavor to.” He straightened with a grin and dipped into a bow. “If you'll excuse me?” he asked, glancing towards the billiards room.
“You have my blessing.” Seraphine waved him away with amused resignation.
Moments later both men disappeared into the billiards room.
For the first time all evening, Seraphine found herself alone.
The noise of the gathering suddenly seemed overwhelming, the laughter, the music, the endless conversations.
She slipped quietly from the drawing room and wandered into the corridor beyond.
Silence greeted her, and she released a slow breath. The cool air felt wonderful. For several moments she simply stood there, thinking. Mr. Harper was perhaps the most promising gentleman she had met since arriving at Amberhall.
He is handsome, interesting, funny, and he makes me laugh. Most importantly, he is not dull.
A small smile touched her lips. Thalia certainly approved of him; otherwise she never would have introduced them and therefore he must be a man of means.
“Do you think it is wise to throw yourself at such a man?”
The deep voice behind her shattered the thought, and anger flared instantly before she even turned around.
“Throw myself?” she demanded. She spun to face Damien. “How dare you say such a thing to me?”
He stood only a few feet away, tall, imposing, and infuriating. His expression remained utterly calm, which somehow made everything worse.
“I merely observed what occurred,” Damien said, his voice maddeningly calm as he slipped his hands behind his back.
“You observed?” Seraphine repeated incredulously.
She folded her arms tightly across her chest and took a step towards him. “You mean you were spying.”
His jaw tightened visibly, and a muscle ticked in his cheek. “I was watching,” he replied.
“That is the same thing.” She lifted a brow and gestured sharply with one hand.
Damien shook his head once. “It is not the same.”
“It absolutely is.” She threw her hands into the air in exasperation.
He took a step closer. She hated how aware she became whenever he did that. Her chest heaved up and down in anger and she felt how exposed her flesh was, particularly when he glanced down at her plunging neckline.
“I watched a gentleman flirt with you for the better part of an hour,” he said, folding his arms across his chest.
“And whose fault is that?” she shot back, throwing her hands into the air. “You spent an entire week eliminating every man who approached me,” she continued, taking a pointed step towards him.
His eyes narrowed as he stared down at her. “Harper is unsuitable,” he said curtly.
“Oh?” She arched a brow and crossed her arms. She lifted her chin. “And you know him personally?”
“I know of him,” Damien replied, his jaw tightening.
“Which means no.” She gave a dismissive wave of her hand, refusing to let him intimidate her simply because he was taller, broader, and currently looking at her as though she had personally offended him.
Damien's mouth flattened into a hard line. For a brief moment, something flashed across his face. Irritation, certainly. Perhaps even jealousy. The thought appeared so suddenly that she nearly laughed at herself. Damien jealous? That was ridiculous.
“It means that I know enough,” he said, taking a step closer.
The movement was subtle, yet Seraphine noticed it immediately. She always noticed when he moved closer. The corridor suddenly felt narrower than it had moments before.
She waited for him to say something else. When he continued staring, she raised a brow.
“Well?” she prompted, tapping her fingers impatiently against her folded arms.
Damien exhaled through his nose and glanced away for a moment before meeting her gaze again. “He is a womanizer.”
Her stomach tightened slightly. She refused to let him see it. A sharp laugh escaped her as she shook her head. “Coming from you, that is rather amusing.”
His gaze sharpened. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.” She stepped forward. “You lecture me about womanizers while half the unmarried ladies in London sigh whenever you walk into a room. How many have you entertained? You are impossible,” she said, shaking her head at him.
“And you are blind.” Damien took another step closer, his gaze never leaving hers.
That stopped her. “What?” Her head snapped up, indignation flashing across her face.
“You heard me,” he replied, his jaw tightening slightly. He moved another step closer. Too close. Far too close.
“You see a handsome face and a charming smile and that is not who he is,” he said.
She glared. “And what do you see?” she demanded, planting her hands on her hips.
“A man who enjoys attention,” Damien replied, folding his arms across his chest.
“So do you.” She lifted a brow and tilted her head.
“I do not.”
The lie was so outrageous she nearly laughed.
“You absolutely do. You dove into the pond today simply for the spectacle.” She gave an incredulous shake of her head.
For one brief second, amusement flickered in his eyes. Then it vanished. “He will hurt you,” he said quietly, taking another step towards her.
Something about the certainty in his voice made her hesitate. Only briefly.
“You do not know that.” She lifted her chin defiantly, refusing to retreat even as her pulse quickened at his nearness.
“I do.” Damien’s expression was unyielding.
Frustration bubbled inside her.
Why does he care? Why is he standing here? Why is he making this difficult?
“You do not get to decide who I speak to,” Seraphine said, her fingers tightened around the folds of her skirt.
His gaze dropped briefly to her mouth. The movement lasted less than a second. Yet her pulse stumbled. The corridor suddenly felt smaller. The air felt warmer. She hated that she noticed. Hated it.
“You should leave me alone.”
His eyes lifted back to hers. “Should I?” he asked. His voice had changed; it became thick and husky. He leaned toward her. The movement was unhurried, yet it sent a ripple of awareness through her entire body.
“Yes.” Seraphine locked eyes with him, though her voice came out less steady than she would have liked. She hated that he was close enough for her to catch the faint scent of sandalwood and brandy.
“Even if I am right?” His gaze searched her face, lingering far too long on her lips before returning to her eyes.
“You are not.”
His mouth twitched. “Stubborn.”
She scoffed and rolled her eyes, though her pulse betrayed her by quickening. “You have some nerve.”
“And you have a remarkable talent for ignoring good advice.” His voice dropped lower as he leaned one shoulder against the wall beside her, effectively trapping her between him and the opposite side of the corridor.
Heat rushed through her. She took a step back only to find there was nowhere to go. Her breath caught as his gaze darkened, and for one dangerous moment neither of them seemed capable of looking away.
The corner of his mouth almost lifted. Almost. Then he moved closer again.
Seraphine's breath caught as the space between them shrank, far too quickly and far too easily.
Every sensible thought vanished. Her pulse thundered.
She should step away. She knew she should.
Yet somehow, she remained exactly where she was.