Chapter 23 Kitty
The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars,
But in ourselves, that we are underlings.
WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE, JULIUS CAESAR
My head was still spinning from Sebastian’s kisses, my lips tingling from the memory, my heart racing with his whispered vow to guard me. One hand had captured my waist, the other my face, the sensations burned into me, far more earthy and passionate than that fleeting sweet peck after the opera.
Kisses that left me reeling.
He loved me.
Although I had once thought this arranged marriage lacked all the romance of girlish dreams, I was now keenly aware of the man standing before me, as he gazed into my eyes, waiting for a response.
I wanted nothing more than to press my mouth against his again.
The library door slammed shut, and I startled, then jerked back, my feet treading on Sebastian’s coat.
The colonel entered the library, his lean face even more sunken than usual. His smile chilled me, never reaching his eyes.
And now Grandfather had found me in complete dishabille, my hair tumbling free.
“Mr. Sinclair. Kitty. The hour is late for the two of you to be unchaperoned.”
“I waited for your arrival,” I quickly explained, though my hands shook from all that had happened this evening. “Mr. Sinclair . . . k-kept me company. Something dreadful happened in your absence. Edward was injured, shot while uncovering corruption tied to the East India Company.”
Grandfather straightened, his former triumph fading and his expression now unreadable. “Shot?”
“Edward found evidence of smuggling and bribes, crates at Limehouse marked with a tiger emblem. He risked everything to bring it to light after overhearing a conversation about smuggling at one of his clubs. The physician believes he will recover if there is no infection,” Sebastian supplied.
I could not help but wonder at the thoughts within my grandfather’s head, from Edward’s near brush with death and stumbling into Sebastian and me at this late hour.
The colonel’s jaw tightened. “Edward has no business wandering London alone, inviting trouble from the worst districts.”
I was stung at the curt reply. “He is your grandson. He was nearly killed tonight. Surely someone can trace the tiger emblem he discovered.”
He scowled. “Tiger markings? Riddles. Edward interrupted common thieves. The wharves are no place for gentlemen.”
Fear and rage competed within me, along with a familiar helplessness. How could my grandfather be so dismissive, as if his own family had no value to him?
Then his gaze snapped to Sebastian, and his face mottled red. “You, Mr. Sinclair, were to put fears regarding the Company to rest. We must bury this incident, hide it, lest the Grenville name be dragged through the papers again.”
My grandfather’s fury rooted me to the floor. In my mind rang the words I wish you had never been born, circling until I felt nothing but shame.
“We deserve answers as to what happened to my brother,” I protested. “I will ask the Bow Street Runners to investigate, if I must.”
The colonel stepped toward me with his hand raised, and I flinched despite my brave challenge.
And Sebastian moved. Swift as a blade, he angled himself before me, a shield against my own kin.
“I gave assurances before Parliament of no Company corruption,” he said, his voice low, dangerous. “But if there are men willing to murder Edward Grenville, then I will visit the Bow Street Runners myself. Better the truth than silence bought with blood.”
The colonel froze, his hand still hovering in the air.
“You will never raise a hand to your granddaughter ever again. Not while I live.”
And in that suspended moment, I knew: Sebastian Sinclair had just declared himself my enemy’s enemy.