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Chapter Seventeen

Sebastian

S ebastian remained in the music room for some time, waiting for his composure to return. It did not do so readily.

He was stopped in the corridor by Tolliver, who found it necessary to recount his journey away from town in great detail and mention all the ways in which he had helped Mrs. Lawrence since returning.

As he ran into three gentlemen from Blackstone’s just after, by the time he returned to the drawing room, Mrs. Lawrence and Miss Grant were gone.

Perhaps it was for the best. He could use a bit of time to master his emotions. He had arrived at Blackstone’s with confidence and determination; he was leaving with neither.

When he had suggested a kiss as the stake of their game, he had been thinking only of forcing her into a situation she would hate. He had not accounted for how it would affect him.

Why should he have? His anger toward her burned bright, after all. There was no way to anticipate that the feelings he had felt for her before learning of her duplicity would return in full force the moment she touched him .

The mere memory of her finger tracing his lips sent a shock of desire through him.

He tamped it down, gritting his teeth. What a fool he was.

He needed a glass of water over the head.

He settled for a glass of water down the throat when he reached home.

Sleep was revivifying, and by the time he had partaken of breakfast, his determination was stronger than ever.

He sat at the escritoire, smiling at the memory of the poetry he had written there, and composed a new note, this time asking for the pleasure of her company—and the first two sets—at the ball the Duke of Rockwood was holding on Saturday evening.

“She will never agree to it,” Sebastian told an inattentive Pip as he sealed the missive with pleasure.

She did agree to it, though, in an overly flowery response, thanking him for his kind invitation. He could have sworn there were moments when she, too, had been undone by their near-kiss, but perhaps that was simply because he had not wanted to be alone in his reaction.

Yorke and Fairchild accompanied Sebastian to the ball, for the duke was Yorke’s eldest brother and the only reason Sebastian had been invited.

He barely heard the conversation between his friends when they arrived, for his focus was on the door to the ballroom.

Would she come?

She would. He knew Selina Lawrence well enough by now to know that.

She had still not arrived, however, when Henry Branok approached him.

Branok was a fellow member of Blackstone’s and an avid birdwatcher.

In what way a birdwatcher had fallen afoul of Society in order to be relegated to Blackstone’s club, Sebastian did not know, but he quite liked Branok.

His love of birdwatching was less disruptive to conversation than Miss Fernside’s had been, at least. Eccentric as Blackstone might be, Sebastian had to admit that he chose his members well. He had yet to meet one he disliked.

Sebastian listened with interest—and a bit of envy—about Branok’s most recent exploits: a birding expedition around England.

It sounded so tranquil compared to the difficulties Sebastian was facing.

He would gladly have spent hours watching for one of Miss Fernside’s purple-dusted wimper willows rather than tearing his hair out over Mrs. Lawrence and the Chancery case.

The conversation with Branok took on a distinctly awkward tone, however, when Miss Fernside herself appeared before them. She looked them over with haughty brows.

“So, it is true, then,” she said to Branok. “You two are friends. You have been helping him.”

Sebastian frowned and glanced at Branok, who looked just as bemused.

“This clears up matters perfectly,” she said.

“What matters?” Mr. Branok asked. “Miss Fernside, please…”

She merely shook her head. “It doesn’t matter any longer.”

Neither of them had managed a response when she walked away.

Thoroughly confused but feeling the need to enlighten Branok to the extent that he could, Sebastian explained the nature of his acquaintance with Miss Fernside. Branok was far too even-keeled to hold his crimes against him, however, and soon left to go in search of Miss Fernside.

Sebastian’s gaze flitted to the door again, and his heart stuttered. Mrs. Lawrence and Miss Grant stood just inside the entrance.

She had come.

The confirmation that she was too game to sit at home for this part of their challenge pleased Sebastian greatly, even if a flicker of self-doubt lay beneath it.

He had prepared himself, steeled his heart, which was why it was all the more aggravating to feel it respond to her presence. It was not only anger he felt toward Selina, despite her crimes against him. There was still a stubborn bit of want and longing.

But he would not allow himself to be undone by such ill-judged feelings tonight.

Mrs. Lawrence’s burgundy gown was regal, bringing to mind a heady, intoxicating wine, while the crystals scattered across the bodice glinted and glimmered in the candlelight.

Around her neck hung a single diamond pendant, simple but elegant, matching the two diamond drops that hung from her ears.

The cool light of the stones contrasted with the warmth of her blonde hair, giving the illusion of silver and gold.

His gaze dropped to her hand, noting the diamond ring she had worn upon their first meeting—the one she loved to tinker with.

He could not keep himself from staring at the vision she presented. She had once been everything he hadn’t known existed—grace, wit, kindness, and beauty in one riveting woman.

But it had been an illusion.

Perhaps that version of Mrs. Lawrence existed, but not for him. She despised him. She wished him ill. And she continued to play with him like a cat with a mouse.

The ache in his chest turned to a pinch as anger filtered through him. She had not merely hurt him with her scheming; she had hurt Margaret and Hugo and Felix, and they had done nothing to deserve it.

Mr. Tolliver appeared before Mrs. Lawrence and bowed over her hand, sending all Sebastian’s thoughts fleeing.

The time for observation had ended.

He strode purposefully toward Mrs. Lawrence and came to a stop in front of Miss Grant, Mr. Tolliver, and her.

“Forgive me, Tolliver,” Sebastian said with an amiable smile, “ but I had the distinct pleasure of extracting a promise from Mrs. Lawrence for the first two sets, and both of us know she is nothing if not a woman of her word.”

“The first two sets?” Tolliver repeated incredulously.

Sebastian’s gaze fixed on Mrs. Lawrence, and hers on him.

He held his hand out expectantly, maintaining his smile as her jaw tightened, her eyes lighting with fire.

She wanted nothing more than to deny him the two sets, and the knowledge sent a flush of pleasure through him.

Go ahead . Deny me. Admit defeat .

She set her hand in Sebastian’s, then turned toward Mr. Tolliver and smiled. “Perhaps the third set?”

There was nothing for Mr. Tolliver to do but ask Miss Grant to dance with him, a distinctly lackluster offer which she accepted more gracefully than Tolliver deserved.

“Are you well, Mrs. Lawrence?” Sebastian asked as he led her to the set. “You look a bit…put out this evening.”

She laughed. “You positively overwhelm me with your compliments once again, Mr. Drake. Do I look so ill?”

“On the contrary.” He led her to her side of the set and released her hand. “I have never seen you look as radiant as you do this evening. The way your eyes flash and your cheeks flush—it only adds to your beauty.”

“You cannot imagine how pleased I am to know that my aggravation brings you satisfaction.”

Sebastian smiled as he walked across the set to take his place.

Her eyes were fixed on him, bright and intent, her mouth arranged in a mechanical smile as the music began.

He bowed, and she curtsied, then they came together.

“I trust I have had no part in this aggravation,” he said, taking her hand to begin the figures of the dance.

“Oh, Mr. Drake,” she said in a cloying tone.

“You could never be a cause of aggravation. You have been so very attentive to me from the moment we met. And what happy chance that meeting was!” Her face was arranged in a sweet, joyful expression, but there was a martial light in her eyes there was no mistaking.

“I consider any moment spent with you happy chance. You cannot fathom how fortunate I feel to have been singled out for a full two sets with you.”

“I might say the same,” she replied with saccharine sweetness.

Their gazes held as Sebastian considered what to do and say next. He despised her and admired her all at once, wanted to rake her over the coals for toying with him, then kiss her senseless.

Coals would do nothing. Selina Lawrence seemed impossible to discompose.

There was a final maneuver left in Sebastian’s arsenal, however—one that would leave him the winner and put an end to this entire charade.

Part of him was reluctant to end it. There was a level of enjoyment and exhilaration in it, after all. But he needed all of his mental faculties for the more pressing problem at hand: how to liberate his siblings from Hollis’s guardianship now that Mrs. Lawrence’s fortune was not an option.

It never had been.

His fingers pressed more firmly into her waist, and their gazes held in mutual defiance and determined pleasantness until the first dance began to draw to a close. Sebastian took the opportunity of their last moment together to draw near to her, bringing his mouth to her ear.

Did he detect a tremble in her body?

“Might I convince you to take the air with me, Selina?” he whispered.

She pulled back to look at him, indignation flashing in her eyes.

“May I call you your given name?” he asked, unable to fully suppress the pleasure of her reaction. “I have been wanting to for some time now.”

“Of course…Sebastian,” she replied. “I could use the fresh air.” She accepted his arm, the press of her fingertips th e only evidence of the tension in her body as he guided her from the ballroom floor toward the doors that led outside.

“I do love dancing,” he said, choosing an area on the stone balcony that granted privacy, “but I have been eager for a bit of privacy with you.”

Her brows went up, instant watchfulness entering her eyes. “Have you?”

He smiled, though his heart thumped against his ribs. “Yes, but that is not unusual, of course. Tonight, I simply have a particular reason for wishing it.”

Her gaze intensified, and her body grew more still. “And what reason is that?”

He took her hands, and there was the slightest resistance before she granted them to him. “You cannot stand in any doubt of my regard for you, Selina.”

Her eyes flashed, but her smile was steady. “No, indeed. I am fortunate enough to have been aware how you regard me for some time now.”

He couldn’t stop the corner of his mouth from hitching at her calculated answer. “I have reason to believe you return a measure of that regard.”

“Oh, Mr. Drake?—”

“Sebastian.”

“Sebastian,” she corrected with a smile. “You could not possibly fathom the strength of what I feel for you.”

His lips turned up at both edges in further acknowledgement of the barbed response masked with sweetness. She was skilled, certainly, and he reluctantly admired her for it.

But this game had run its course.

Her fingers were stiff in his, her body tense as he brought her hands to his mouth and kissed one fervently, then the other.

“You make me the happiest of men, Selina.” He fixed his gaze on hers, arranging his expression into one of lovelorn pleading.

“Please tell me you will do me the honor of becoming my wife.”

All traces of a smile disappeared from her face. Her nostrils flared and her eyes glittered with barely restrained fire as the silence stretched.

Sebastian waited. He waited with all the patience in the world for victory.

He had backed her into a corner, and she had no choice now but to surrender.

How very sweet it would taste.

She released a sudden breath, and her expression shifted, her taut lips stretching into a smile. “Yes. I will marry you.”