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Sebastian lost sight of Wesley almost immediately.

He tried to move farther into the ballroom, but was first swept up by a group of older women wanting to know his age and if he was married, then by a pair of young women asking if he watched the pictures and knew Rudolph Valentino, then by a group of men demanding Sebastian settle the question of whether Zorro was based on a true story.

After that there was dancing, and quite a bit of time had passed when he finally broke away.

Even then there were voices behind him, whispers that still reached his ears.

“Do you think he owns property on the Spanish coast?”

“Have you heard what they say about Latin men, that they’re randy all the time?”

“He doesn’t speak English very well. But with a face like that, who needs him to talk?”

Sebastian raised his eyes heavenward, then took a breath through his nose, grabbed two wide-brimmed coupes of champagne off a passing waiter’s tray, and began to weave through the crowd. Hopefully he looked like he was looking for someone and no one would stop him.

Because yes, he’d very much like to find Wesley, but if he couldn’t, he might down both of these glasses himself.

But he did spot Wesley, over near a wall speaking to a man in his mid-thirties.

He looked a lot like Wesley, with the same light brown hair, angular jaw and straight, thin nose, and standing the same height.

Was this Wesley’s second cousin, Geoffrey?

Should Sebastian go over there, or would Wesley prefer if he stayed away?

He hesitated too long, and someone bumped into him from behind. He nearly stumbled but turned it into a stride, catching himself before the champagne spilled, and as he looked up Wesley’s gaze was on him, his expression walled off so Sebastian couldn’t tell what he was thinking.

“Don Sebastian.” Wesley had raised his voice enough to carry. “Would you care to meet my cousin?”

The man who looked like Wesley was eying Sebastian with open scrutiny, like he was a horse at the race and Geoffrey was weighing whether he was worth a bet.

“It would be an honor to meet your family,” Sebastian said sincerely, offering champagne to Wesley, who accepted it. He turned to Geoffrey. “I’m—”

“I’ll take that other drink,” Geoffrey interrupted. “Geoffrey Collins. You’re the one they’re talking about, the Spanish count’s son?”

No champagne for Sebastian, apparently. Probably for the best, considering how easily he’d still managed to get drunk on the ship, but he still handed the second drink over to Geoffrey a bit grudgingly.

“I’m really not worth talking about,” Sebastian said ruefully, “but I’m pleased to meet you, Mr. Collins. Lord Fine has spoken well of you.”

Geoffrey snorted. “You’re a terrible liar,” he said, as he brought the champagne to his lips.

Sebastian’s eyes widened. “What do you—”

“There’s no way Wesley spoke well of me.” Geoffrey sipped his champagne. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard him speak well of anyone.”

“Don Sebastian is a kind and cultured man who deserves to be addressed with respect,” Wesley said flatly. “And now I’ve spoken well of someone in your presence.”

“What’s this about Fine speaking well of others?” Lord Valemount’s loud voice boomed from behind Sebastian’s shoulder. “I should think we’d want Fine to speak well of us. A man with aim like that oughtn’t be crossed.”

Geoffrey laughed. “You’re right enough there,” he said, as Valemount and Lord Thornton in his red coat joined them.

“Don Sebastian, wasn’t it? Have you seen Fine shoot?” Sebastian was suddenly the recipient of Lord Valemount’s full attention as the man pretended to cock and fire a gun. “Fine’s aim is almost magical.”

Coincidental choice of words? Or was the duke implying something? Sebastian carefully didn’t look at Wesley. “We practiced trap shooting aboard the Gaston . He is the best shot I’ve ever seen.”

“That he is, that he is,” Valemount said agreeably. “And how are you finding our English winter, Senor ? Cold and wet enough for you?”

Thornton made a disapproving cluck. “I’m sure the young man could do with a bit of cold; it’s good for the constitution. Soft weather makes for soft men.”

Before Sebastian could figure out how he could possibly respond to that kind of backhanded comment, Valemount waved it off. “Balderdash. The Valemount line has Spanish blood, you know.”

“It does?” Sebastian said, trying to sound surprised.

“Oh yes,” Valemount said. “It goes back many generations but the first Duke of Valemount married a Spanish countess.” He gestured at Wesley and Geoffrey. “They’re cousins; perhaps you’re secretly cousins with the Valemounts too!”

He said it with a laugh, like it was an outrageous idea. Sebastian forced a smile.

“Thornton!” A few yards away, another man in a red coat was waving at their group. “Beagles versus bassets, come settle the argument.”

Lord Thornton perked up. “Excuse me,” he said, turning.

As the marquess left their group, Wesley turned to Valemount. “How are things, the past months?” he asked, which seemed like a tactful way to say, Been involved in any clandestine attempts to wipe magic off the face of the earth, perchance?

“Keeping busy.” Valemount cocked his head. “And what of you, Fine? Never took you as the adventuring type, then next I hear you’re gallivanting across Europe and America. Making new friends,” he said, with a nod at Sebastian, “and coming to parties.”

“Hardly,” Wesley said. “I’m just waiting for an excuse to leave this ballroom for something I can smoke or shoot.”

“Christ, yes, I could use a smoke myself,” Valemount said. “I haven’t any use for dancing or gossip; I say we sneak off to Thornton’s gun room. We can at least have a look, and then shoot billiards, if not the guns.”

“Lead the way.” Wesley set his glass down, still mostly full. “Don Sebastian, would you care to—”

“Don Sebastian!”

“There you are!”

Two women Sebastian hadn’t met yet had suddenly materialized out of the crowd. “You simply must come dance again,” the taller woman said, as she took Sebastian’s arm. “I love a waltz.”

“Or what about bridge?” said the shorter woman, taking his other arm. “And there will be the Christmas play starting too, and the party games—you can’t miss any of that.”

Wesley, Valemount, and Geoffrey faded from sight as Sebastian was pulled back into the crowd.

* * *

“ Take the most handsome man you’ve ever met and dress him to the nines, ” Wesley muttered under his breath, as he followed Valemount down the hall. “ Surely that’s a bloody great idea, Wesley. That could never backfire on you, Wesley. ”

“What was that?” Valemount asked.

“Nothing.” Wesley pushed away his reprehensible possessive grumblings and focused on the man next to him. Geoffrey had gone to the gambling tables, leaving Wesley alone with Valemount, and he needed to make the most of this opportunity.

“How did the season treat you?” he asked, gaze on Valemount out of the corner of his eye as they walked.

“Barely had time to make my own opening meet,” Valemount said, shaking his head. “Damn busy autumn. I’ve cursed Alfred more than I did when he was alive—which, let me tell you, is a feat—though I suppose you know a thing or two about elder brothers leaving you a mess to clean up.”

“I suppose.” The duke—Louis Fairfield, at the time—had been sent home from the war early on, but Wesley had been on the battlefield when he’d learned of the deaths of his father and elder brother, which had left him unexpectedly a viscount. There hadn’t been much cursing, only numbness.

“But then, you’ve been busy too, apparently,” Lord Valemount continued. “Picked up a Spaniard friend—son of a count, you said? How far can his line be traced?”

“Fifteenth century,” Wesley said, quite truthfully.

“Scandalous time in Spain,” Lord Valemount said, which truly wasn’t how Wesley would have chosen to describe the Spanish Inquisition. “His accent is a bit unusual.”

“Childhood in a colony,” Wesley said.

Valemount nodded slowly. “And is he staying with you in England?”

“If he likes.” Why was Valemount asking all of these questions? Was there a chance he knew Sebastian’s true identity and was toying with Wesley, or was he simply curious?

Lord Valemount pursed his lips. “Handsome fellow, at any rate. Seems popular with the ladies.”

“Don’t I know it,” Wesley muttered.

They passed the dining room and entered the back corner of the ground floor, where the marquess had his gun and billiard rooms. There was a sharp crack of billiard balls knocking into each other, followed by a man’s curse.

“Sounds like we weren’t the first to have this idea.” Valemount walked past the gun room and stepped into the billiard room instead. “Well, well, well. Not surprising to find you two here.”

In the billiard room, Lord Ryland, a baron with a country estate not far from Wesley’s in Yorkshire, was smoking a cigar with a pool cue in his other hand. Sir Reginald, a baronet notorious for enjoying gambling without skill, stood at the billiard table, glaring red-faced at the white ball.

Valemount clapped his hands together. “Gentlemen, you’ve started without us.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Ryland said dryly. “I’m not sure you could call whatever Reginald’s been attempting billiards .”

“Don’t you have more screeching progeny to create?” Sir Reginald said irritably, which, given that Ryland had ten children under the age of twenty, was possibly fair. “Fine, what are you doing here? I thought you were in America.”

The billiards room had a large marble fireplace on one wall, surrounded by mounted animal heads and flanked by a taxidermied bear on its hind legs, which Sebastian would have had some choice feelings about.

Just beyond, the wall was lined with windows with their curtains tightly drawn.

“Our ship docked last night,” Wesley said, surreptitiously moving past Valemount, as if he wished to study the trophies.

A footman in servant’s livery quietly stepped into the room, a box of cigars in his hand, and offered the box first to Valemount, then to Wesley. Wesley grabbed a cigar at random. “It’s a bit stuffy in here,” he said to the footman.

“I can open a window, my lord,” the footman offered.

“You want a window open?” Sir Reginald said. “On this ghastly night?”

“The country air is good for all of us,” Ryland said, as the footman opened the curtain on the nearest window.

The glass was black with night, reflecting the room back like a mirror. Wesley kept his expression carefully neutral. Hopefully Arthur and Brodigan were out there and could get a look inside.

“Speaking of country air.” Valemount took a drag from his cigar. “Fine reminded me that I’m well behind Thornton in hunts this year and it’s already December. Are we game for one in Dartmoor?”

Wesley’s eyebrows went up.

“Brilliant,” Sir Reginald said. “I’d join you tomorrow.”

A chance to visit the Valemount ancestral country home, knowing the first duke had certainly been a paranormal, couldn’t be passed up. But—

“To Dartmoor tomorrow, then!” Valemount gestured at Wesley with his cigar. “I can see what you’re thinking, Fine,” he said, though Wesley very much doubted it. “The hounds will get the fox, it’s true, but there’ll be plenty for you to shoot.”

“I haven’t gotten out on a hunt for weeks and Charlotte adores Nora. We’ll come.” Ryland put the cigar between his teeth as he stepped up to the table. “You’re a cracking good shot, aren’t you, Fine? I’d like to see that.”

Wesley inhaled from the cigar. “Well—”

“I’m certain Geoffrey will join us, and you can’t let your cousin show you up,” Valemount said. “And bring your friend Don Sebastian. I bet he’s never seen the hounds go mad for a scent. He’ll love it!”

Oh no. No no no, Sebastian was not going to love this, Sebastian was going to throw a bloody fit . “He’s—er—a bit of soft touch for the animals, actually—”

“Soft for animals?” Sir Reginald blinked, like Wesley had said something incomprehensible. “ Why? ”

“No matter,” Valemount said, waving it away. “We’ll bring him round. This will be a treat.”

This was going to a fucking disaster.