Page 33

After lunch on the moor, they took their time returning, swinging far wide of the manor itself to visit the garages, then the kennels and the stables.

There were plenty more animals to talk to, including an elderly dappled mare who liked nose rubs.

Given a choice, Sebastian would have stayed out with the animals all night.

By late afternoon, however, the gray clouds that had looked like rain delivered on their promise, chasing Wesley and Sebastian back to the manor. Sebastian dried off, then changed from tweeds to black tie for dinner.

He’d just finished tying his bow tie when someone knocked politely at his door.

“Don Sebastian? It’s Horace Lester, sir.”

Sebastian opened the door to reveal Valemount’s butler, who gave a small bow. “I beg your pardon, but His Grace would like to see you for a moment.”

“Oh.” Sebastian paused. Neither he nor Wesley had seen the duke since they arrived at the manor the previous night. Apparently he’d returned. “Did he say why?”

“Yes, sir,” Lester said. “His Grace understands you weren’t expecting to join a hunt during your time in England and may lack your own kit. He requested I bring you to the gun room so he can offer whatever you need.”

“Oh,” Sebastian said again, much more awkwardly. “No, no thank you, I don’t need—”

“He insists,” said Lester.

Sebastian gritted his teeth. “Okay,” he said, and reluctantly followed.

Lester led him down the stairs to the ground floor, and into another wing. From there, they traversed a long hall with tall windows draped in crimson red. Finally, Lester took him into a small room paneled in dark wood.

Valemount himself was standing in one corner, already dressed for dinner in black tie. He was bent over a writing desk with a tense set to his shoulders, and didn’t look up as they entered. “Lester.” Valemount’s tone was sharp. “I told you to bring Don Sebastian.”

“I did, sir.” Lester’s polite tone couldn’t quite mask his confusion. “He’s here with me.”

Valemount jerked his head up. His brow furrowed. “Don Sebastian.” He glanced down at the desk, then back at Sebastian. “Ah. Well. Thank you for coming.”

Sebastian tried to smile, ignoring the weapon racks on the walls.

It was one thing to improve his aim shooting clay pigeons in the middle of the Atlantic with Wesley; he had no intention of ever aiming one of these things at a real animal.

“Your Grace is very considerate,” he said, as Lester left them, “but I do not need anything for tomorrow.”

Valemount’s gaze flicked between Sebastian and the desk again. “Nonsense,” he said brusquely. “If you’re here, you’re going to be ready to hunt. Our family has been exceptional hunters for as long as we’ve been Valemounts.”

That was probably true, considering the original Duke of Valemount, in the fifteenth century, had possessed tracking magic that he’d put in the medallion relic. “But I am not much of the hunter myself,” Sebastian said. “Animals are a delight when they’re alive.”

Valemount snorted. “My niece has already tried to get me to come around to that point of view.” He was still looking at the desk, his shoulders tight and his movements almost fidgety.

“I’m afraid you’ll have no more luck bringing me around than she did.

Seeing the world through someone else’s eyes isn’t what it’s cracked up to be,” he finished, almost to himself.

“Hunting was what killed your brother, though, no?” Sebastian said, before he’d meant to.

That got Valemount to look fully at him. “You heard about that.”

Sebastian could see the surface of the desk now. Valemount wasn’t working on a letter; he had a revolver on the desktop, his hand resting over the grip. “I did,” Sebastian said. “And I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Damn fool way to go. Alfred should have known to keep the safety on.” Valemount continued to stare at him. His fingers were curled around the revolver, his hand big enough to cover most of the gun’s grip.

“I saw the mausoleum today, on our walk,” Sebastian said, watching Valemount carefully. “I would pay my respects, if you approve.”

“Alfred’s not buried there,” Valemount said, his expression very blank.

“Why not?” Sebastian had to ask.

“We were on safari. It’s not something to say in polite society, but the truth is, that by the time we found him, the hyenas had ensured the body was in no shape to bring home.” His gaze darted to the revolver again. “I suppose sometimes you’re hunting lions, but all you find are jackals.”

Valemount suddenly shook himself. “Forgive me, I’m intolerably jittery today,” he said, more warmly.

“The Valemount line are hunters, yes, but we’re also descendants from a Spanish countess ourselves, and your presence honors us, Don Sebastian.

If you’d rather not have a weapon, then I won’t insist.”

“Thank you,” Sebastian said, trying not to sound surprised at the sudden shift in tone.

“I’m sure they’re missing you at dinner already,” Valemount said. “Go on ahead without me; I’ll be there shortly.”

He gave no indication of why he wasn’t following, and Sebastian could feel his gaze on his back as he left the gun room.

* * *

Sebastian wasn’t answering knocks on his door, so Wesley went downstairs on his own, where he was shown by a footman to the ground-floor Great Hall and given a drink.

Despite the last-second decision to host a hunt, Valemount had more than a dozen other guests already in the hall, including both the Marquess and Marchioness of Thornton, who were speaking with Sir Reginald and Lord and Lady Ryland.

Geoffrey had also arrived from London at some point during the day, standing in a circle with several men and what appeared to be a couple of their wives.

“Cousin,” Geoffrey said, beckoning Wesley over, “come meet the Valemount Hunt.”

By the time introductions had been made, Lady Nora had arrived, dressed in a loose turquoise sheath with intricate beadwork.

Sebastian had also joined the guests, distracting as ever in his tailcoat.

The two of them were in conversation over by the wall, and Lady Nora actually seemed slightly animated as she spoke to Sebastian.

Had she decided she liked him? But then, Sebastian’s sweetness and earnest nature had proven attractive to even the most curmudgeonly of the aristocracy. Wesley should know.

Finally, Valemount himself joined them, giving no clue as to where he’d been all day but greeting everyone heartily.

Then they were all taken to the dining room with its long table set with silver.

The rugs were a vivid crimson under the gilded ceiling and crystal chandelier, and the walls the same shade of crimson, hung with gold-framed art.

It was a bit too much like being inside someone’s arteries for Wesley’s taste, but Sebastian was probably delighted about the two lit fireplaces.

The duke was at the table’s head and the rest of them seated somewhat by rank.

Wesley found himself between Sebastian on his right and Geoffrey on his left, with Nora directly across from him between Sir Reginald and the Baroness of Ryland.

The women seemed genuinely fond of each other, with Nora asking after all ten children by name and Lady Ryland doting on Nora like an aunt.

Perhaps the baroness had been close with Nora’s mother, the late Duchess of Valemount.

As with most big tables, there was little chance of hearing or speaking with anyone outside of one’s neighbors, which meant Wesley would need to find another way to talk to Valemount.

Sebastian leaned forward. “You will keep telling us about your travels around the Mediterranean, yes?” he said to Nora. He turned to Wesley. “She was telling me about a river steamer she sailed down the Nile—or it is actually up the Nile, you reminded me, as it flows into the Mediterranean?”

A tiny smile lifted Nora’s lips, but Sir Reginald said, “Or we could talk about tomorrow’s hunt, perhaps?”

Nora’s smile vanished as Sebastian narrowed his eyes. “Is it really necessary to hunt the fox?” Sebastian said. “They are charming little creatures, no?”

“That’s exactly how I feel,” said Nora, and next to her, Lady Ryland patted her hand in a reassuring sort of way.

“Foxes are nuisances,” Geoffrey said, in what he probably imagined was a reasonable and logical tone but drew twin glares from Nora and Sebastian. Unfortunately, being terrible with people seemed to be a common trait among men of the Fine lineage. “They overrun the hutches and eat the chickens.”

Sir Reginald nodded emphatically. “The hunt is necessary pest control.”

“But using the dogs to chase and slaughter seems cruel,” Sebastian said.

“I agree,” said Nora. “There are more humane ways to protect the livestock.”

“I suppose we could have Wesley here shoot them all,” Geoffrey said dubiously.

“Geoffrey, do not bring me into this,” Wesley said testily. “I’m going to sit here and eat my oysters.”

“You’re quite the shot yourself,” Sir Reginald said to Geoffrey.

“Farsight runs in the family.” Geoffrey cut into a caviar canapé with his fork. “Lord Valemount is a cracking shot too, and his collection of antique firearms might be the country’s best.”

“I saw them,” Sebastian muttered.

Wesley glanced at him.

“Just before dinner,” Sebastian added, meeting Wesley’s gaze. “Lord Valemount had sent for me to offer a firearm for tomorrow.”

Wesley raised an eyebrow. That was interesting. “If you wanted a firearm, I could have provided you one.”

“But I don’t,” Sebastian said wryly. “I thanked His Grace for his consideration but declined.”

“Declined? Are you mad?” Geoffrey said. “I’d give my right arm to use some of those guns.”

“You don’t know how to shoot without your right arm,” Wesley said.

Geoffrey gave him an unimpressed look, then turned back to Sebastian. “Does your family collect antiques?”