Devil in Winter (Wallflowers #3)(63)

“Yes, I did,” Sebastian said in response to Evie’s question. “Why the hell are you still here? You should have left approximately eight hours ago.”

She stared into his expressionless face without flinching. “I’m still packing.”

“You’ve been packing for three days. You don’t own more than a half-dozen gowns. The few belongings you have would fit into a small valise. You’re stalling, Evie.”

“What difference does it make to you?” she shot back. “For the past two days you’ve treated me as if I don’t even exist. I can scarcely credit that you even noticed I’m still here.”

Sebastian subjected her to a knifelike stare while he struggled to retain control of his writhing temper. Not notice her? Holy hell, he would have given a fortune for that to be true. He had been torturously aware of her every word and gesture, hungering constantly for the briefest glimpse of her. Seeing her now, her beautifully curved body neatly wrapped in the black velvet dress, was enough to drive him mad. The somber darkness of mourning was supposed to render a woman plain and drab, but instead the black made her skin look like fresh cream, and her hair glow like fire. He wanted to take her to bed, and love her until this mysterious bedeviling attraction was consumed in its own heat. He felt invaded by something, some kind of ardent disquiet that felt like a sickness…something that made him go from one room to another and then forget what he had wanted. He had never been like this…distracted, impatient, agonized with yearning.

He had to get rid of her. Evie had to be protected from the dangers and depravities of the club, as well as from himself. If he could somehow keep her safe, and see her in some kind of limited manner…it was the only solution.

“I want you to go,” he said. “Everything has been prepared for you at the house. You’ll be far more comfortable there. And then I won’t have to worry about what kind of trouble you might be getting into.” Standing, he went to the door, taking care to preserve a necessary physical distance between them. “I’m going to send for a carriage. In a quarter hour, I want you to be in it.”

“I’ve had no supper. Is it too much to ask that I be allowed a last meal?”

Though Sebastian wasn’t looking at her, he could hear the note of childish defiance in her voice, and it caused a wrench in his heart…a heart that he had always believed to be nothing more than an efficient muscle.

He never remembered whether he had intended to allow her to stay for supper or not, for at that moment he saw Cam approaching the office…accompanied by the unmistakable form of the Earl of Westcliff. Turning to the side, Sebastian dragged his lean fingers through his hair. “Bloody hell,” he muttered.

Evie came to him instantly. “What is it?”

Sebastian wiped his face clean of expression. “You’d better go,” he said grimly. “Westcliff is here.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” she said at once. “Westcliff is too much of a gentleman to fight in front of a lady.”

Sebastian let out a derisive laugh. “I don’t need to hide behind your skirts, pet. And I doubt he’s here to fight—that was all settled on the night I abducted Miss Bowman.”

“What does he want, then?”

“Either to deliver a warning, or to see if you need rescuing. Or both.”

Evie remained by his side as Westcliff entered the office.

Cam was the first to speak. “My lord,” he said to Sebastian, “I bid the earl to wait, but he—”

“No one bids Westcliff to do anything,” Sebastian said dryly. “It’s all right, Cam. Go back to the hazard tables, or it will be mayhem in there. And take Lady St. Vincent with you.”

“No,” Evie said instantly, her concerned gaze switching from Sebastian’s mocking face to Westcliff’s granite-hard one. “I’m going to stay.” Turning to Lord Westcliff, she gave him her hand. “My lord, I have thought so often about Lillian…she is well, I hope?”

Westcliff bent over her hand and spoke in his distinctive gravelly voice. “Quite well. It is her wish that you come to stay with us, if you so desire.”

Although Sebastian had been browbeating her into leaving the club only a few minutes earlier, he was filled with sudden fury. The arrogant bastard. If he thought to come in here and snatch Evie away from beneath his nose—

“Thank you, my lord,” Evie replied softly as she stared into Westcliff’s bold-featured face. He had black hair, and eyes so dark that it was impossible to distinguish the irises from the pupils. “You are very kind. And I wish very much to visit soon. But I have no need of your hospitality at this time.”

“Very well. The offer will remain open. Allow me to offer my condolences on your recent loss.”

“Thank you.” She smiled at Westcliff, Sebastian saw with a stab of jealousy.

As the possessor of one of the oldest and most powerful earldoms in England, Marcus, Lord Westcliff, had the aura of a man who was accustomed to having his opinions heard and heeded. Though he was not classically handsome, Westcliff possessed a dark vitality and masculine vigor that caused him to stand out in any gathering. He was a sportsman and a bruising rider, known for pushing himself to the edge of his own physical limits and beyond. In fact, Westcliff approached everything in life that way, allowing himself nothing less than excellence in whatever he chose to do.