The Countess Conspiracy (Brothers Sinister #3)(42)

“RIDICULOUS,” VIOLET SAID. “Utterly ridiculous. Although I suppose I should expect no less from a man as terrible at croquet as Benedict is.”

“It is a little ridiculous,” Sebastian said. “I misjudged the situation.”

Somehow, it had been easy for Violet to slide back into her friendship with Sebastian: to meet him in the evenings in her London greenhouse and swap stories of their day, uninterrupted by servants.

He stood next to her now, handing her tools as she worked, telling stories intended to make her laugh. It was almost as if nothing had happened—as if they were still working together, as if he’d never breathed a word about lusting after her.

She shook her head, refusing to contemplate that. Stubbornness was almost like ignorance, almost like bliss.

“In any event,” Sebastian was saying, “I did my best to explain—but you know me.” His smile tilted a little. “What came out was ‘it’s like running a gaming house.’ You should have seen his face.”

He was smiling—as if telling her that his brother was dying and being an ass all at the same time was an amusing little anecdote.

Violet folded her arms. “As I said. Ridiculous.”

“I know.” He grinned at her. “And then I realized what I’d said, and—”

“I wasn’t talking about you.” She sniffed and stretched, plucking another yellowing leaf off a bean plant. “I was talking about your brother.”

His expression didn’t change. He was leaning against one of the metal support columns that came down through the center of her greenhouse, his arms folded, his lips quirking.

“Benedict?” he asked quizzically. “Benedict is never ridiculous. Everyone knows that.”

She set down her shears and turned to him. “I realize that my opinion is of little value on this point. But trust me—your brother is being ridiculous. There is not one person besides him on this planet who would say that you’ve accomplished nothing. Not one.”

He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “That won’t do, Violet. You know the truth about me. We can fool everyone else—but in here, we both know what I really am.”

“Yes,” Violet said. “You aren’t the County Captain of some organization that I have never heard of. But you are one of the world’s foremost experts on the inheritance of traits.”

His smile flattened. “Oh, come now, Violet. We both know that’s you, not me.”

Nothing had changed between them.

Everything had changed between them. When he talked to her like that—looking into her eyes and dropping his voice low—she had once been able to dismiss the swirling sparks in her throat as her own misguided, unwanted response. Now, she knew that she wasn’t alone. Some elemental part of her recognized that he wanted her—that even when he was saying things like Come now, Violet, he yearned for her. She had a new name for that dizziness she felt, that heady rush of warmth that swarmed her cheeks.

Not Violet’s attraction. That she could ignore. This was mutual attraction. How could he not sense it? How could he not know?

“You and I both know,” he said, “that without you, I would have been nobody. You’re the expert. I’m…” He shrugged. “I’m not even your mouthpiece any longer. I learned a great deal from working together. I enjoyed it most of the time, and I’ll grant you that I’m clever enough. But I’m not a serious fellow, Violet, and Benedict knows that. I didn’t set out to make a career for myself in trade. I just wanted to try a little trick.”

“Oh, to hell with that,” Violet heard herself exclaim. “And to hell with Benedict for making you believe it. Yes, you tell jokes. That has nothing to do with what you’ve accomplished. I never said you were the foremost expert on the inheritance of traits. I said you were one of them.”

“But—”

“You’re not a parrot,” Violet told him. “People have to be able to ask you questions and engage you in conversation. You can falsify the source of your knowledge, but you cannot falsify the knowledge itself. Aside from me, there is not one person in the world who understands what you do.”

“But only because you—”

“No. Because you worked and questioned and thought and tried,” Violet continued ruthlessly. “You have worked with me for years. When we needed to learn mathematics to proceed, we struggled together. If we were both men, the credit for our work would have been shared between us. We can quibble about whose name would have gone first, but your name belongs beside mine. You have been with me day after day, night after night. A stupid man, a faithless man, an undependable man—he could not have done what you did. And it is codswallop for your brother to say that you have done nothing. It is an insult to the name of accomplishment.”

“But—”

“No!” She exclaimed. “I won’t hear any excuses for him. I won’t. You understood what we were doing so well that you applied the principles of mathematics we used to shipping and made twenty-two thousand pounds. You’re not a stupid fribble, Sebastian, no matter what your brother says. You’re a very clever man who happens to have a wicked sense of humor.”

For a moment, he didn’t say anything. He just looked at her.

But to call it looking was like calling an eighteen-course feast a snack. The space between them seemed charged with electricity. She could almost feel her hair rising, strand by strand, so powerful was that charge.