Lord Sebastian's Secret (The Duke's Sons #3)(15)

Georgina imagined Lady Violet—no, she was the Viscountess Hightower now—being mobbed by the pugs. She always wore ruffles. Some of the younger dogs were driven into a frenzy by the fluttering of ruffles. Georgina closed her eyes on the image of several pugs hanging off the viscountess’s gown by their teeth, like some sort of bizarre ornaments.

She opened her eyes again as she thought of how her sisters would positively besiege Sebastian’s elegant brother Robert. They would pelt him with questions about the haut ton and the ways of society. As far as she could judge, he was a pleasant man, but could he stand up to such a campaign without giving them a withering setdown?

She saw the immaculate duke and duchess chatting with Mr. Mitra, perhaps being asked if they wanted to visit their past lives. Oh, they would be polite; they were always polite. But would they exchange amused, mocking glances when they thought no one saw? Which she would not be able to ignore? Georgina knew she’d be torn between wanting to impress Sebastian’s family and sticking by Papa. There was the scientist brother, Alan, too. Would he view Papa’s activities with contempt?

Georgina looked into Sebastian’s blue eyes. The warmth she found there was reassuring, but not enough to counter all the worries popping up in her mind.

And then, just to cap it all, there came the sound of a dog scratching at the closed door of the room and whining to be let in. The scrape of claws on the wood was like an infernal confirmation of all her fears.

The noise stopped for a moment. There was a sharp bark, like a command. And then the scratching resumed with redoubled intensity. “Aidan doesn’t like being shut out,” Georgina said. “Of anywhere. He’s always escaping the dogs’ room and attacking closed doors.” Feeling a confused mixture of reluctance and urgency, she stood. “Mama will come looking for him. And Papa hates finding marks on the doors. I’d better get him.”

“You’re going to bring him in here?”

“No!” She refused to even picture that. “I shall take him to Mama. Excuse me.” She didn’t look at Sebastian as she hurried out to gather up the dog. She was afraid of what she might see on his face.

Alone, Sebastian sat back on the sofa and tried to take comfort in the fact that he’d done the right thing. They would indeed have been discovered. He’d protected Georgina from that.

This effort failed. He wished for some of the port he’d passed up in the dining room earlier. Or something stronger, brandy by choice. But he didn’t know where to look for it, and he didn’t want to ring for it. So he took himself off to his bedchamber instead. It had been a very long day.

*

Sebastian’s valet arrived at Stane Castle two days later, his post chaise pulling up late in the afternoon behind a tired team. Sebastian was exceedingly pleased to see him, for William Sykes brought far more than clean shirts and expert care for his master’s top boots. After a most unconventional beginning, Sykes had been with him for sixteen years and grown into a staunch ally over that time. His tall, gangling, immaculate figure would be a source of reassurance in this unpredictable household—unflappable, ingenious, discreet. Indeed, now and then, Sebastian suspected Sykes was omniscient.

Sebastian felt sorely in need of his valet’s help. His visit was not going particularly well, at least from his point of view. There’d been no recurrence of the tantalizing encounter with Georgina in the small parlor. In fact, he hadn’t managed to get her alone again at all. She wasn’t avoiding him, which would have been disheartening. He could tell it wasn’t that. It was simply everything else.

There was the pack of pugs roaming the house, for one. Sometimes they gave no yapping early warning, but simply flowed into his path, surrounding him, tumbling about his feet, drooling—or worse—on his trouser legs. Sykes would have a good deal to say about the scratches on Sebastian’s boots. And one of the smaller beasts had developed the trick of hopping onto a sofa whenever Sebastian sat down, running along the back, and jumping onto his shoulder to slaver over his face.

Rather than reprimanding the dog, Georgina’s mother watched indulgently, informing Sebastian that this was a mark of great affection. Since she clearly took Nuala’s—that was the creature’s name, Nuala—attentions as a favorable comment on his character, Sebastian couldn’t complain. But he was feeling positively hunted. He’d taken to sitting in isolated straight chairs, and dashed uncomfortable they were. It was enough to make a fellow feel aggrieved, because he liked dogs.

When he did escape the pugs for a bit, there was still the problem of Georgina’s sisters. They followed him about, founts of insatiable curiosity, able to track him down wherever he went. Hilda, in particular, seemed to have an almost preternatural instinct for the hunt. And she didn’t scruple to knock on his bedchamber door if they couldn’t find him elsewhere.

How was he supposed to know what a voucher for Almack’s looked like? Or whether hoop skirts were still worn for a court presentation? He had managed to remember that Gunter’s was the best place to purchase lemon ices in London. But then Emma pulled out some devilish book about the language of fans, and the two girls kept him captive in the drawing room for more than an hour trying to get him to say whether they were performing each gesture correctly.

If they snapped the fan open and shut at this rate, was that angry, or simply impatient? Did one flirt with this sort of twist and flutter? Was this peek over the top edge coy? Sebastian had no idea. Quite the opposite. He’d been horrified by the idea that girls had been trying to tell him things with their fans all this time. He’d thought they were just too warm.