Lord Sebastian's Secret (The Duke's Sons #3)(24)

He wanted to take up where they’d left off, but in the privacy of one of the castle’s many bedchambers this time. Without the vast annoyance of clothing. He yearned to quench the desire that burned in him night and day. But though he could enjoy the fantasy of tossing her over his shoulder and carrying her up to bed, he couldn’t actually do it. Such conduct was beyond the line for an honorable man. An army officer and a gentleman. He hadn’t gone beyond the line. She had. Sebastian felt as if his blood was sizzling in his veins at the memory.

Georgina looked exquisite in an evening dress of pale-green gauze, a chaste flower in her hair. Had there ever been such a delectable combination of innocence and passion? She was a girl experiencing the realities of love for the first time. He knew that from the tentative nature of her kisses. But she had the enthusiastic instincts of…of a woman who would make him the luckiest man in the world. Soon. If he could just get the dashed knot tied and have her to himself.

The marquess, in conventional evening dress rather than his usual garb, brought an older man up to Sebastian. Time for introductions; time to do his duty. “My daughter’s intended,” said his host with customary informality. “This is Crowther. One of our neighbors, lives over near Hereford.”

The white-haired, upright newcomer did not look pleased at this abbreviated presentation. His pale-blue eyes glinted, and his prominent jaw tightened. “Langford’s son, eh?” he said.

Sebastian was used to this question. One day, he hoped to have a personal history that outweighed his status as the duke’s son. But that day was not yet. “Yes, sir,” he replied. “Very pleased to meet you.” He offered a respectful bow and a smile to make up for the marquess’s careless social style.

It had the desired effect. Crowther’s expression eased. He summoned a plump raven-haired woman with a discreet gesture. “My wife, Baroness Crowther,” he said, supplying information that Georgina’s father had neglected. “That’s my son Wyatt talking to our hostess, and his wife, Elaine.”

The trio appeared to share an interest in dogs, Sebastian noted. All three were bent over Drustan, who wriggled in delight at the attention.

“Here’s Sir Robert Kenton,” said the marquess, coming up behind them with a brown-haired, heavyset man about his own age. “Has a place south of us. That’s his son Charles hanging about Georgina. Too late, eh!” He laughed and clapped Sir Robert on the shoulder, an attention that was clearly not appreciated. “And his daughters Sarah and Eliza are over there conspiring with Emma.”

“A pleasure to meet you,” Sebastian said, with another bow and winning smile.

Hilda was not present. She was too young for an official party, and without doubt she was furious at the exclusion. Miss Byngham, also absent, had probably been delegated to ride herd on her. Sebastian wished her joy of that thankless task. He’d learned that Emma, on the other hand, was older than he’d realized—nearly seventeen, in fact—and champing at the bit to be officially out.

Anat Mitra entered, a picture of dark elegance in another of his long brocade tunics—this one glinting blue and silver—over narrow trousers. Conversation skipped a beat as he paused in the doorway. “My friend Mr. Mitra,” the marquess boomed out. “A scholar from India.”

In the subsequent chorus of acknowledgments, Sebastian eased over toward Georgina.

As if by mistake, Charles Kenton stepped in front of him, blocking his way. “Oh,” the younger man said with an unconvincing start, “I didn’t see you there. Georgie and I were just reminiscing.” His laugh was too loud. “We are old acquaintances, you see. Practically cradle friends.”

Sebastian examined him. Kenton had brown hair and eyes. He was shorter, narrower, and plainer than Sebastian, and clearly feeling every one of these things as a cruel quirk of nature. “Georgie,” Sebastian said.

“A pet name,” Kenton said.

“No, it wasn’t,” replied Georgina. “I was continually telling you that I didn’t like it at all.”

“Indeed, we were married once,” Charles went on, as if he hadn’t heard. He shifted from foot to foot, ready to lunge should Sebastian make a flanking move. “Under the arbor in the rose garden.”

Sebastian might have been jealous, but it was obvious that Georgina didn’t recall any such incident. Still, Charles Kenton was standing too close to her and clearly determined to keep Sebastian from approaching. Sebastian loomed a little. “Were you?”

“Solemnly.” Charles stuck out his chest like a gamecock. “Edgar played the preacher. We were so very close in those days.” He threw Georgina a languishing look.

“Oh, yes,” she said. “I remember now. Fifteen years ago, wasn’t it? I was attended by Drustan’s grandparents. They, er, anointed the rosebushes during the ceremony.”

Sebastian smiled at the picture, while vowing to ban the pugs from his wedding, if he possibly could.

“And perhaps one of your boots?” Georgina added.

“No!” said Kenton. “One of the little devils tried, but I…uh…I stepped away.”

Sebastian met Georgina’s green eyes, saw the amusement in them, and released any lingering wisps of concern he might have felt.

“I’ve met your brother,” the other man said, more belligerent now. “In London. During the season.”