Once a Wallflower, At Last His Love (Scandalous Seasons #6)(101)

His heart tugged a moment with longing for a babe with Hermione, one with his wife’s bold spirit and her devotion to family, and her sapphire eyes.

“Oh, dear. You’re woolgathering,” Addie said.

He grinned. “You are right, Addie. I am.” Didn’t all men hopelessly besotted with their wives wax poetic in their thoughts, words, and actions? He scrubbed a hand back and forth over his mouth contemplatively and then froze. All great tales bore acts of great heroism. Sebastian, where his wife was concerned, had never been that unwavering, valiant hero she deserved. He stood and drummed his fingertips together. His plan would require some level of assistance.

Hugh and Addie cleared their throats and looked at him expectantly.

“Hugh, Addie, I would like to enlist your help. Would you be willing to—?”

“Yes!” Addie clapped excitedly interrupting the remainder of his request.

He motioned the children over. “I’m going to need you to find something that belongs to your sister.” He proceeded to tell them precisely what he required of them.

A knock sounded at the door. They all three glanced up guiltily as Hermione entered the room, a copy of a newspaper in her hands. She eyed them dubiously. “What have you done?”

“Well, that is quite rude, Hermione. We’ve done nothing at all.” Addie gave a flounce of her brown curls and he applauded the girl her effortless ability to prevaricate.

On the swift heel of that was the realization that, with her penchant for mischief and mystery, she was going to be the early death of their father—and by Sebastian’s regard for Hermione’s siblings—the death of him.

“Hmm,” Hermione said. That single syllable utterance laced with skepticism. “You should both be above stairs…”

They groaned.

He shot a grateful look over the children’s heads. Hermione winked as though knowing just what he was thinking, and considering she’d spent the whole of their lives with Addie and Hugh, she knew precisely what he was thinking.

Hugh and Addie filed reluctantly out of the library. Hermione closed the door behind them and leaned against it, a copy of The Times held at her chest.

Quiet reigned, the silence enormous with the departure of her garrulous siblings.

“Sebastian.”

“Hermione.”

She said nothing for a long while, just looked at him with that somber, searching way he’d come to expect of his wife. Then she held up the paper. “There was something quite interesting in the gossip column today.” He didn’t give a jot about the scandal sheets. Hermione pushed off the door and wandered close, the paper still aloft. “I’m not one given to reading gossip.” She paused before him.

Sebastian leaned down to claim a kiss. “Good.”

She drew back, that damned scandal sheet between them. “And yet there was something interesting in the pages today, Sebastian.”

He sighed, resolved to the truth that he would not enjoy the pleasure of his wife’s arms until she said whatever it was she now danced about. “Oh?”

Hermione held up the folded front page and jabbed her finger, rustling the page.

He followed her slight movement to the latest salacious piece about a certain Lord C. “Ah,” he murmured.

She tossed the paper to the floor where it landed with a thump. “Ah, that is all you’ll say?”

Sebastian wandered over to the sideboard and grabbed the nearest decanter of brandy and an empty glass. He poured the French spirits into the crystal tumbler. “There is nothing to say, Hermione.” He’d not wanted to ever hear mention of the bastard who’d shattered her already fractured family, and he’d done a sufficient job of ridding the country of Cavendish.

“Nothing to say?” she repeated, as though he’d just announced his intentions to unseat King George IV. Hermione bent and retrieved the discarded paper.

“Having failed to heed the infamous Beau Brummel’s outrageous disrespect for the Prince Regent, a certain Lord C. fell from social favor after referring to the Prince Regent as…” Her shoulders shook. “A fat toad with an enviable purse.” She crossed over and dropped the copy of The Times onto the sideboard. “You did this,” she repeated, this time her tone more solemn.

He downed the contents of his glass. “I might have whispered something into the Prince Regent’s ear about the slight.” He set the empty glass down.

“How?”

“I’ve my ways, love.” Ways which included sitting across from the cad at the notorious gaming hells and plying him with spirits until he was loose with his tongue and his already empty coffers.

“Oh, Sebastian,” she said softly.

Where most debts of honor were paid immediately, Cavendish had been unable to pay one very costly, very significant one—to him. A slight against the Regent however had proven the most costly of all Cavendish’s mistakes. Nay, that was not altogether true—the most egregious crime had been committed against Hermione’s sister. His mouth tightened with remembrance of the hellish story she had told of Elizabeth.

Now, with Cavendish’s subsequent exile to France, neither Hermione, nor Elizabeth, or any of her family would have to bear the slight of his existence, but with the exception of the pained memories, they would unfortunately forever carry.

When Hermione stepped into his arms, he stiffened. She wrapped hers about his waist and held tight. He inhaled deep the fragrant scent of lemon and honey that forever clung to her. “I was lost the moment you picked your blue gaze up from your dance card at Lord Denley’s,” he whispered into the crown of her silken curls.