Once a Wallflower, At Last His Love (Scandalous Seasons #6)(12)

Sebastian knew enough to not let his friend, sister, mother or anyone in between bait him and yet… “What?” he snapped.

“I merely am remarking that a young woman has captured your notice.” He paused. “At last. Which will, of course, spare you from your sister and Sophie’s matchmaking.”

Traitor. Sebastian had known his bachelor state had surely been the topic of discussion between his meddling sister and her dear friend, Sophie. He took a long swallow of champagne, and then blinked, his friend’s words registering.

He choked around the mouthful of liquor. “She has not captivated me. Well, not in a sense that I’m admiring the lady,” he amended. It had been more those long fingers about the tiny pencil at her wrist that had occupied his attention for too much time now. They really were quite delicious fingers that roused wicked thoughts…if one was the roguish sort. Which he was not…

“Captured your notice.”

He yanked his attention back to Waxham. What was the other man on about?

His friend shot him a pointed glance. “I didn’t say she’d captivated you.” He grinned. “I merely pointed out she’d captured your notice.” Sebastian silently cursed as Waxham pressed on, worse than a matchmaking mama. “I imagine we can easily have Sophie or your sister orchestrate an introduction.”

“I’m certain.” The answer sprang fast to his lips. He took in the toe-tapping miss. “She certainly doesn’t possess the…oh, go to hell, Waxham,” he mumbled and downed the remaining contents of his crystal flute. His interest in the nondescript woman had nothing to do with any matter of physical awareness but an interest in just what in the devil she’d scribbled onto that card after looking at him.

Just then, a greying woman in elegant silver satin skirts paused beside the young woman, calling her attention away from Sebastian. The older woman, he searched his mind for the woman’s name…Lady…Pembroke, Pemerley, Pemberly. The matron gestured to the dandified fop beside her.

Sebastian’s mouth tightened. Lord Whitmore. Known as something of a mother’s boy and one who abused his horseflesh, the young lady, even with her plain, nondescript features could certainly do better in terms of suitors. A good deal better.

Just then, Whitmore spun on his heel and marched across the ballroom, a crimson splash of color upon his cheeks.

Lady Pemberly gesticulated wildly, her face flushed. The young woman’s slightly too-full mouth moved rapidly. Whatever she said caused great splotches of color to flood the woman’s cheeks. She spun on her heel and started across the ballroom.

The young lady stood there a moment, looking about as though to ascertain whether anyone had witnessed her public dressing-down, and then reclaimed her seat.

He was suddenly filled with a desire to know the odd young woman’s name, which of course made little sense. Marriage-minded misses did not intrigue him.

Yet, this one did.

As if reading his thoughts, Waxham drawled, “You do realize for stating you have little interest in the lady, you’ve not removed your gaze from her since I arrived.”

“Go to h…” His words trailed off.

Her head shot up and she glanced out across the ballroom floor. He suspected she’d once again found him with her stare, except… He followed her narrow-eyed gaze to Lady Pemberly. The old matron stood conversing with Viscount Bull, a widower on his third wife, in the market for a fourth.

And, he returned his attention to the spritely creature. By the manner in which she surged to her feet, she gauged the viscount intended to include her as a possible fourth viscountess. The young lady all but sprinted through the hall, earning curious stares from those she weaved between.

Sebastian deposited his glass upon a passing tray. “If you’ll excuse me, Waxham.” His friend’s laughter trailed after him as he set out in search of the young woman. Sebastian trained his stare forward, discouraging matchmaking mamas and eager debutantes. He tightened his jaw. He’d become accustomed to dodging such advances through the years; young women, who’d scheme, steal, or seduce for the title of Duchess of Mallen.

He exited through the end doorway that emptied out into a long corridor and caught a flash of bright yellow skirts as they disappeared around the corner. Sebastian quickened his stride. His experience avoiding those marriage-minded misses, of course, should have taught him the perils in following after unwed young ladies. He turned right at the end of the hall in time to see the lady slip inside a room.

He hesitated. Perhaps the young woman sought out an assignation. Though the plain young lady who’d sent off Whitmore in a huff didn’t strike him as one to engage in clandestine trysts. So, it begged the question: what would one such as her be doing darting about the halls of their host’s home? He shoved aside the years of caution ingrained into him and started for the door. Sebastian paused outside the room. If the young lady intended to meet a lover, she’d do to have a good deal more caution than to leave the door ajar. He angled his head to study her furtive movements.

She moved about the room with a purposeful stride. Logical and reasonable, he was not given to flights of fancy as was his younger sister, Lady Emmaline, recently the Marchioness of Drake. Yet, studying the ruffled creature, he considered all manner of nefarious intentions that had sent her here. He glanced back down the hall. He really should leave and yet… He returned his attention to the woman now running her fingers over the walls of Lord Denley’s office. He rather suspected as a favor to his host he really owed it to the man to determine what this stealthy creature was doing away from the festivities and searching his room.