Once a Wallflower, At Last His Love (Scandalous Seasons #6)(38)

Abandoning all hope of work, he swiped the book. He passed it back and forth between his hands. His lips pulled in an involuntary smile. “The Mad Marquess,” he muttered. He fanned the pages and stopped at a random point. Sebastian kicked his legs out, propped them at the edge of his desk, and read.

…and continued to read.

Not because the passage was particularly good. It wasn’t. Not in any way that adhered to the proper structure evinced in the works of John Keats and Samuel Coleridge. And yet, there was something compelling that sucked him into the page.

Do you imagine there is something wrong in reading about love and passion…?

Sebastian paused mid-sentence as he recalled the taste of Hermione and her eager, uninhibited response to his embrace. His body ached at the reminder of her silken skin, the too-full lower lip, the gentle flare of her hips.

No, there is nothing wrong with passion, Hermione.

Determined to drive back the memory of her, Sebastian fixed his attention on the page and became lost once more in the words of Mr. Michael Michaelmas.

He’d known he wanted her the moment she’d stumbled across the ballroom floor and tumbled into his life. She held him in rapture. She held him in any way. In every way. But not in the ways that mattered. Nor could she ever truly be his…in his life. Not when there was—

“Sebastian Fitzhugh, what are you reading?”

A startled shout escaped Sebastian. He threw his arms up. The Mad Marquess flew from his hands and sailed wildly through the air, pages fluttering wildly—and landed damningly at the center of the room.

His sister stood in the doorway, eying him suspiciously. Her mangy excuse of a dog, that bore a striking resemblance to a wolf, growled at Sebastian and promptly bounded across the floor. The black dog picked up the book in its vicious-looking teeth. Emmaline’s narrow-eyed gaze moved down to the middle of the Aubusson carpet. “What is this?”

Sebastian slid his legs off the edge of his desk. “Em.” He leapt to his feet. Never less glad to see a person in his life. Not because he’d been fully engrossed in the silly pages of the book Hermione had given him. He wasn’t. He had sense enough to not be interested in such drivel. He strode over to the dog, Sir Faithful, a gift his sister had given her miserable husband, the Marquess of Drake when they’d been betrothed. The dog had been the bane of his existence since he’d pissed all over Sebastian’s office carpet two years ago.

The dog crouched down and waved the book back and forth, not having the sense to realize Sebastian was certainly not playing a game with the damned creature. He reached for the volume but Sir Faithful danced out of his reach.

“Must you bring your miserable dog to torment me?” he muttered and made another grab.

Emmaline frowned. “He is not miserable. Isn’t that, right?” she said in a sweet voice to the dog. “You aren’t miserable at all.” The dog danced in excited circles about his mistress’ feet.

“Emmaline,” Sebastian said, impatience laced his warning.

“Er, yes, then,” Em said. She clapped once. “Sir.”

The book slid from the dog’s teeth and landed with a soft thump.

Sebastian and Em eyed it as one. They reached it at the same time. Emmaline dragged it over with the tip of her toes and picked it up.

Sebastian tugged at his cravat as silence stretched on, thick and uncomfortable. Well, for him. By the slight smile on his sister’s lips, he gathered she was quite entertained by this turn of events.

“Sebastian?”

He gritted his teeth. “Yes, Em?”

“Are you reading Gothic novels?”

“No,” he said curtly. Though he could certainly see how it appeared that way to his bothersome sister. However, he could not very well tell her he was merely reading it at the bequest of a young lady whom he’d called on yesterday afternoon.

Emmaline sighed. He’d learned early on the many implications of that sigh. “Splendid! I shall enjoy Mr. Michael Michaelmas’ story. I’d not read this one, but Sophie recommended it and—”

Wordlessly, he plucked the book from her fingers and tossed it down on his desk.

Sir Faithful barked his displeasure at the loud thump.

She arched an eyebrow. “I thought you were not reading it.”

“I’m not,” he muttered. He started over to his seat, but the blasted dog blocked his path. He stepped right, and the dog matched his step. He moved left and the dog followed suit. Sebastian growled.

“Faithful,” Em called. The dog trotted over and sank onto his haunches. He gave a yawn, seeming tired from his antics. He rested his enormous head on his front paws and promptly fell asleep. His sister continued as relentless as the dog had been mere moments ago with Hermione’s now very damaged copy. “I don’t suppose your recent reading selection has anything to do with a certain young lady you paid a visit to yesterday afternoon?”

Sebastian shifted direction and made for the sideboard. “It does not,” he bit out. He grabbed the nearest decanter, picked up a glass, then poured himself several fingerfuls.

She wagged a finger in his direction. “A Miss Hermione Rogers, I believe?” Triumph dripped from that question, which really wasn’t a question, at all.

Sebastian silently cursed the gossips. Of course he’d not expected his movements would not go unnoticed by a ton eager to know the goings-on of one of their marriageable dukes. He filled his glass to the brim. “It does not have anything to do with Miss Hermione Rogers,” he said over the edge of his tumbler. It has everything to do with Hermione Rogers.