Once a Wallflower, At Last His Love (Scandalous Seasons #6)(39)

“Humph,” his sister replied, her tone noncommittal.

He started back toward his desk, thought better of it, then grabbed the bottle. He returned to his desk and set the crystal decanter down hard.

Emmaline rocked back on her heels. “Oh, dear.” A mischievous sparkle glinted in her eyes.

“What?” He pulled out his seat.

She lifted one shoulder in a little shrug. “The Gothic novels, the brandy, the growling.” He made to sit in the comfortable, familiar folds of his leather winged-back chair. “All indications are, brother, that you’re enamored of the young lady.”

Sebastian missed the edge of his seat. The glass tumbled to the floor in a spray of liquor. Pain radiated from the base of his spine up to his back.

His sister’s laugh drowned out his black curse. He was so glad she was finding humor in the whole bloody situation. All of it. Hermione Rogers. The Gothic novel. A ruminating brother. His now injured posterior.

“Sebastian?” Emmaline asked, coming to lean over him.

He thrust aside his confounded thoughts about Hermione and shoved himself to his feet. With a glower he retrieved his empty, but thankfully unbroken, glass. “If you’ve finished baiting me, I’ve business to see to.” Particularly trying to sort through his feelings for a spirited young miss. He yanked his handkerchief from the front of his jacket then wiped his hands free of brandy. A perfectly good waste of fine French spirits, which he desperately required in that moment. Sebastian found his seat—this time successfully—and grabbed the bottle. He filled his glass then took a swallow.

“Forgive me, Sebastian. I certainly didn’t mean to interrupt—” She crossed over to his desk and retrieved The Mad Marquess. “—your very serious, ducal business.” She waved the volume around.

“Are you quite done?” He took a much-needed sip of his drink, because he did not care to be an object of her amusement, or the ton’s gossip. He was quite content with the image he’d crafted as Duke of Mallen; in control of his life and not challenged or intrigued or captivated. His thoughts were his own. When everything else he’d done or ever been in his life had been for others.

He choked on his brandy. He was not captivated. Not of Hermione Rogers. Intrigued by her suspicious activities and appreciative of her unflinching honesty but not captivated. Captivated implied a good deal more.

He vaguely registered the noisy leather seat dipping under his sister’s slight weight. Emmaline set the book down in front of him. “Forgive me,” she said, this time her tone somber, devoid of her earlier teasing. “I gather it is…not easy for one such as you.”

Sebastian set his glass down. “One such as me?” He braced for a sisterly barrage of insults.

She shrugged “You’ve prided yourself on being in control.” A sad smile turned her lips up. “A large part of that comes in your having been born heir to a dukedom.” She winked. “Not that I’ve ever been impressed by your title. Quite silly to imagine a—”

“Em,” he said impatiently.

She shook her head. “Oh, er, right. Well, you pride yourself on the control you have of your life and your belief in the power you have over others.” A wistful smile stole across her face. “Only, what you still don’t realize, Sebastian, is you can’t control everything.”

Since his first meeting with Hermione, he didn’t really feel he could control anything.

Emmaline rested her palms on his desk. “When you urged me to end my betrothal to Drake, you’d been so very adamant, insistent there was someone better, someone more worthy of me.”

Even now Sebastian was quite confident the returned war hero of the Peninsula didn’t deserve Emmaline.

“You couldn’t understand then that for all the power that comes in being a duke, for everything you can control, you can’t command matters of the heart.”

He steepled his fingers and drummed the tips of them together. “I assure you, Em, I have a good deal more sense than to do anything as foolhardy as to fall in love with a young woman I’ve met but a handful of days ago.” His stomach tightened at the lie.

“Oh, Sebastian.” She gave her head a little shake. “You speak in that deprecating way about love.” She leaned forward in her seat. “You feign indifference so well, big brother, that most would believe it. However,” she gave him another smile that made her look once more like the small girl who’d made it a habit of dogging his every step. “I suspect you’re only beginning to realize that which you’d been so adamant of in terms of my marriage to Drake.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Oh, and what is that?” Part of him battled annoyance at his sister coming into his office, upsetting his calm, and throwing his well-ordered world into upheaval with her talk of Hermione.

“Love has a will of its own.” She rose in a flurry of skirts. “I’d like to meet your Miss Rogers.” She spun on her heel and marched toward the door.

“Em,” he said cautiously. The last thing he needed or desired was his sister’s interference with Hermione.

“Oh, you’re such a ninnyhammer,” she called over her shoulder. She paused at the doorway. “Very well, I shall steer far and clear of the young lady because you insist upon it.”

He eyed her dubiously. As long as he’d known her, she’d never done anything simply because he’d insisted upon it. Ever.