Once a Wallflower, At Last His Love (Scandalous Seasons #6)(43)

He rather preferred her treating him not as a duke but as she would any other man. Ultimately, despite Society’s view, he was more than a title. “Forgive me. That was not my intention.” His intention had been to follow after her and see where she’d gotten herself off to this time.

Her black eyebrows met in a single line. “Were you sneaking on me, Your Grace?”

A longing filled him to hear his name upon her lush, red lips once more and he damned the guests and the gossip and wished but they two remained.

Concern flared in Hermione’s eyes. “Are you all right, Sebastian?”

He jerked. “Er, fine.” He tugged at his lapels. “Quite fine.”

She wrinkled her mouth in an endearing little manner. “You appear to be woolgathering.”

Sebastian recoiled as her charge was so very similar to Waxham and his sister’s. “I do not woolgather, madam.” Except, since she’d entered his life he’d existed in a perpetual haze.

She snorted. “Because you’re a duke?”

“Because gentlemen do not woolgather.” He folded his arms at his chest. “Except for perhaps your mad marquess.”

Surprise flared to life in her eyes. “You read it,” she blurted. The glimmer of excitement in her eyes and the slight parting of her lips held him entranced, so he was forced to amend his early protestation.

It would seem he did woolgather. He gave his head a shake. “I’ve not finished it.” There were still a handful of pages he still must attend to.

She sank back on her heels, the life seeming to go out of her. “Oh.”

And, because she appeared so blasted dejected, he admitted the truth to this young lady, more a stranger than anything else. “Your Mr. Michael Michaelmas will never rival Aristotle or Chaucer.” He held a hand up when she opened her mouth, surely to deliver a stinging diatribe. “However, his work is quite…”

Hermione leaned close. “Yes?” she prodded.

“Enjoyable.”

A pleased little smile turned her lips slowly up at the corners and he may as well have plucked the moon and stars from the sky for as radiant as she was at his admission. “Well, then,” she said. “You must keep it, Sebastian. A person always remembers their first.”

He choked.

“Oh, my!” Concern filled her face. “Are you all right?” She made to pat him on his back.

He waved her off. “Quite, quite,” he said, his voice hoarse. But damn, if Hermione Rogers with that single statement hadn’t roused all manner of wicked thoughts, each one involving the young lady herself; his lips upon her breasts, his hand between her legs as he proved her correct—a person always remembered their first.

Hermione moved her gaze to a point beyond his shoulder. She caught her lower lip between her teeth and troubled the flesh. He’d never envied a tooth—until this moment. It was a damned travesty for a damned tooth to know the pleasure of that lip when he himself should—

He followed her gaze and frowned. Lord Bull shoved his cumbersome frame between guests, his lascivious stare trained on Hermione.

She sighed. A single breath of air that somehow told so very much.

His gut tightened. He far preferred Hermione smiling than this resigned creature before him. Sebastian reached for her dance card and scratched his name down.

Hermione looked blankly at her card. “What are you—?”

He extended his elbow. “Dance with me.”

She looked once more to Lord Bull, nearly upon them and then placed her fingers upon his sleeve and allowed him to guide her to the dance floor as the orchestra struck up a waltz. He thought she might refuse if the cumbersome Bull wasn’t barreling down on them, and that honesty of her reaction caused a damned odd lightening in his chest.

For with Society as witness, Sebastian danced with a young lady—who saw him as more than a duke.





C





hapter 13

“Why must you force us to come along?” Hugh muttered, breathless from the quick clip Hermione demanded of him and Addie.

“Oh, do hush.” Addie pinched Hugh on the shoulder. “I’d rather accompany Hermione than be forced to visit with Aunt Agatha.”

Hermione slowed her determined stride and paused. Her sister careened into Hugh who pitched forward and righted himself. “Be careful,” he snapped.

A gentleman favored their little trio with a scowl and stepped around them, wisely continuing in the opposite direction.

She frowned at her sister. “Be polite, poppet. Aunt Agatha has been gracious enough to sponsor me for the Season.” Not that she particularly enjoyed the London Season. Quite the opposite, really.

“She’s rude,” Addie said with all the honesty of a child. “And I don’t like her. She called Elizabeth simple and told Papa she should be sent away,” Addie said on a rush when Hermione opened her mouth to scold her for her unkind words of Aunt Agatha.

Fury licked at Hermione’s insides. She was not na?ve. She well knew Society’s views on men and women such as Elizabeth—a shameful secret for most families. Elizabeth was not a matter of shame. Hermione loved her with the same devotion she did Hugh and Addie.

“He probably doesn’t care enough about her anyway,” Hugh mumbled. He kicked at a small stone. The pebble caught some gentleman in his knee. “And he’ll probably do exactly as Aunt Agatha says, now.”