Once a Wallflower, At Last His Love (Scandalous Seasons #6)(44)

The dandy with purple satin breeches glared at Hugh and muttered something about guttersnipes.

She took Addie by the forearm and guided her away from passerby, to the front window of a bookshop. Hermione crooked her finger and Hugh reluctantly dragged himself over. “Listen to me, Hugh. Papa will not send Elizabeth away.”

Addie’s blue eyes formed wide circles. “He won’t?”

She folded her arms. “He would have to give me away first.” For all of Papa’s failings, she did not doubt his love for Elizabeth and knew he’d not ever do something as heartless as to send the young lady away from her family.

Hugh scratched at his dark brown locks. “Isn’t he trying to give you away?”

She tipped her head. “Giving me away?”

“To a husband.” His lips pulled in a grimace.

She tweaked his nose and he swatted at her hand, in clear annoyance of the motherly gesture. “He’s hoping I marry. He’s not giving me away, silly.” She tweaked his nose once more; this time to strictly bother him. “Now come, I’ve to see Mr. Werksman.”

Addie groaned. She yanked at Hermione’s hand. “Can’t we first go into the bookshop?” She stuck her finger out. Hermione followed the point to the lone little shop at the corner just across the street. Ye Olde Bookshoppe. “Surely you must have some sense of obligation to other authors. A commitment to reading and allowing your sisters and brother to—”

“Oh, very well.” Hermione laughed. She was not scheduled to meet with Mr. Werksman for at least thirty more minutes and Hugh and Addie did not have many opportunities to be away from the townhouse.

Addie clapped her hands excitedly and all but sprinted toward the bookshop.

The maid Winifred hurried after the girl, placing a staying hand on Addie’s shoulder to keep her from racing into the street. While Hermione and Hugh moved at a more sedate pace. “Hugh, Papa—”

“Do not defend him.” He glared at her. “I don’t need you to defend him. I know what he is.” He sprinted into the street.

“Hugh!” she cried as he stepped into the path of a fast-moving phaeton.

The world froze. The rumble of carriage wheels and the steady clip-clop of the horses’ hooves flooded her ears, drowned out all sound. And then a large hand shot around Hugh’s slender arm and jerked him back from certain, calamitous ruin.

The world resumed spinning. Hermione cried out and raced over. She ran her hands up and down Hugh’s arms. “Do not ever do something so foolish again,” she cried. She jabbed a finger into his chest alternating between a desire to throttle him senseless and hold him forever. “Do you hear me?” She threw her arms around him.

He shoved against her. “Stop,” he mumbled against the fabric of her chest.

And then, as he jerked away from her arms, she blinked, registering the appearance of Hugh’s sudden and unexpected savior. “You,” she blurted.

Sebastian stood impossibly elegant in his black cloak and a wry smile on his face. “Generally, a ‘thank you for your intervention’ would be suitable, but I shall settle for a mere ‘Hello, Seba…’” His gaze drifted over to Hugh. “Your Grace,” he amended for the benefit of the boy’s ears.

Except Hugh, with his knowledge of Lord Cavendish’s crimes against Elizabeth, was far too world weary to not detect that infinitesimal pause and slight correction. He narrowed his eyes into thin slits and placed himself between Hermione and Sebastian.

Hermione dropped a curtsy. “Thank you, Your Grace,” she said on a rush. “I am eternally grateful for your timely appearance.” Even if Hugh appeared anything less than pleased in that moment. She cleared her throat. “This is my brother, Hugh Rogers.” She nudged him with her elbow when he remained silent.

“Er, right, a pleasure, Your Grace.”

The ghost of a smile played upon Sebastian’s lips at the insolent emphasis on that one particular word.

“If you’ll excuse us. We need to be going,” Hugh mumbled and tugged at her hand, all of a sudden seeming to possess a good deal of enthusiasm to visit the bookshop across the street.

Hermione placed a hand upon his shoulder, staying his movements. She gave him a pointed frown. She understood his reservations, but still she’d not have Sebastian think her family bore a total lack of decorum. Except, as they stood amid the bustling street with carriages rumbling by, Hermione found herself without a single thought in her head. She peeked up at the cloudless blue sky. She supposed she could speak on the weather. At least, that is what Aunt Agatha would have urged. Then, even in light of her desperation she couldn’t bring herself to be that hopeless as to forsake meaningful discourse for something as trite and trivial as—

Hugh jabbed her in the side.

“Lovely weather we’re enjoying,” Hermione blurted. Desperate times and all that.

Sebastian inclined his head. “Indeed, it is,” he said, without any hint of emotion in those three words.

“Now can we leave?” Hugh grumbled.

They really should. She sighed. Sebastian extended his arm. She cocked her head, studying the offering, really not quite able to make sense as to why Sebastian, the 5th Duke of Mallen, now stood with his arm held out—toward her.

“May I accompany you to…?”