Once a Wallflower, At Last His Love (Scandalous Seasons #6)(50)

“You were determined to avoid marriage to my sister. Why did you decide to make her an offer?” Silence met his question. A slow understanding glinted in the other man’s eyes. Sebastian tugged at his cravat once more. “There isn’t,” he said on a rush.

Drake’s lips twitched. “There isn’t… what?”

“A young lady I intend to offer for.” Eventually, he would have to make a match. The idea of settling down into the predictable life of a married gentleman hadn’t held much appeal—but then it hardly appealed to most gentlemen—until a certain Gothic novel-reading young lady.

“No gentleman cares to have his hand forced.” His brother-in-law rolled his shoulders. “It took some time, nearly too much,” he added, “to realize bitterness in my circumstances prevented me from seeing that which I’d denied over the years.”

He rocked forward on the balls of his feet. “And what was that?”

“That I needed Emmaline, that I couldn’t live without her, even though you were indeed correct in that she deserved more.”

Sebastian picked up his half-empty drink. He took a long swallow and stared at the droplets clinging to the edge of the glass. Unlike Emmaline and Drake, whose families had been intimate friends through the years, and through that relationship the couple betrothed as children, Sebastian hardly knew Miss Hermione Rogers. Intrigue and interest was certainly not love. Nor did he believe himself so impractical as to fall in love with a young woman after a mere handful of meetings. And a kiss. And a waltz. And a near ravishment inside a bookshop…

Drake cleared his throat, pulling Sebastian back to the moment. “I take it there is, perhaps, at least a certain young lady to merit at the very least your questioning?”

He let his silence serve as his answer.

“I see,” Drake said in response.

Sebastian finished the contents of his whiskey. He set the empty glass down hard on the edge of Drake’s desk. “I hardly know her,” he said, hoping Drake, with his constant ribbing, would prod some practicality back into him.

His brother-in-law captured his chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Does this mysterious lady have a name?”

“It matters not,” he replied automatically. As much as he trusted the other man’s discretion on the matter, his brother-in-law hardly required knowledge of the young lady’s identity. After all, if Drake knew then there was the likelihood Emmaline would know and though loyal, he’d rather not risk her mentioning the woman who’d captivated him, to the Countess of Waxham or his mother…

The other man spread his hands out. “Very well, then. If you’d rather not share any details of the—”

“She’s spirited,” he interrupted, because really there ought to be another person aside from the lady’s unappreciative brother and young sister who knew the lady’s worth. A rueful smile pulled at his lips as he remembered her shredding her hem to avoid Lord Bull’s attentions. “And quick-witted.” It was certainly hard to not admire such resourcefulness in a woman who knew unwaveringly what she wanted, and in last evening’s case—what she did not want. “And she seems singularly unimpressed with my dukedom,” he murmured, more to himself. The lure of that held a great appeal to a man oft-desired for his title alone.

“Ah,” Drake said slowly. “There is certainly something to be said for a young woman interested in more than a title and wealth.”

He nodded in agreement. “Though such things are hardly the grounds on which to base marriage.” Good God. Marriage. To a stranger? Yes, his father would be sitting behind his desk head in hands likely with a list of flawless, English ladies with impeccable lines. Only, she was no longer a stranger. She was Hermione, so very different than any other lady to come before her. Not mercenary or title-grasping, she was the first woman to see him and see…a man. Not the title. Or duke. Or gads of wealth. Simply Sebastian. A lightness filled his chest. By God, he loved her.

His brother-in-law eyed him contemplatively. “If she’s a woman uninterested in the title of duchess,” he said in quiet tones. “Then there is certainly more to the young lady’s character than quick-witted.”

“And spirited,” Sebastian replied automatically.

She is bold. Humorous. Passionate. And more, he enjoyed being with her.

Sebastian fixed his gaze on the other man’s desk. “Yes,” he said quietly. “You are correct.” However, he was not one of those foolish romantics. Not the sonnet-sprouting fellows, who’d do something as mortifying as to say, barge into an intimate dinner party and proceed to recount lines of a horribly crafted poem as Drake had done with Emmaline. Even as he’d held out for the hope of a marriage built on more than power and wealth, he’d silently resigned himself to the inevitability of wedding a lady who revered the title more than the man.

Until a young lady had uttered, “You’re a duke,” in that disappointed little manner.

Out the corner of his eye, a small black leather book caught his attention, the sweeping font of the gold lettering upon the cover familiar. He crossed over and picked up the book by Mr. Michael Michaelmas—The Earl’s Entrapment. An unwitting grin tugged at his lips in reminder of the lady’s outrage over his response to her reading selection. He turned it over in his hands.