Once a Wallflower, At Last His Love (Scandalous Seasons #6)(57)

Her gaze flew to the clock. Just five minutes past nine, it was certainly far too early for a fashionable call. But then, when one was a duke, he was permitted greater freedoms than the lesser mortals. Her heart thudded painfully, suddenly very glad for those freedoms dukes found themselves with. For purely selfish reasons.

The servant cleared his throat. “I took the liberty of showing His Grace to the parlor.” With a bow, he backed out of the room.

Hermione sat frozen. With the news Papa had imparted about Lord Cavendish she should be numbed with panic and yet, more than anything she craved Sebastian’s company. Wanted to see him. Needed to see him.

Perhaps she was not as devoted a sister and daughter as she’d credited.

“You’re destroying your poor notes, daughter,” Papa said gently.

She lightened her tight grip about her page. The words upon the sheet stared mockingly up at her. …A gentleman in possession of one of the oldest titles in the realm falls hopelessly in love with the impoverished daughter of a scandalous family…

“Are you going to remain in that chair studying those few lines for the remainder of the day? Or will you go see your duke?”

Her head shot up. “He’s not my duke.”

A light twinkle glinted in his eyes. “I imagine he will be your duke if you but let him, Hermie, and he’d be as mad as a Bedlamite to not want you for his duchess. Despite all of our family’s circumstances,” he added. He nodded toward the door. “Now, go, go, my dear. It isn’t every day a duke is made to wait.”

Hermione shoved to her feet and as she made her way over to the door, out of Papa’s office, down the hall then to Sebastian, it occurred to her she was writing her own story.

God help her.





C





hapter 16

As duke, Sebastian’s title afforded him certain luxuries. People tended to respect his time and wouldn’t do anything as outrageous as expecting the Duke of Mallen to be kept waiting. He grinned wryly. Standing in Hermione’s parlor, it occurred to him that this was the second time in a mere four-hour time span that he’d been kept waiting. First by his deliberately difficult brother-in-law, the Marquess of Drake. His gaze went to the door. And now Miss Hermione Rogers.

Sebastian took the opportunity to study the small parlor. He did a circle about the room and examined the once extravagant, now extravagantly aged sofa. Slight tears marred the stained ivory fabric. Drawn to a small rip in the back of the seat, he wandered close and touched the worn and battered material. His frown deepened.

My name is Hermione Edith Rogers. I quite detest my middle name. I’ve come to London at the bequest of my aunt, Lady Pemberly, my now deceased mother’s sister to have a Season…

At the time he’d found humor in her tart, terse response to his charges about her being a mystery to the ton. He’d sought out his brother-in-law’s guidance in terms of his feelings for this unknown miss, yet he’d not truly allowed himself to consider who she was.

She was more than simply Hermione Edith Rogers, with an unfortunate middle name, and a connection to Lady Pemberly. A young lady who happened to read Gothic novels—

“What do you want?”

He started and turned toward the door. Ah. The angry young fellow, Hugh, stood at the entrance of the room. “Hullo,” Sebastian murmured quietly.

The boy flayed him with the fury in his eyes. “I asked what do you want?” Hugh demanded, ignoring Sebastian’s greeting. He entered the room with all the swagger and bravado of a young boy imagining himself older than he actually was.

Sebastian had little experience with children, but ventured the lad to be close to Sebastian’s age when Emmaline had been born.

“Is something wrong with you? I asked what you are doing here?”

Sebastian opened his mouth and closed it. As an elder brother he’d had a good deal of experience with troublesome girls. Angry, boys however were beasts of a different sort.

The boy sneered. “You expect I care that you are a duke?” If possible, the lad was even less impressed with the Mallen title than his elder sister. Hugh spat at the floor. “You’re all the same,” he said, a vitriolic fury teeming his words. “Not to be trusted.”

Sebastian started at such cynicism from one so young. He glanced to the door, filled with an even greater eagerness for Hermione’s arrival. It was a sad day indeed when the Duke of Mallen awaited rescue from an insolent lad, from the insolent lad’s sister, no less.

“What, nothing to say?” Hugh taunted.

The boy, for all his gruff, earned Sebastian’s respect. He responded with honesty. “I’ve come to see your sister.” Polite Society had the wrong of it. If they wanted to deter roguish suitors for their daughters, they should merely turn this lad loose, chaperones be damned.

Hugh folded his arms across his chest and continued to train that too-old-for-his-years black scowl on him. “Humph” the boy said noncommittally. Sebastian gave thanks Hermione’s brother wasn’t an older, protective version of himself or Sebastian would have been called out somewhere between one stolen kiss and an inappropriate glance. Hugh took a step closer and jabbed his finger at him. “What are you intentions for my sister?”

Sebastian choked.

“Hugh!”

The duke looked to the doorway where Hermione stood framed at the entrance, a narrow-eyed gaze trained on her brother, her arms akimbo.