What Happens in London (Bevelstoke #2)(10)

Why the hell was she watching him?

Harry didn’t like it. There was no way she could see what he was working on, and even if she could, he rather doubted she read Cyrillic. But still, the documents on his desk were often of a sensitive nature, occasionally even of national importance. If someone was spying on him…

He shook his head. If someone was spying on him, it wouldn’t be the daughter of the Earl of Rudland, for God’s sake.

And then, miraculously, she was gone. She turned first, her chin lifting perhaps an inch, and then she stepped away. She’d heard a noise; probably someone had called out to her. Harry didn’t care. He was just glad she was gone. He needed to get to work.

He looked down, got halfway through the first page, and then:

“Good morning, Sir Harry!”

It was Sebastian, clearly in a jocular mood. He wouldn’t be calling Harry Sir Anything, otherwise. Harry didn’t look up. “It’s afternoon.”

“Not when one awakens at eleven.”

Harry fought off a sigh. “You didn’t knock.”

“I never do.” Sebastian flopped into a chair, apparently not noticing when his dark hair did its own flop—into his eyes. “What are you doing?”

“Working.”

“You do that a lot.”

“Some of us don’t have earldoms to inherit,” Harry remarked, trying to finish at least one more sentence before Sebastian would require his complete attention.

“Perhaps,” Sebastian murmured. “Perhaps not.”

This was true. Sebastian had always been second-in-line to inherit; his uncle the Earl of Newbury had sired only one son, Geoffrey. But the earl (who still thought Sebastian a complete wastrel, despite his decade of service to His Majesty’s Empire) had not been concerned. After all, there had been little reason to suppose that Sebastian might inherit. Geoffrey had married while Sebastian was in the army, and his wife had borne two daughters, so clearly the man could produce a baby.

But then Geoffrey had taken a fever and died. As soon as it became apparent that his widow was not increasing and therefore no young heir was in the offing to save the earldom from the devastation that was Sebastian Grey, the long-widowed earl had taken it upon himself to produce a new heir to the title and to that end was now gadding about London, shopping for a wife.

Which meant that no one knew quite what to make of Sebastian. Either he was the devastatingly handsome and charming heir to an ancient and wealthy earldom, in which case he was without a doubt the biggest prize on the marriage mart, or he was the devastatingly handsome and charming heir to nothing, in which case he might be a society matron’s worst nightmare.

Still, he was invited everywhere. And when it came to London society, he knew everything.

Which was why Harry knew he’d get an answer when he asked, “Does the Earl of Rudland have a daughter?”

Sebastian regarded him with an expression that most would interpret as bored, but that Harry knew meant, You nodcock.

“Of course,” Sebastian said.

The “nodcock” bit, Harry decided, was implied.

“Why?” Sebastian asked.

Harry glanced briefly toward the window, even though she wasn’t there. “Is she blond?”

“Very much so.”

“Quite pretty?”

Sebastian slid into a sly smile. “More than that, by most standards.”

Harry frowned. What the devil was Rudland’s daughter doing watching him so closely?

Sebastian yawned, not bothering to cover it, even when Harry shot him a disgusted look. “Any particular reason for the sudden interest?”

Harry stepped toward the window, regarding her window, which he now knew was on the second floor, third from the right. “She’s watching me.”

“Lady Olivia Bevelstoke is watching you,” Sebastian repeated.

“Is that her name?” Harry murmured.

“She’s not watching you.”

Harry turned. “I beg your pardon.”

Sebastian gave a rude shrug. “Lady Olivia Bevelstoke doesn’t need you.”

“I never said she did.”

“She had five proposals of marriage last year, and the number would have been double that if she hadn’t dissuaded several gentlemen before they made fools of themselves.”

“You know a great deal about society for one who claims disinterest.”

“Have I ever claimed disinterest?” Sebastian stroked his chin in an affectation of thoughtfulness. “How untruthful of me.”

Harry gave him a bit of a stare, then rose to his feet and walked to the window, free to do so now that Lady Olivia was gone.

“Anything exciting?” Sebastian murmured.

Harry ignored him, moving his head slightly to the left, not that that did much to improve his vantage point. Still, she’d left the window scrim tied back farther than usual, and if the sun weren’t glinting on the glass, he’d have had a good view into her room. Certainly the best yet.

“Is she there?” Sebastian asked, his voice dipping into a mocking quaver. “Is she watching you right now?”

Harry turned, then immediately rolled his eyes when he saw Sebastian moving his hands about, his fingers making odd flexing motions as if he were trying to fend off a ghost.

“You’re an idiot,” Harry said.