He looked like a different creature - hair mussed, pupils dilated, lips swollen. Augusta felt that she must be in a similar fashion, along with her now-wrinkled dress.
“I will not ruin you,” Lord Brightwater said huskily. His eyes dropped to her neckline again. “As much as I would very much like to at the moment.”
A kind of desperate disappointment flooded Augusta’s chest. She’d so wanted him to take this as far as it would go. And yet, he was correct. There was propriety to be considered. And as they were now engaged, and likely to receive a special license, it was not as though they were going to have to wait a long time.
She understood it. Still, she hated it.
Standing up straighter, she attempted to smooth down the parts of her hair that had come loose. “Of course, my lord.” Her words came out hoarse, and her lips felt too puffy to articulate her speech.
“Sebastian,” he corrected. “Please call me Sebastian.”
“Sebastian,” she said quietly.
He smiled at that, and her stomach did another flip.
“I do not wish to leave you,” he said, still out of breath. “But I must write a few letters as soon as possible if we are to receive a license.”
“I understand,” Augusta said, because she did. She simply wished that the special license could appear out of thin air. “Go, I shall not hold it against you.”
He ought to have turned and left then, but he remained. Staring into her eyes for several long moments, during which time she stared back into his, and time ceased to matter.
This was it. The first blush of love. And she had just agreed to a lifetime of unfolding it.
When Sebastian finally tore himself away from her, he left behind rushed promises of calling on her and Reginald on the morrow. She assured him she would be at home. With that, he slipped into the shadows, heading for the front of the house.
It took her some time to pull herself together before returning to the party. Reginald offered her a strange look when he saw her, one that seemed equal parts disapproval and pride. Still, he said nothing on the ride home, during which Augusta looked out the carriage window and fought against a smile.
She slept little that night, finding that being awake was, for the first time in her life, preferable to sleep.
Chapter Fourteen
Bancroft was three sheets to the wind, but Sebastian needed him anyhow. Which was why he accosted Bancroft after leaving Augusta at the tree, dragging him to his carriage and telling his driver to take them to Bancroft’s townhouse.
Now, they sat in his study. Bancroft nursed a glass of water, attempting to undo the whisky he’d evidently been imbibing all night. His chin rested in his palm, as though holding his head up was far too much effort.
“A special license?” he asked Sebastian, disbelieving.
Sebastian nodded from his chair on the other side of Bancroft’s desk. “Yes. Do not try to convince me that you do not know someone who can make it happen. I already know that you do.”
Bancroft attempted a derisive look. Sebastian had never heard someone slur a scoff before, but that was exactly what his friend did right then.
“Fine,” Bancroft conceded. “Perhaps I do know someone.”
Of course he did. The man had studied Theology at Oxford - a degree which, it appeared, was more philosophical than practical. Nearly half of his old classmates had gone on to join the clergy, rising quickly in the ranks. At this point, it would surprise Sebastian if his friend did not know the archbishophimself.
“But…” Bancroft continued, sobering up slightly. “I would like something in exchange.”
Sebastian narrowed his eyes. “Never one to help a friend for free, I see.”
Bancroft gave a rueful smile. “You have known me long enough. Why you expected anything less is beyond me.”
Yes. He knew his friends better than he knew anyone in his life. He ought to have known that Bancroft would demand his pound of flesh, drunk or sober.
“Fine. What do you want?”
Bancroft spoke so quickly that Sebastian wondered how long his friend had been waiting to give this particular request. “I am currently working for Lord Greeling, and he is gunning for a position in the Commons. If he had a viscount backing him, his popularity would see a nice enough surge for him to win.”
Sebastian grimaced. “You hate Lord Greeling.”
