"I appreciate your kindness, Mr. Fairchild, but?—"
"I'm not like Blackwood. You don't have to be nervous around me, Miss Hale." His other hand came up, and his fingers grazed her arm. "We could be friends."
The touch made her skin crawl. She opened her mouth—to say what, she wasn't certain—but the words never came.
Because suddenly Sebastian was there.
One moment the terrace was empty behind Fairchild, and the next Sebastian filled it. He moved past Fairchild and stepped between them, forcing the other man to drop his hand from the railing or have his arm knocked aside.
Sebastian didn't look at her. His attention was fixed entirely on Fairchild, and his voice, when he spoke, was so low and ominous, she almost missed it. "Walk away."
Fairchild's easy smile held, but Estella caught a glint of malice. "Blackwood. I was simply keeping Miss Hale company while she?—"
"I wasn't asking what you were doing." Sebastian hadn't raised his voice, nor had he moved. He was simply standing there, a wall of dark wool between Estella and the man who'd cornered her. But somehow the quiet stillness of him was more frightening than any shout. "I was telling you to leave."
Fairchild glanced past Sebastian's shoulder at Estella, and she saw a calculating flicker behind the charm before his smile returned. "Of course. No harm intended. I merely wish to befriend our dear?—"
"There are two outcomes to this conversation, Fairchild." Sebastian's voice stayed level. One might mistake it for pleasant, Estella thought. If one was a fool.
"In one of them," Sebastian continued, "you walk inside, collect your coat, and leave this party. In the other, I make it my particular business to ensure that every creditor, every club, and every drawing room in London knows exactly how you fund your evenings. The choice is yours, but I'd encourage you to make it quickly."
Fairchild's smile finally died. He looked at Sebastian for a long moment, then inclined his head in a short, sharp nod in her direction. "Miss Hale."
He turned on his heel and left. The terrace was quiet after the door clicked closed behind him. Estella realized she was gripping the railing behind her so tightly her fingers ached.
Sebastian turned to her. His expression, which had been granite a moment before, turned searching. "Are you all right? Did he hurt you?"
"No. No, he didn't. I'm fine." But she wasn't entirely fine. No harm had been done to her, but she still felt acutely rattled by the whole encounter.
Her hands trembled and her breath was coming too fast, and she was suddenly keenly aware of how cold it was.
His coat settled over her shoulders. Warm and heavy, the wool carrying his scent and the lingering heat of his body. He draped it carefully, and his hands stayed on her shoulders for a beat longer than necessary.
"I should have dealt with him weeks ago," he said roughly. "I should never have let him near you."
Her brow furrowed as she looked up at him. "You can't control who speaks to me at a ball, Sebastian."
"Watch me." The words were low and fierce, and his eyes locked on hers with an intensity that made her breath catch. Then he seemed to hear himself, because his jaw tightened and he took a half step back. "Forgive me. That was?—"
"Don't." She pulled the coat tighter around herself. "Don't apologize."
He looked at her then as if seeing her anew. The terrace was dark and quiet, and they were standing so very close. His coat was warm on her shoulders, but it had nothing to do with the way her skin prickled with heat, or how her stomach clenched with nervous excitement.
And the look in his eyes…
Estella’s heart leapt. The fire she saw there… That had nothing to do with obligation.
Nothing at all.
13
Sebastian knew he ought to get them back inside.
Fairchild was gone, the immediate threat dispatched, and there was no reason for Sebastian to be standing on a moonlit terrace with Estella Hale wrapped in his coat. Every rule he'd set for himself was screaming at him to move.
But his feet stayed firmly planted where he stood.
She was looking up at him with those violet eyes. His coat was enormous on her, the shoulders hanging nearly to her elbows, and a strand of hair was curling against her cheek, and she?—
