Her heart responded as if it had just been kicked. She hadn’t even let herself realize how much she’d wanted Thea to be right. For that statement to be true.
She searched his face. He held her gaze without flinching, and his expression gave nothing away. "It… It wasn’t you?"
His jaw worked. The scar tissue shifted with the movement. For a moment she thought he might take it back. She saw the struggle play out across his features, and for one fragile second she was so certain he was about to say, Yes, it's me, it's always been me?—
"Estella." The clipped harshness was gone, replaced by something gruff but gentle. Almost tender. "Whoever has been helping your family, it was not me."
She frowned. "But you’re helping me now, and?—"
"The fire." He said it so abruptly, she inhaled swiftly at the suddenness of it. "The night Andrew died." A pause as he looked away, like he couldn’t continue holding her stare. "It was my party. At my country estate."
She knew this. Of course she had. Her brow furrowed at the heaviness in his voice. "It was an accident?—"
"Perhaps, but it was an accident that could have been avoided. The house was in disrepair. I knew it and I didn't care." He gripped the railing beside them, half turning away from her. "I was young and reckless and— Andrew didn't even want to stay. I talked him into it."
The air felt too thin as she tried to steady her breathing. Not just because they were talking about Andrew’s death, but because the way he spoke…
She couldn’t help but feel that whatever she said next could ruin everything between them. "Sebastian, I knew my brother well. If he truly hadn’t wanted to attend, he wouldn’t have gone."
A muscle in his jaw ticked.
She’d said the wrong thing. Warily, she tried again. "He chose to go. And the fire was not your fault. Even if the estate was in disrepair, you could not have known?—"
"He went back in for the duchess's sister," Sebastian continued. He spoke over her as if he wasn’t even hearing her words. Or…like he didn’t wish to hear them. "She was trapped in the east wing. Andrew heard her and rushed back in."
He paused, and the night air seemed to press in on them from all sides.
She wanted to reach for him, but while he stood just in front of her, his stiff demeanor made her feel like he was far away.
"I ran in after them, but—" He paused. Then finally he turned to look her in the eyes. "I did not get to him in time. Him or the duchess’s sister."
Her gaze dropped to the scarred skin that disappeared beneath his cravat. I did not get to him…
"You couldn’t." The words tumbled out, but it was no use.
His eyes were shuttered, and it was very clear he did not wish to hear logic or explanations. He was convinced her brother’s death—and the duchess’s sister’s—were all his fault.
A sick feeling churned in her belly as she looked back upon this past fortnight with that understanding. "Sebastian?—"
"You wished to know why I’ve stepped in to oversee your Season and ensure you make a fortuitous match." His voice held little emotion. He might as well have been discussing crop yields or the weather. "It’s because I owe your family a debt I can never repay."
The words landed so heavy, they made it hard to breathe.
"Whoever was looking after your family these past two years, I owe them a debt of gratitude," he continued. "But it was not me. And if my actions of late have given you reason to believe?—"
"But you kissed me." She regretted the words the moment they came out. Because no. He hadn’t.
She had kissed him. And he’d merely gotten caught up in the moment. Which was perhaps only to be expected of any man.
His eyes flickered with regret. "My apologies."
She tried not to flinch, but it was difficult. Behind her eyes, she felt the telltale prick of tears.
"You are a beautiful woman, Estella." He said it with a rueful half-smile that didn't reach his eyes. "No one could deny that." The smile faded. "But I shouldn't have let it happen, and I'm sorry."
She bit her lip to keep from arguing with him. Or perhaps from bursting into tears. All she knew was, she could not be trusted to open her mouth.
She'd wanted so badly for it to mean something. All of it. The paid bills and the vanished suitors… And then tonight. These past few weeks when he’d been such a persistent presence. His company had become so reassuring and comforting. It was him she’d dressed for tonight. The thought of speaking with him and dancing with him had made her belly flutter with nerves.
