“Fine, old boy!” Valemount said heartily. “I thought you were in America?”
“Made it back just in time,” Wesley said, shaking Valemount’s hand. “Good to see you, Your Grace, and you again as well, Lady Nora.”
“You’re not half as reticent as my niece here, Fine,” Valemount said. “So perhaps you’ll indulge everyone and share more clues about your bashful friend here.”
Nearby guests were surreptitiously leaning in, waiting for the answer. “Oh,” said Sebastian self-consciously. He hadn’t meant to attract attention. “I’m just—”
“Sebastian Miguel del Castillo.” Wesley had given Sebastian’s fake name in a loud whisper, as if he were imparting a secret that was sure to reach every eavesdropper. “His father is the nineteenth Count of Animales, a very old Spanish family.”
Sebastian tried to smile. Well, with any luck, that had quashed the interest from the onlookers, and they’d go back to ignoring him—
“I’m sorry,” said a new woman, stepping closer, “but did you say a count’s son?”
“Eldestson, by any chance?” a second woman asked.
A third woman leaned in. “And how long will you be in England?”
As more questions rolled in, Nora tilted her head. “Well, look at that,” she said to Sebastian, with the tiniest smile. “I knew you’d make the party more interesting.”
Chapter Fifteen
Sebastian lost sight of Wesley almost immediately. He tried to move farther into the ballroom, but was first swept up by a group of older women wanting to know his age and if he was married, then by a pair of young women asking if he watched the pictures and knew Rudolph Valentino, then by a group of men demanding Sebastian settle the question of whether Zorro was based on a true story. After that there was dancing, and quite a bit of time had passed when he finally broke away.
Even then there were voices behind him, whispers that still reached his ears.
“Do you think he owns property on the Spanish coast?”
“Have you heard what they say about Latin men, that they’re randy all the time?”
“He doesn’t speak English very well. But with a face like that, who needs him to talk?”
Sebastian raised his eyes heavenward, then took a breath through his nose, grabbed two wide-brimmed coupes of champagne off a passing waiter’s tray, and began to weave through the crowd. Hopefully he looked like he was looking for someone and no one would stop him.
Because yes, he’d very much like to find Wesley, but if he couldn’t, he might down both of these glasses himself.
But he did spot Wesley, over near a wall speaking to a man in his mid-thirties. He looked a lot like Wesley, with the same light brown hair, angular jaw and straight, thin nose, and standing the same height. Was this Wesley’s second cousin, Geoffrey? Should Sebastian go over there, or would Wesley prefer if he stayed away?
He hesitated too long, and someone bumped into him from behind. He nearly stumbled but turned it into a stride, catching himself before the champagne spilled, and as he looked up Wesley’s gaze was on him, his expression walled off so Sebastian couldn’t tell what he was thinking.
“Don Sebastian.” Wesley had raised his voice enough to carry. “Would you care to meet my cousin?”
The man who looked like Wesley was eying Sebastian with open scrutiny, like he was a horse at the race and Geoffrey was weighing whether he was worth a bet. “It would be an honor to meet your family,” Sebastian said sincerely, offering champagne to Wesley, who accepted it. He turned to Geoffrey. “I’m—”
“I’ll take that other drink,” Geoffrey interrupted. “Geoffrey Collins. You’re the one they’re talking about, the Spanish count’s son?”
No champagne for Sebastian, apparently. Probably for the best, considering how easily he’d still managed to get drunk on the ship, but he still handed the second drink over to Geoffrey a bit grudgingly. “I’m really not worth talking about,” Sebastian said ruefully, “but I’m pleased to meet you, Mr. Collins. Lord Fine has spoken well of you.”
Geoffrey snorted. “You’re a terrible liar,” he said, as he brought the champagne to his lips.
Sebastian’s eyes widened. “What do you—”
“There’s no way Wesley spoke well of me.” Geoffrey sipped his champagne. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard him speak well of anyone.”
“Don Sebastian is a kind and cultured man who deserves to be addressed with respect,” Wesley said flatly. “And now I’ve spoken well of someone in your presence.”
“What’s this about Fine speaking well of others?” Lord Valemount’s loud voice boomed from behind Sebastian’s shoulder. “I should think we’d want Fine to speak well of us. A man with aim like that oughtn’t be crossed.”
Geoffrey laughed. “You’re right enough there,” he said, as Valemount and Lord Thornton in his red coat joined them.
