He drew a steady breath. There lay the source of his disquiet. They were no relation of his. It must be some ruse, and even if they were gentle-bred women, it would be wiser to understand their purpose than to go seeking diversion and underestimate those he had admitted to his house. They could be the worst kind of charlatans.
“Bloody hell,” he muttered, raking his fingers through his damp hair.
For weeks, he had risen before dawn and sat late over business in town: attending the Lords on petitions for Catholic relief, weighing speeches on France’s march into Spain and Britain’s wary neutrality, and conferring with allies regarding reciprocity measures and what they portended for trade. Committee rooms claimed his afternoons with canal and turnpike bills to examine, clauses to amend, and witnesses to hear, while letters arrived from magistrates on grain prices and parish relief. Then his estate matters demanded attention, from rents and repairs to harvest forecasts and the millrace. Despite the season in full swing, he ignored a flood of ballroom invitations, grateful that his mother and sister were settled in Bath for an extended stay.
Tonight had been the first Sebastian had permitted himself to set aside figures and leases and political motions and letters in favor of diversion. Hell, it had been almost four months since he took a lover to his bed. He sat a moment in the dim interior of the carriage, listening to the rain slap against the roof, irritation pounding through his veins. His hand rose toward the trap and then fell again.
Sebastian pushed open the door and stepped down into the drizzle. “I am not going out tonight after all,” he told his coachman. “Return the carriage to the mews and see the horses well rubbed down.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Sebastian hastened through the rain and re-entered the house. The hall’s warmth at once stripped away the cold. He shrugged out of his coat and handed it to a footman. He took the stairs two at a time and turned along the guest corridor.
A maid with a candle in a brass stick hesitated at the corner, lowering into a quick curtsy.
“The eldest of our guests,” he said. “Which chamber?”
“This way, my lord.” She inclined her head toward the far door.
Sebastain went to it and knocked. A quiet voice within bade him enter. He opened the door, stepped across the threshold, and stopped as if he had struck a wall. His damn heart lurched, and his mouth dried. The lady stood in nothing but a fine lawn chemise, so thin it was nearly transparent. The delicate fabric clung to the soft rise of her breasts and the subtle shadow of her nipples, which had drawn tight, whether from chill or from awareness he could not tell. A darker triangle lay veiled beneath, the suggestion of curls where the muslin kissed her thighs. Her hair, loosened from its pins, tumbled in damp, heavy waves to one sensual hip. A faint fragrance of soap drifted to him, theintimate scent of a recent bath, until it felt as if the very air had been steeped in her, carrying a suffocating allure.
“By God, you are lovely.” The words slipped from Sebastian before he had the presence of mind to temper his admiration.
A low sound escaped her, yet she remained motionless, eyes wide, one cheek flushing deeper with every heartbeat. An unexpected surge of hunger went through Sebastian; his body answered with an unhelpful throb. The woman still did not move.
His cock stirred on a hard pulse, and need coursed so swiftly through his body it was as intoxicating as the finest whisky, warm and reckless. He took a single step closer. “Is this an invitation to delight myself, Miss Whitley ?”
His voice seemed to release her. She gasped and darted to the bed, vanishing beneath the coverlet. It was too late. The image had fixed itself upon his mind with indecent clarity and upon his body with a swiftness that startled him. He was a man long accustomed to beauty, a man who had not felt immediate desire in years; his appetites were usually teased and coaxed forth by subtle sensualities, not roused to devour and consume.
Sebastian drew a breath that did not steady him and found, to his irritation and fascination, that he wanted another look… perhaps a taste. Her unexpected presence now presented a far darker, more wicked allure. “Are you married?”
She tucked a wisp of hair behind her ear. “I… no, of course not; but I… I should like to be.”
How questioning and uncertain she sounded beneath his directness. “Are you affianced?”
She gave him a look of bafflement. “No. I do not understand the reason for these questions, my lord.”
Sebastian decided it was not the moment to say he wanted her for his lover. Arrogant as it was, he felt certain he could drawher under his charm; he was a generous lover, prodigal with pleasure and provision. She would want for nothing.
She clutched the coverlet to her chin, a tremor running through her frame. “I thought you were my sister, Emelia, my lord. You left, and I never imagined it was you knocking. That was the only reason I asked you to enter.”
Bloody hell. Of course. Sebastian took a step back. “I should have announced myself; forgive me for the intrusion. It was badly done of me.”
She shook her head almost frantically. “My lord, this is your home. I wouldneverpresume that you would have to announce?—”
Her words broke off as three younger girls rushed through the open door, past him and arrayed themselves before the bed, as if shielding a fair maiden from a beast. Dark amusement stirred in Sebastian. “Now that you are dry, pray attend me in the library. It is the fourth door on the left on the second landing. I find I cannot wait until morning to understand what is afoot.”
“Yes, my lord.”
He observed the faint tremor of her mouth, and suspicion flared within Sebastian. He turned away and went down to the library on the second floor. The heavy draperies were drawn, and rain still hissed against the panes. A fire crackled in the hearth, driving back the night’s chill. Restlessness stirred again, and he wondered what tale they meant to spin. A knock sounded. He bade them enter, and all four young ladies came in at once, properly dressed now in gowns so worn the seams seemed to hold by grace alone.
Sebastian considered them for a few beats before saying, “Pray avail yourselves of the comfort of the sofas.”
The three younger girls glanced at the eldest. At her small nod, they crossed with her to the nearest sofa and sat, hands neatly folded. Their carriage and composure spoke of training indecorum and the proprieties of ladies of quality, though fortune had clearly run thin.
Sebastian remained standing a moment, one hand lightly upon the back of a chair, the other at his side. “Now that you are here,” he said, courteous but cool, “you will oblige me with the courtesy of telling me who you are.”
The eldest clasped her hands in her lap. The small twisting of her fingers told Sebastian all he needed to know about her nerves.
