Page 65 of The Earl’s Forbidden Temptation

He had been wrong.

Gossip, once given life, was rarely content to remain harmless speculation. It would spread and sharpen, each retelling adding some new insinuation, until whatever truth had begun it scarcely mattered at all. By nightfall, half the ton might believe itself intimately acquainted with “Mrs.” Darcy Whitley and his intentions toward her.

Sebastian raked a hand through his hair, a quiet regret settling beneath his irritation. He should have anticipated this. Ordinarily, he did. Practicality governed him almost without thought; he weighed consequences, considered every possible outcome, and rarely acted without knowing precisely what his actions might cost.

Yet with Darcy, he had set those instincts aside.

He had seen the happiness in Darcy’s eyes and wanted to please her. He had watched her sisters marvel at experiences he had always taken for granted and found himself wanting to give them another, and then another. Each excursion seemed only to lead naturally to the next, for he had become drawn to their unguarded wonder, to the way they embraced every new experience with an enthusiasm that stirred a faint, persistent ache within him.

What had their lives been before this?

They had been tucked away in the country, far removed from the ease and opportunities Sebastian’s wealth and position had afforded him since birth. What had their father truly given them? What part of himself had he chosen to share, and what had he withheld? Whenever some old sadness shadowed their faces, an instinct rose within Sebastian to protect them, to ensure they would never again face hardship believing they must endure it alone.

Somewhere between drives through Hyde Park, picnics, museums, and their easy laughter, his desire to make Darcy happy had eclipsed every other consideration.

It was unlike him.

Sebastian exhaled slowly. He had wanted the girls to know everything he and Caroline had enjoyed without ever recognizing it as privilege: education, opportunity, freedom from constant worry, and the simple certainty that tomorrow would bring more rather than less. Yet the reality before him was far more complicated than any generous impulse or intention he might have formed.

The realization drew another low curse from him.

How was he to manage this new family of his? These sisters, who were no longer distant notions but living, breathing presences; who were steadily working their way into his heart with a quiet determination. They did not demand his affection, nor did they seek to claim it outright. And yet, in their own gentle way, they were already doing so. He had simply chosen, for reasons he did not care to examine too closely, to ignore every rule that had guided him thus far.

He reached for the bell and rang once, sharply.

Gerald entered within moments, composed as ever. “My lord.”

“Dispatch a rider to the dowager residence in Bath,” Sebastian said, rising from his chair. “No scandal sheet is to be admitted into the house, and no mention of this item is to reach my mother or Lady Caroline.”

Gerald inclined his head. “Yes, my lord.”

Sebastian dismissed him with a brief nod and returned to his desk. It might not be enough. The sheets had already been printed, already sold. If one found its way into his mother’s hands, she would read it with keen interest, and whether she guessed his identity outright or not, she would certainly take notice. There were, admittedly, other earls whose titles began with R, and the ambiguity might serve him—for a time.

But his mother was not a fool. Such speculation that he might be courting a lady would be enough to draw her back to town, for nothing would delight her more than the prospect of his marriage and the promise of children to follow. More troubling, whatever curiosity or speculation attached to him would be nothing compared to what Darcy would endure. A lady of uncertain origin, suddenly elevated into notice by association with a sought-after bachelor—there would be whispers, assumptions, and far crueler conjectures than anything set to print.

Sebastian’s mouth hardened. He crossed to the desk and set the paper aside with deliberate care, his mind already moving toward what must be done next. If the ton wished to speculate, they would. But he would decide how far they were permitted to go. First, he penned a letter to the owner of the scandal sheet, making it plainly known that there was to be no further mention of Mrs. D. W., or he would withdraw his investments from the man’s press.

He then wrote to Darcy, inviting her and his sisters to spend a few weeks with him in Derbyshire, where they might become better acquainted. In doing so, he would discreetly remove them from the ton’s scrutiny. Hopefully, once removed from society’s immediate notice, they would soon be forgotten.

Sebastian was certain that within a fortnight, some fresh scandal would emerge to occupy the vultures. His heart began to thump, and he scowled at the unwelcome anticipation of having Miss Whitley beneath his roof for a few weeks. She was clever, amusing, and a lady of thoughtful manners. She was also artlessly sensual; at times, the way she regarded him from beneath those extraordinarily long lashes made it plain that she was as aware of him as a man as he was of her as a woman.

She should not reside beneath his roof without a proper chaperone. Her younger sisters did not qualify. Sebastian scrubbed a hand over his face.

I am not a green lad led about by his cock.

There is no reason to overthink the matter. He forced her from his thoughts and turned to the day’s business, determined not to imagine Miss Whitley beneath his roof. The fact that he had already done so several times made the resolution a lie before it was formed.

CHAPTER 22

Darcy sat upon the small wooden boat, laughter escaping her as it drifted lazily along the gentle curve of the lake. The sun shimmered upon the water, casting a thousand glints of light that danced with every ripple, and beyond, the rolling grounds of Sebastian’s Derbyshire estate stretched in quiet splendor.

It is, she thought, impossibly beautiful.

And so very far removed from the life they had known. Her gaze settled upon Sebastian, who stood waist-deep in the lake, his coat and waistcoat abandoned upon the bank, his shirtsleeves rolled to his elbows and the damp linen clinging to the broad planes of his chest. Water darkened his hair and gleamed along the strong line of his forearms as he guided Emelia, modestly clothed in a bathing gown, through the careful motions of swimming.

“You must trust the water,” he said, his tone patient and steady. “If you fight it, you will exhaust yourself. Breathe, Emelia. Let it hold you.”

“I shall sink,” she declared.