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Without waiting for an answer, he walked to the door and opened it. When he looked back, Montfort still stood frozen, his eyes wide with fright at the idea of having his cock shot off. And publicly, too.

For the first time since he’d entered the library, Sebastian smiled. “And now, if you’ll excuse me, I think it’s high time I dance with the woman I intend to marry.”

Sebastian left, his plans regarding Juliet having changed greatly. He would not stand in the shadows watching Juliet anymore. He would claim her before the world, and devil take all her foolish conditions. He would marry her and protect Morgan—he’d done it before; he could do it again.

But one thing was for certain, he wasn’t abandoning her this time.

Chapter 21

Though the wisdom or virtue of one can very rarely make many happy,

the folly or vice of one man often make many miserable.

Samuel Johnson’s Rasselas, worked on a hanging by Juliet upon her return to London from Shropshire

Not long after her dance with Lord Havering, Juliet returned from the ladies’ retiring room to see her brother-in-law circling the ballroom like a wasp hunting a daisy. Before she could duck back into the hall, he spotted her. He paused in his stride only long enough to pull Rosalind under his wing, then buzzed directly toward her.

With a sigh, she stood waiting for him. Judging from his expression, his talk with Montfort hadn’t gone well. Not that she’d really expected it to.

“We’re going home now,” he said as he approached.

“Why?” Much as Juliet hated moving among people who despised her and whispered about her, she hated even more being run off.

“Montfort is unreasonable,” Griff said. “Though he does seem to be the one who started the rumors, he won’t relent. He’s determined to have you, and he thinks dragging your reputation through the mud will accomplish it. I can stop him eventually, I’m sure, but it’ll require some digging to discover how to get at him. In the meantime—”

“In the meantime,” Juliet interjected, “I shall act as if nothing happened. I’m sorry, Griff, but I shan’t give him the satisfaction of seeing me bury myself away. So you might as well abandon that notion.”

“But Juliet—” Rosalind began.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me,” Juliet said firmly, “I need some punch. My mouth is dry as toast.” With that, she marched off toward the supper room.

Really, this was the outside of beyond. She could strangle Montfort, not only for the gossip, but for sending her family into their protect-Juliet-at-all-costs stance once more. She ought to run away from home again, if only to escape them.

The orchestra struck up a waltz, and across the room she saw Montfort emerge from a hall and look her way. She met his gaze coldly, expecting him to cast her the same supercilious smile he’d been annoying her with all night.

Instead, he glowered at her, then stalked off toward some friends. How very odd. Griff himself had said that his talk with Montfort had come to naught. So why wasn’t the duke gloating like the sly beast he was?

She was so distracted that she didn’t notice the hand touching her elbow until a familiar husky voice murmured, “May I have this waltz, my lady?”

She froze, hardly daring to look, to believe he was here. When she did gather the courage to turn around, she thought her heart would knock loose from her chest, it was pounding so. He flashed her a half smile, as if uncertain of his reception, and every particle of her silly, besotted soul lit up.

“Sebastian,” she breathed.

“You were expecting someone else?” he said with raised eyebrow.

“N-no. That is…well, I certainly wasn’t expecting you.”

His eyes searched her face with a tenderness that made her ache. “Did you really think I’d abandon you twice?”

The words snapped her out of her happy dream. She drew herself up stiffly, not sure what to make of his sudden appearance here. “Actually, I did.”

“Then I have much to make amends for. Dance with me, sweeting.”

She arched an eyebrow in a vain attempt to act nonchalant and sophisticated. “You think dancing with me is a sufficient way to make amends?”

“No. I think dancing with you will reassure me that you don’t hate me.”

He looked so painfully earnest that she couldn’t help but soften. She held out her hand. “I don’t hate you. Not entirely, anyway.”