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Oh God. She’d thought him gone and now he was back again, and just when she was at her most vulnerable. She fought to pull herself together, despite that voice that brought awake all her senses. Every inch of her was suddenly on alert and before she could stop herself, Lavinia found she was gazing up into the blue eyes of Sebastian Longhurst, the very man she had been trying to avoid.
Once upon a time there would have been a lurking smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. There was no smile now. And there was certainly no trace of the affection he had once held for her. Strange h
ow much it hurt, despite her hoping for that very thing—that he would no longer feel anything for her. To see the proof of it almost undid her.
“Captain Longhurst,” she said, surprised that her voice sounded so calm when inside her heart was threatening to rip itself apart.
“You look well.” Those cool eyes slid over her face. Despite what he said, he was observing her as if he found her wanting. Had she lost her appeal? Was she a disappointment? Lavinia was fully aware she wasn’t at her best—there were shadows beneath her eyes—and whereas she had once been described as a nonpareil, tonight she had seen several women far more beautiful than she.
“Thank you, I am very well,” she lied.
He paused and then the words slid from his mouth as if he wasn’t hurting her. “And your son?”
She tried to hold his gaze but she’d begun to feel the strain of playing the Ice Maiden—there were fractures appearing in her chilly façade and she needed to escape before he saw her shatter. She glanced over his shoulder, as if his presence was keeping her from the rest of the party.
“My son is well too, thank you, Captain.”
“He must be one year old.”
He knew exactly how old Oliver was. He was playing games with her, surely? Or like her, did he just want to get this moment over with, so that they could both move on? Set the perimeters of what was to be their new relationship—almost strangers.
“Yes, he’s a year old. And what of you, Captain Longhurst? I do hope you have recovered fully from your injuries?”
He met her cool gaze with an even colder one of his own.
Lavinia had known he was physically hurt. Patrick had died on the battlefield of Waterloo, and while Sebastian Longhurst had survived he had been severely injured and not expected to live. When she had heard this, she had gone to him despite the risk of discovery. She’d known Patrick would not have wanted her to put the reputations of herself and her son in jeopardy, but she hadn’t cared. Reckless, crazed with the fear that he was dying, she had risked all. Leaving her new born son in the care of his nurse, Lavinia had rushed to Sebastian’s side. She was seated by his bed, holding his hand as he lay there unconscious, when her brother arrived and insisted she leave.
“Do you want more scandal?” he had hissed at her. “How will that help Captain Longhurst?”
“I won’t leave. I can’t. I love him.”
“Love? What does that matter? You need to think of your son and his future.” And then her brother’s face had gone hard with scorn. “Let me tell you what the rumour is concerning your hero here, and I think you will change your mind.”
When he had told her the rumour, his words had fallen on her like pebbles, each one bruising her skin, hurting her heart. Deep in shock, her emotions raw, she had watched him pay the military nurse who had brought her to the room, ensuring silence, and then bustle her from the hospital, without another word of protest.
It was the last time she had seen Sebastian until this moment. And she had missed him with an ache that despite what her brother had said would not go away.
Lavinia dug her nails into the palms of her hands. She had a sudden desperate longing to reach out and run them over his body, to make certain that he really was whole and healed. It physically hurt to deny herself and yet she did.
“I am perfectly recovered,” he said now, and there was a meaning in his expression that she could not misunderstand.
He meant he was recovered from her. Recovered from their wildly passionate love affair, their madness. He was telling her that he would not encroach upon her ever again.
“I’m very glad to hear it,” she said, but her voice was dull and lifeless. As if she wasn’t in the slightest bit interested.
He reached out and automatically she gave him her hand. He bowed over it, his lips raising goosebumps where they barely brushed her skin, and then he was walking away.
Lavinia watched him retreat, his dark head, broad shoulders and slim hips, wondering if it was possible to feel any more miserable than she did right now. And yet it was for the best, she knew that. She was sure of it. Her mind told her so.
If only her heart would listen.
Two
Two years earlier
Lord Patrick Richmond poured brandy into two glasses and held one out to Sebastian. They sat opposite each other in the library, the cigar box at hand, just the two of them. Patrick had been Sebastian’s superior officer for several years now, and despite their age difference the two men got along well, and he knew Patrick trusted him and respected his judgment. They’d fought together on the Iberian Peninsula, that difficult and dangerous war of attrition, before Napoleon was finally captured and imprisoned.
Now that the country was at peace, Sebastian had expected to see less of Lord Richmond. He had almost hoped not to be invited quite so often to the Richmond town house in Mockingbird Square. Because Captain Longhurst was conflicted. As much as he admired and liked Patrick, there was something he was struggling with.
