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CHAPTER1
Susan Wingfield feltas if a million ants were crawling beneath her skin, consuming her from the inside out. Although she had shared a spirited dance and enchanting conversation with the Earl of Seabury at the Calthorpes’ Yuletide Ball, she had neither seen nor heard from him since. Now, it was the first day of February, and she and her mother and Eliza had joined Georgiana and Edward at their London townhouse for the Season. At every Ball, every event she had attended since Christmas, Susan always searched the crowds for any sign of Lord Seabury, and she had been disappointed thus far.
She sat in the drawing room, embroidering furiously while Eliza practiced on the pianoforte and their mother dozed in a chair by the fire. Eliza paused mid-sonata, leaning to the side, and craning her neck to better see out of the drawing room window, which was beside the pianoforte, and overlooked the street.
“I say,” Eliza exclaimed, a frisson of excitement sending her bounding off the piano stool to get a better look out of the window. “Someone is moving into that massive townhouse across the street, the one that’s been unoccupied ever since we arrived in town!”
Their mother, the Viscountess of Gainsbourne, roused at that and moved to stand beside Eliza, peering out of the window right alongside her youngest daughter.
“You are quite right, dearest! Whoever it is appears to be quite wealthy. Look at the quality of the trunks and the furniture! We must discover whatever we can about our new neighbour, and do so before anyone else in the ton has the chance. You never know when knowing more than your peers may be to your advantage.”
Susan rolled her eyes at that, not in the mood to be concerned with the new neighbours. Her moods had been foul for more than a month now, ever since Lord Seabury had all but disappeared with no explanation whatsoever. The gall of the man. Susan shook her head. He’d been so charming, so handsome and utterly captivating, and then he’d vanished into thin air.
Georgiana, who was disgustingly happy and still practically glowing from the wedding trip she’d shared with Edward, sat down beside Susan with an amused half-smile and a nod at the embroidery work in Susan’s hands.
“I’ve never seen anyone embroider quite so violently in all my life. Do you want to talk about what’s bothering you?”
“No,” Susan muttered, never taking her eyes off the needlework. The vicious stabbing was satisfying, in its own small way. “I do not wish to talk at all, thank you very much.”
“I see,” Georgiana nodded, her eyes twinkling with mirth, Susan noted sourly as she studied her sister out of the corner of her eye.
Georgiana shrugged then, leaving Susan to her needlework. Just moments later, a footman strode in.
“Lord Seabury has arrived to see Lord Billington.”
Susan’s head snapped up, her gaze going to the door, but her hands didn’t stop embroidering. She stabbed with absolute ferocity at the sound of his name, but missed her thimble entirely and pierced her palm so deeply that she yelped with displeasure, then threw the embroidery down onto the settee, even as blood welled in her palm.
Lord Seabury strode in, and his stony expression and wild, wind-tossed black hair stole the breath from Susan’s lungs. She forgot her injured palm, even as she instinctively cradled one hand with the other, standing in unison with her sister and offering the requisite curtsey as the Earl strode deeper into the drawing room.
Susan thought her heart might burst, it squeezed so violently, causing the most acute pain she had ever felt at the sight of the man who’d captured her attention, sparking fascination, sowing seeds of affection, and then proceeded to behave as if Susan didn’t exist.
How had he gone from so charming and attractive to so cold and detached? Susan couldn’t help but wonder. Had she offended him somehow? And if so, why would he not just say so? Could she not be afforded an opportunity to defend herself, or to put things right between them?
Lord Seabury bowed to them, the movement quick and jerky.
“Lady Gainsbourne. Lady Billington. Miss Wingfield. Miss Eliza Wingfield. It is good to see you all again.”
The words were correct, but the tone was anything but cordial. His mouth, which had been prone to breath-taking smiles and good humour at the Yuletide Ball, was pressed into a hard, thin slash of haughty disapproval.
Susan looked over at Georgiana, who frowned and nodded, confirming in that wordless way that sisters have that yes, she’d noted the Earl’s frigid demeanour, and shrugged as if to say, no, she didn’t know what that was about, either.
Georgiana narrowed her dark eyes, then, spying the blood welling in Susan’s palm. She clicked her tongue, acting as a secondary mother, as eldest sisters often do. Taking Susan’s hand in hers, she examined the wound more closely.
“That’s quite a nasty puncture wound, dearest. Let’s go and clean this up and bandage it, shall we?”
Susan didn’t move. She squared her shoulders and took a deep, steadying breath, torn and unsure of how she should react and what she should do. Part of her was eager to leave the room, to escape the cold, scrutinising gaze with which Lord Seabury now regarded her. Another part of her wanted to stay, to take up space, to face him and demand to know just how she had managed to offend him, because she certainly didn’t know what she could have done to make him go so utterly cold after the interest and warmth she’d experienced from him at the Yuletide Ball at Thistlewayte Hall.
Georgiana pressed her lips into a thin line, then, and widened her eyes at Susan, as if to spur her to action without saying anything aloud.
“Are you injured, Miss Wingfield?”
Lord Seabury’s voice was tight, as if he resented himself for asking, but had been unable to resist the pull of curiosity.
Susan looked up, then, her punctured palm throbbing with every beat of her pounding heart. As she looked into his green eyes, so cold and full of something like disdain, fiery indignation welled up inside her and boiled over like an overfilled kettle. She sputtered, her temper getting the better of her before she could think to rein it in.
Well, if he wanted things to be unpleasant between them, two could play that game. Susan flicked a dismissive gaze at him, giving him a cursory once-over, her full lips twisting with a vicious sneer.
“Do you care, Lord Seabury, or are you simply giving in to idle curiosity and the societal expectation that a man in your position should be polite to his host’s sister-in-law?”
Susan’s voice was colder and more brutal than the winter weather frosting the drawing room’s windows.
Georgiana sucked in a shocked breath and turned red as a beet at her sister’s outburst. She laid a hand on Susan’s arm, shaking her head and giving her incensed sister a pleading look. Susan, however, refused to be embarrassed. She drew herself up to her full height, her posture erect and rigid as she fixed Lord Seabury with a direct stare. She couldn’t have been any clearer if she’d physically thrown down a gauntlet.
Lord Seabury also sucked in a shocked gasp and turned red in the face at her challenge.
“Of course I care!” He sputtered right back at her, taking a half-step closer. His nostrils flared a moment, and it took a visible effort for him to calm his breathing. When he spoke again, it was through gritted teeth. “I do not wish you harm and pain, Miss Wingfield.”
Susan tossed her hair and lifted her chin, refusing to cower or back down even as her words ran away with her.
“Then you wished only to cause me emotional pain by capturing my attention and awakening my affections at the Duke and Duchess of Thistlewayte’s Yuletide Ball, only to avoid me at all costs and pretend that I do not exist for every moment thereafter.”
