Page 10 of Sinfully Daring

He was barely ten feet from the door when a familiar voice called to him.

“My lord.”

Sebastian turned, letting out a breath as he saw Rosamund. Better than fresh air, better than an escape from the crowd, was the smile she gave him. The tension thrumming through him eased under the sincerity of that simple happiness. Was she truly so pleased to see him? Don’t be a fool, Hargreaves. She was simply a lovely, vivacious young woman who took pleasure in all things and welcomed her friends with warmth and grace.

“You’re leaving?” she asked. Was that disappointment in her eyes?

“Yes, I’m afraid so,” he said, wishing he did not have to, but Kilbane was right.

Adelia might not want him, but she was not above petty jealousy. It was why he’d never taken a mistress, despite his loneliness. He could not abide Adelia’s retaliation and the constant sniping whenever she felt he was enjoying someone’s company too much. So far, she had not cared about his friendship with Rosamund, not considering an unmarried lady a rival. She knew Hargreaves too well to believe he would ever dishonour an innocent. If she believed he had become fond of the girl, however, that might change. He needed to be more careful.

“Oh. Can I not persuade you to stay a little longer?” Rosamund asked, and then blushed. “Forgive me. That was dreadfully presumptuous.”

He smiled, shaking his head. “Not at all. I am flattered that my company pleases you, though you must avoid giving me such compliments, it will go to my head.”

“No, it won’t,” she said, laughing. “You’re the most modest man I’ve ever met.”

“Now you’re just being silly,” he said, ridiculously pleased by her words. “I’m a conceited ass and you know it. But you have made my day all the same, just as your beautiful portrait has made the exhibition… though, as exquisite as it is, it cannot compare to reality.”

“Oh, now who is being silly?” she replied, eyes alight with humour. “There’s no need to pour the butter boat over me.”

He ought to have replied in kind, he knew, ought to have made a joke out of it as their bantering was always teasing and light-hearted, but his words remained sincere. “For once, I’m not the least bit silly, or ridiculous. It’s a magnificent portrait and yet it does not do you justice, not even close.”

Her breath caught at his words, her cheeks flushing, and Sebastian knew it was time to leave before he said something he ought not—something else he ought not. So instead, he injected a teasing note to his voice. “You’ll have every man in London in love with you by the end of the exhibition, mark my words.”

“Oh, surely every man in the country,” she said, laughing, but there was a forced air about her comment, about the laugh, something uncertain in the way she looked at him, and Sebastian cursed himself.

They were friends, nothing more. He had no business offering her such compliments. Young women were too easily led into believing their hearts attached and he did her no kindness in confusing her emotions, or his own. It would not be kind to either of them.

“Every man in Europe,” he countered, smiling as jovially as he could manage before giving her a polite bow. “Must dash. Enjoy the exhibition. It really is very good.”

With that, he escaped, hurrying out of the front door and promising himself he would keep away from Lady Rosamund for a while until he was feeling more himself.

Chapter 3

Dear Kathy,

I am so happy for you. Though I admit, I was never more surprised when I heard you had married! I am very cross with you for not telling me. How romantic to be swept off your feet as you were, though. And now you are Lady Vane! I cannot wait to see you and hear all about it.

I send you all my best wishes and much love.

―Excerpt of a letter from Lady Rosamund Adolphus (daughter of Their Graces, Robert and Prunella Adolphus, the Duke and Duchess of Bedwin) to Katherine Drake, Countess of Vane (daughter of Mrs Minerva and Mr Inigo de Beauvoir).

30th June 1842, Mrs Hallewell’s Rout Party, Chelsea, London.

Rosamund sighed inwardly as Lady Balderston bore her off towards the card room. She would much rather be mingling with the crowd of chattering guests in pursuit of her friends, but she had promised Papa she would keep the old lady company. This was not such a hardship, though, as Lady Balderston had a sharp wit and a sharper tongue, and some of her comments made Rosamund snort with laughter. She had hoped to catch up with Cara Baxter, however, who was here this evening. Her parents had allowed her to come out this year but only to a few of the more modest events, to give her time to grow used to the cutthroat world of society. Rosamund was keen to see how she was faring.

She also hoped to see Lord Hargreaves, whom she had not seen all week.

He had attended Herr Thalberg’s concert at the Hanover Square rooms but had not sought her out, nor had he spoken to her except in passing, at any of the balls and soirees she had attended. Hargreaves had greeted her briefly when they had almost literally bumped into each other on Bond Street, but he had seemed intent on keeping his distance. Though she too had heard stirrings of gossip about the two of them, Rosamund regretted that he would take it so very much to heart. She missed his irreverent company and was determined to speak to him tonight.

Lady Balderston wished to play whist, however, and had already commandeered her nephew, a Mr Barnaby Godwin. The three of them sat down at the card table as Lady Balderston fidgeted with impatience.

“Well, this won’t do, we need a fourth. Where is the comte?” she demanded of Mr Godwin.

“Ah, no. We’re not playing with Louis,” Barnaby said, his voice firm. “Sorry, Aunt Hester. He dislikes whist in any case. Never plays.”

The old lady tsked. “Is he here, at least?”