Page 9 of Sinfully Daring

Sebastian turned to see the Marquess of Kilbane standing beside him, staring at the portrait with interest. Some protective instinct in Sebastian reacted to Kilbane’s presence, making him want to shield Rosamund from the man’s gaze. Foolishness, he told himself; it was only a painting, and yet the sensation lingered.

Kilbane smiled, amused by Sebastian’s obvious discomfort. “Good day, Hargreaves.”

“Kilbane.” Sebastian nodded, knowing he ought to move away from the portrait, people were already murmuring about how often he sought Rosamund’s company, but some force beyond his control made him turn back for another look.

“She’s a friend of yours, I believe?” Kilbane asked politely.

“I have that honour.”

A wicked glint flickered in Kilbane’s unusual violet eyes, as if he knew Sebastian was praying he’d not ask him for an introduction, for it would force him to refuse. No gentleman would introduce Kilbane to an innocent young lady if they could help it. Refusing a marquess was never an easy task, however.

“You’ve heard the latest gossip, I take it?” Kilbane spoke with his usual lazy tone, as if he could barely muster the energy to endure the conversation, though his piercing gaze told another story. This man missed nothing.

“Have I?” Sebastian’s instincts prickled. One never knew with the marquess where the exchange was going to go. It was often the conversational equivalent of walking a moor in the dark, one never knew when one risked plunging into a deep dark hole until it was too late.

“The fellow who tried to murder Lord Vane struck again.”

“What?” he exclaimed in shock. He did not know Vane well, as a young man he’d been an absolute viper and Sebastian had given him a wide berth, but he seemed to have changed in the past few years and become a tolerable human being.

“Another failed attempt, happily,” Kilbane remarked. “I should hate to lose a friend, for there are few men who consider me—ah, but I forget—he reminded me I no longer have the honour. C’est la vie. Still, it seems he was heroic, saving the life of Mrs Oak, no less, though one wonders what she was doing at Vane Hall with her husband. Miss de Beauvoir was there too. They’re to be married, you know… Miss de Beauvoir and Vane, that is.”

“Are they?” Well, that was a union Sebastian would not have predicted.

“Yes. All the old tabby cats are up in arms about the match, naturally,” Kilbane said, inspecting his nails. “The girl was born in the workhouse, which is tantamount to being Satan’s spawn, apparently.”

“You disagree?” Sebastian could not help but ask.

Kilbane’s family were hardly famous for kindness to others and the old marquess had been a stickler for lineage. Such snobbery seemed ill placed as Kilbane’s family lineage was Irish, which made him the source of disdain to some among the ton. Any such distinctions seemed petty to Hargreaves. Nonetheless it was an old and revered title going back many generations and the man’s attitude was surprising.

Kilbane chuckled, a low wicked sound. “My dear, my family have always prided themselves on the purity of their bloodline, and just look at us.” He made a sweeping gesture towards his own elegant figure, one dark eyebrow quirked. “Are we not the very model of everything the best of the nobility ought to be?”

His tone was mocking, clearly alluding to the reputation he and his family had for revelling in vice. The man’s father had been a disgusting old satyr and had raised his sons in his image. The older son had died young but had been well on his way to following in his father’s footsteps. Kilbane was young and beautiful yet, but if rumour was to be believed, his heart was black as pitch and his tastes were wide and insatiable. Not that Sebastian believed all rumours to be true. He knew better.

“Well, I hope they’ll be very happy,” Sebastian said, meaning it, and uncomfortable with the scrutiny he felt himself to be under in this man’s company.

“Ah, we all wish for happiness, but so few of us get it,” Kilbane said with a heavy sigh. “One poor decision and our fates are forever changed. It seems damned unfair to me.”

It seemed damned unfair to Sebastian too, but he held his tongue, unwilling to get drawn in.

Kilbane’s gaze slid over the crowd.

“Lady Hargreaves is with you?” he said in surprise.

Sebastian felt a shock of disappointment and turned to discover Kilbane was correct. He’d thought Adelia was not attending until later in the day.

“No,” he replied shortly, dismayed to discover his wife had her entourage in tow.

He turned his back on her, realising too late whose portrait he was before, and pivoted away again. Adelia met his eyes across the room, her lively expression cooling when she saw him, and becoming positively frosty when she saw the portrait he stood before. Hargreaves experienced a chill of foreboding.

“Oh dear, that augurs ill,” Kilbane murmured. “Have a care, my dear.”

The comment rankled but Sebastian could not dismiss it.

“Good day, Kilbane,” he managed, giving a taut nod and walking away.

He had been enjoying the exhibition, but his pleasure in it evaporated like mist before the sun, knowing that Adelia was there, flirting and making a spectacle of herself with her admirers. He dared not even speak to his friends when she was with him, too mortified when she turned her beautiful eyes towards them and batted her lashes, trying to snare their attention as she had once done with him. He had tried to speak to her about it, to negotiate a life where she could do as she pleased if she only left his friends out of it, but she seemed to take pleasure in taunting him. Her eyes would glitter with excitement when she knew he was caught between making a scene or letting her get away with humiliating him. Sebastian had never considered himself an especially proud man, but his pride had taken such a battering over the past ten years he was uncertain how much more it could stand before he snapped and did or said something terrible.

He hurried towards the entrance, which was still thronged with people. Suddenly desperate to get outside and breathe fresh air, he picked up his pace, needing to get away from the prying eyes of society, forever judging him and the state of his marriage. As if most of them had managed any better; they just had wives who were discreet.