Page 106 of Summer of Sacrifice

Their son took no pains to conceal his disdain for…everyone. He was, to put it mildly, a spoiled prat. His elder sister, though, was pleasantly unlike the rest of her immediate family. Lady Catherine was genuinely kind, carrying herself with elegance rather than snobbery, while she had every right bestowed by the beau monde to do so with her expensive gowns and angelic features. With dark-as-night hair and vivid green eyes framed by thick lashes, and perfect bow lips set into a pleasant smile, Lady Catherine was a vision.

Seleste saw her dart by then as she looked down over the balcony, rushing across the foyer. Her gown was pristine, the same emerald colour as her eyes, but her hair was only halfway pinned with curls. Seleste smiled to herself, imagining that was the purpose for the young woman’s haste back toward her temporary room.

As she was preparing to descend the stairs to see if Frances or Madame Riley needed any assistance before other guests began to arrive, Seleste heard harsh whispers coming from a door that was ajar—the study.

“It doesn’t make any blasted sense, Della.”

Seleste baulked. It was certainly not Lord Bardot’s voice, nor did it sound like Lord Townsend’s. Not that he should ever be referring to Lady Della in such an improper manner, anyway.

She found herself creeping closer, listening. It was wrong to eavesdrop—Winnie would have her hide if she knew—but Seleste wasn’t above letting her cunning take a break while she acquired information in an easier, mortal way.

“I know that, Orrin,” the lady snapped back.

Orrin?

“What’s changed?”

Goddess above. The voice had the same cadence as?—

“Nothing.”

Seleste could just make out a slit of Lady Della’s profile in the space between the door’s hinges and its frame. She was dressed in a lovely shade of lilac, her hair in a perfect coif. “Nothing has changed.”

“Dammit, Della. That can’t be.” All she could see of the man was his hand, gesticulating angrily, and his hip. He swore again, and she watched as he moved roughly, a glint of something in his hand. A pocket watch. A familiar one that confirmed her suspicion.

“Orrin.” There was a plea in Lady Della’s voice. Intimate and unnerved. It was almost as if the woman was simultaneously in awe and fear of this man. “I’ve done everything as you’ve directed.”

“Obviously not!” he seethed.

Lady Della stepped forward, but the hand Seleste was watching recoiled as if it had been burned. The sliver of Lady Della’s expression that she could see looked pained.

A blur of movement crossed her view and Seleste ran. She’d just made it around the corner of the hall and peeked out when the man strode from the room, shoulders rigid and face pinched.

Dr. Pollock.

Ducking back into hiding as he passed, Seleste considered what to do. They hadn’t been clear about anything in their conversation, at least not the portion she had heard. But she still felt honour-bound to tell Cal, despite having learned of it through eavesdropping. They could figure it out together. Although she had a sickening feeling she already knew what it was concerning?—

“There you are.” Cal’s voice sent a delicious shiver along her spine as he came up behind her, wrapping his arm around her stomach and pressing a kiss to her cheek.

“Aren’t you brazen tonight, milord?”

“Milord my arse,” he murmured in her ear, another shiver snaking through her in the wake of his deep voice. “Tonight you call me what you call me in the dark of my châlet.”

She couldn’t resist. Spinning in his arms that remained clasped around her, she gave him a wicked smile Aggie would have been proud of. “Shall I add the other less pure phrases as well?”

He sucked in a breath, leaning down to speak in her ear again. “Not unless you’d like for me to take you right there in the ballroom with everyone watching.”

Seleste smacked his arm, laughing, and wiggled out of his grip. “Behave, milord, and you’ll be richly rewarded when everyone leaves tonight.”

Cal’s eyes dropped from her lips, sliding down her dress, his expression morphing from hunger into sweet appreciation. “Goddess, Seleste. You are ravishing.”

“You’ve cleaned up quite well yourself.” He smiled at her words and she would swear the entire realm melted away. He’d said he would do anything for her smile, and she had to admit the feeling was mutual.

A rush of noise drifted up from the foyer, drawing both their attention. Cal extended his elbow. “Well, mademoiselle, let us go and greet the guests.”

Breathing was difficult as they descended the stairs arm in arm. It was quite literally the first time they’d let anyone see them in close proximity, and they were approaching with absolutely no preamble, the foyer overflowing with guests. He should have told her this was his plan. She imagined they would sneak down the back steps and stay separated, dancing together a couple of times throughout the night. But this? This was madness…

His mother saw them first, her hostess’ smile dropping abruptly from her face.

---