Page 10 of No One's Bride
That he made a habit of sounding like an arrogant arse.
Miss MacTavish’s assessing gaze drifted over Sebastian’s face. Like the natural world, her intelligent green eyes reflected an independent spirit. “Let’s just say I understand his reason for wanting the book.”
Sebastian forced a smile. He should not have mentioned his brother. “Come tomorrow, I expect we’ll be snapping and snarling at each other like frustrated terriers.”
Anger was his permanent companion.
Like a comfortable coat, he felt naked and cold without it.
Indeed, the need to leave the auction house and put some distance between himself and the Scotswoman led him to bring the conversation to a swift end.
“Well, I have a pressing appointment across town and shall leave you to deal with matters here.” Perhaps he would visit Lissette, though the thought left him equally flaccid. Indeed, it was time to sever all ties.
“Once I’ve discovered the identity of the mystery bidder, I shall contact ye about making the exchange. Assuming ye’re willing to trade the lady’s diary.”
“I’ll give the matter some thought,” he said, aware the Daventrys were watching them with curious fascination. “And we can discuss it on Friday when we attend Lady Winfield’s ball.”
She merely nodded, yet he wanted her to berate him. To strip the shirt from his back and whip him with her sharp tongue.
Bantering with Miss MacTavish helped to chase away the ghosts.
These polite exchanges left him unsettled.
So unsettled, unease slithered across his shoulders as he left the auction house and stepped out on Broad Street. He stood still for a moment, settling into his armour. This damn restlessness had nothing to do with losing the book and everything to do with a comment made by Miss MacTavish.
I’d need a passionate man, and you give me cold shivers.
He should be relieved she had no romantic interest in him.
And he was. The thought of bedding the termagant was preposterous.
Still, masculine pride left him desperate to prove a point.
It’s the grimoire!his inner voice warned.
Since seeing the ancient spell book, his world had shifted. Miss MacTavish had shown her caring side, and there’d been that strange energy buzzing between them. A sensual hum in the air.
Hellfire!
He had offered her a grovelling apology for his rudeness.
Was that not evidence the stars were misaligned?
Thank heavens the grimoire remained in the casket, destined for some other crazed fool. Thank heavens he’d never have to gaze upon the book again, else he might be compelled to show the lady he could rouse more than cold shivers.
* * *
“A little dog would be the perfect companion.” In the candlelit bedchamber, Lissette sat at her dressing table, brushing out her golden hair, staring at Sebastian through the looking glass. “Something small, like a pug or a fluffy white Pomeranian.”
Doubtless the animal would yap endlessly.
Much like its mistress.
Lissette’s lips made a perfect pout, and her tone turned childlike. “I would be his mama and buy him a pretty cradle with silk hangings so he might sleep next to the bed.”
On the scale of boring conversations, this one topped the list, along with talk of Miss Turford’s bunion and the maid’s hacking cough.
“I failed to purchase More’sUtopiaat auction today,” he said before his voice seized from lack of use. He omitted to mention he’d been cheated out of winning the rare tome.
