Page 21 of What's a Duke Got to Do With It
But one surreptitious look at his face made her realize he did indeed remember. Very well.
His lips quirked without a trace of humor as he reached forward to turn the page for her. “That night seems so long ago, does it not?”
His voice was quiet, threaded through with something achingly familiar, a regret she knew all too well. “Yes,” she managed. In truth, it seemed like a lifetime.
But they were growing maudlin, his expression taking on undertones of sadness. To lighten the mood, she nodded her head toward Lady Tesh and Mr. Bridling, who were quite thoroughly engrossed in whatever it was they were discussing. “Though I cannot recall a more rapt audience,” she said wryly.
His expression shifted, the curve of his lips transforming to a true smile, his eyes joining in as they danced with mirth. Her breath caught in her throat as the memories that had overtaken her before bombarded her with more force.
But things were different now, weren’t they? Not only because her circumstances were pathetically reduced. No,hewas different, too. Yes, he was a duke now, about to marry, with troubles and responsibilities on his head. But those were only surface differences. Even when laughing, she saw something had altered deep in him, a seriousness that had not been present before having taken root.
Though he was not the only one who had altered in the four years since they had known one another, she reminded herself severely. She could not expect them to be the same people they had been, could she?Foolish girl.“A positive change, surely,” she continued a bit breathlessly, trying to redirect her attentions back to the music she was playing, “for I can botch the notes to my heart’s content.”
“Oh, but you never botched the notes,” he returned gallantly, with that altered echo of the rake he had been. “And besides, look at your pet. I daresay you could simply wiggle your fingers over the keys in a cacophonous mess and he would be more than content.”
She cast a quick look at Mouse and, despite herself, laughed softly. As was his usual pose when she was playing, he leaned against the smooth wood of the instrument, one of the few times he was truly calm and quiet, his eyes closed in bliss.
“I admit it has been wonderful that my music, as uninspiring as it is, can touch a creature in such a visceral way. My brother was forever telling me to quiet my playing. He was prone to over imbibing, and claimed the sound of the pianoforte wreaked havoc on his head…”
Her voice trailed off at that, her mood shifting fully to melancholy in an instant. She had kept herself from recalling such things; it was painful to remember that brother whom she had never been close to yet had wanted to have a relationship with more than just about anything.
She had not realized she had stopped playing until Mouse once more made himself known. Though it was not to insist she play more. No, as ever he was sensitive to her moods, ready and willing to offer comfort when she needed it. His wet nose nudged under her arm, his large, solid head pushing into her side. She started, automatically wrapping her arms about his neck, glancing up at the duke. There was that worried frown marring his brow again. Though this time confusion and curiosity were also there in his eyes. He opened his mouth, and she knew he intended to ask her about Francis. They had run with the same crowd in London, and while they had not been close, they had been friends of sorts. The duke would no doubt wonder how her brother was doing, why he had allowed their fortunes to reverse so completely, and why he had let his sister take on the position of a companion.
The thought of fielding such questions made her so exhausted she wanted to weep.
In an instant she was on her feet. “Forgive me,” she murmured. “My fingers have cramped. Please make my excuses to Lady Tesh.” She hurried from the room, Mouse close to her side. Wondering how the devil she was supposed to get through these next weeks when the duke, no matter how altered he may be—or perhaps because of it—made her equal parts grieve and yearn for what might have been.
Chapter 7
Ivow,” Bridling said as he strode into Sebastian’s room the following evening, “I have never seen such a collection of lovely girls in all my life as I did when we visited the town center this afternoon. I admit I was furious with you and Father when you cooked up this plan to spirit me away for God knows how long, and in such a far-off, sleepy little place.” Here he made a face, his thoughts on Synne’s attributes clear. Not that Sebastian didn’t know well and good what Bridling thought of the place; he had been the recipient of the boy’s ire for the entire four-day journey here.
“But now I do believe it is genius,” Bridling continued. He strode to the cheval glass in the corner, licking his finger and smoothing down his brows, looking at his face this way and that. “Though, of course, I miss my darling Mirabel dreadfully, I can see now that this whole endeavor will be good fun. A kind of last holiday as a bachelor, if you will.”
Sebastian breathed deep and slow, focusing on the carefully metered action to keep himself from saying something he would certainly regret. They had been on the Isle a mere day, he told himself; of course the boy had not had time to forget his actress. Now that Lady Tesh was working in concert with him to distract Bridling from his infatuation, it should not take long to complete the job he had been sent here to do. Especially if the way the boy continued to eye Miss Denby whenever she was in the same room was any indication.
At the memory of how Bridling had leaned in close to Miss Denby when they had visited Seacliff’s library after their return from town, his chest brushing her arm under pretense of reaching for a book on a high shelf for her, the muscles in Sebastian’s shoulders seized. It had taken every bit of willpower he possessed to keep from grasping the boy by his collar and dragging him from Miss Denby’s person. Such were the actions of a jealous lover. Of which he most certainly wasnot.
That fact, however, did not diminish the memories such a scene had reawakened, of the times he had ached to brush up against Miss Denby, just for the chance to touch her. Despite the flirtation they had indulged in when they had been in London, there had been some unspoken agreement between them that nothing would come of it. She out of everyone in London had seemed to understand that he had not been remotely interested in marriage, and he had been able to relax around her in ways he hadn’t been able to with anyone else.
Well, he rectified wryly, he had not been remotely interested until those final days, when he had realized his feelings for her had shifted to something more. But even so, he had never followed through on the urge to touch her.
All but for that one time…
In a flash he recalled that halcyon spring day, the birds chirping so merrily in Hyde Park, the group of gentlemen he had been out riding with coming upon Miss Denby and her group of friends. How he and his friends had dismounted to walk with the ladies, and he had found himself beside Miss Denby. And how his hand had reached out seemingly of its own accord in her direction—only to find her fingers extended in just such a way…
He hastily shook his head to dispel the memory, forcing his attention back to the preening peacock before him. He had a job to do here, and he’d be damned if he’d let anything distract him from it, be it a lovely miss who dredged up things best left in the past, or the spoiled heir of a powerful baron. The stakes were too high.
“And it shall be a holiday you won’t soon forget, I daresay.” Sebastian lifted his chin as his valet secured a sapphire stickpin in the folds of his cravat—glass, of course, the actual jewel having been sold off long ago to pay for repairs to the tenants’ cottages. “Lady Tesh has quite the schedule of events for us. Starting with this evening.”
“Ah, yes, dinner at the Duke of Dane’s.” Bridling gave a humorless chuckle. “I daresay even my esteemed father cannot complain about that.”
No, the man certainly would not. Especially as Sebastian and the Duke of Dane would not be the only dukes present. He had been informed, along with other prestigious personages from Synne society, the Duke of Buckley and his bride, one of Miss Denby’s closest friends, would be in attendance as well. It would be a veritable buffet of dukes.
For a moment he amused himself with wondering just what a group of dukes was called. Anaudacityof dukes, perhaps? Or aneffrontery?
His lips twisted. Perhaps it was afutilityof dukes. For he could not see a purpose to the blasted title, no matter that everyone else seemed to hold it in such high regard.
For a moment he thought of his father, a man he had revered, and all the people he had hurt. All the tenants and farmers he had ignored and overlooked and, in the process, caused to suffer so damn much.
