Page 5 of His Mad Duchess
He flicked a glance over his shoulder at the swirl of silk, the hush of whispers still drifting through the chandeliers. His mother would be watching somewhere behind some smiling mask.
“You know what the trouble is with these girls?” Sebastian added, leaning in a fraction like he might share some wicked secret.
“Do tell,” Edward said, deadpan.
“Too many rules. Too many fathers with ledgers for eyes. Too many mothers who want a title for Christmas. You kiss one in a dark garden, and suddenly, there’s a bishop waving a license at your throat.”
Edward’s laughter cracked out, quick and warm enough to feel like air in the heavy room. “God help you, Ravenscourt, one day you’ll kiss the wrong girl and find yourself reading the banns on Sunday.”
Sebastian made a face. “Not if I die first. Which is why…” He tapped Edward’s chest with two fingers. “You, me, Brooksley. Tonight. Cards, brandy, and no talk of heirs. Come on, Wrexford, your house is grand, but your liquor’s dreadful.”
Edward rolled his eyes but pushed off the column. “If your mother finds me gone, she’ll set the hounds on me instead of you.”
“She’d never lower herself to chase a duke. I’m the prize pony in her stable. You’re the clever fellow she humors because you manage to keep me from throwing my rider.”
“My dearest friend,” Edward said dryly.
“The only one worth the trouble,” Sebastian agreed. Then he glanced once more over his shoulder.
“Let them whisper. We’ll be halfway to Brooksley before the strings finish their next waltz.”
“God help us both,” Edward muttered.
“God’s not invited tonight,” Sebastian said, grin sharp and easy now that the mask had slipped. “Bring your coin, Wrexford. You’ll need it.”
Just as Sebastian was about to nudge Edward toward the doors, he felt the group beside him shift, as if someone was stepping through their midst.
“Sebastian.”
He didn’t need to turn. His mother’s voice could cut through glass.
He turned anyway, mask back in place, only to find Honoria gliding toward him with another young lady in tow, this one pale pink from head to hem, cheeks already flushed.
“Miss Harbury would be so honored if you might spare her the next dance,” Honoria purred.
“Of course,” Sebastian said smoothly, catching Miss Harbury’s breathless curtsey and the way she glanced at him like she might swoon if he so much as blinked the wrong way.
“Your Grace!” Miss Harbury squeaked, dipping into a curtsey so low she nearly pitched forward. “I was just telling Mama—oh, but isn’t this ballroom divine? So many candles! And the Duke of Wrexford’s musicians! Surely the best in London. Except perhaps Lady Ellison’s quartet last winter… but you wouldn’t have been there, would you? And the ices! I must tell you, the raspberry is heavenly. Do you adore raspberries? I said to Mama?—”
She giggled a high, nervous trill that made a passing footman flinch. Breathless, eyes wide, she spilled words as if afraid they might escape her.
“—and I told Papa, if only I might dance with the Duke of Ravenscourt just once, and now look! Here we are! Oh, it’s simply too?—”
Edward snorted beside him. Sebastian’s smile tightened. Behind the girl’s shoulder, Honoria gave a tiny nod, her elegant hand smoothing her gown like she was pressing him into place.
Miss Harbury giggled again, cheeks pink. “And the flowers in the anteroom? Mama says they came all the way from Kent, can you imagine?—”
“Miss Harbury…” Sebastian cut in gently, but she barely heard him. She’d already launched into a breathless story about her sister’s poodle and a new bonnet trimmed with peacock feathers.
He waited for a gap, but there wasn’t one. He manufactured one instead.
“Miss Harbury,” he said again with all the gentle force of a blade slipping under silk. She startled mid-giggle, blinking up at him as if he’d just dropped a crown in her lap.
“Forgive me,” he said smoothly, taking her hand gently in his and placing a light, chaste kiss on it. “I’ve just recalled, there’s a small matter I must see to. A guest, so to speak, to whom I promised a word. But you shall have my next dance. It would be my honor.”
Miss Harbury let out a breathless giggle that might have been a squeal. “Oh! Truly? Your Grace, that would be… oh, I shall tell Mama, she’ll be so?—”
“I look forward to it,” he said, bowing low enough to catch Honoria’s narrowed eyes behind Miss Harbury’s ribbons.
