Page 39 of A Duke's Lustful Portrait
“Goodness no,” Sebastian said, shaking his head firmly. Regardless of what problems he may or may not have had, he would never request the assistance of the Lord’s Society. He was already far too beholden to them for his liking, but that was unavoidable if he wanted to continue growing closer to Sinclair. “I’m just curious, that’s all.”
“Of course, that’s where the new members come in.”
Sebastian turned his head sharply. “In what way?” he asked.
“Why, you have to prove your loyalty somehow, don’t you?”
Anxiety snaked up Sebastian’s spine. He knew there would be certain tasks he would have to undertake, but he continually pushed the thought from his mind. He dreaded discovering what would be asked of him—blackmail, theft, or something else entirely.
He drank back his wine in a single gulp, then deposited the empty glass on the tray of a passing maid. “Excuse me, Pembry. I think I’ll take a look around.”
He didn’t bother waiting for a reply before he slipped into the crowd of guests. The dance floor still remained empty, but the chairs and tables around the outside were filled with excitable men of all ages, and Sebastian wormed his way through them, half listening to conversations, not really sure where he was going.
Until he arrived in front of Arabella’s easel, he hadn’t even realized that she had been his destination. She had enchanted him entirely; her pull on him like magic. He smiled and went to move around to greet her when he heard her voice sharp and cold.
“While I appreciate your kind words, My Lord, I must ask you to take a step back. As my father has no doubt explained to you countless times, you may be bold with any of the ladies here except forme.”
“I’ve seen the way you paint, My Lady,” the man droned, his voice thick with alcohol. He leaned over her, his stance as drunk as his voice. “No way you could produce art like that if you had an ounce of goodness left in you.”
“No, My Lord, that’s not—”
“Come on,” he said. “It won’t take long. I have no doubt all the others have had their way with you. It’s my turn now.”
“I can assure you, Lord—”
“What is going on here?”
Sebastian’s words came out as a roar, enflamed with a desire to protect her but, more than that, with a raging jealousy that made him endlessly angry. He had come to think of her ashis, even though she was anything but, and he couldn’t stand the thought of some drunken man laying his paws upon her.
“Oh, look!” the drunken man replied, turning his stumbling attention to Sebastian. “It’s the Dark Duke come to the rescue! What’s the problem? You don’t want a bit of it, too?”
“No, I do not,” he said through clenched teeth. In his peripheral vision, he could see Arabella staring at him in both horror and relief, and he prayed that she would be pleased rather than angry at his interception.
The man snorted. “You must have the blood of the dead if this fine specimen of womanhood doesn’t take your fancy.”
“Or perhaps I know how to treat a lady with the respect she deserves. I am certain neither Lady Arabella nor the Duke of Westment would be happy to hear you besmirching her good name in such a manner!”
“But this is theLord’ssociety, here for the enjoying of the lords.” He snorted again and then laughed as if coming to a conclusion. “Ah, I understand now! You want to have a go first! Well, get in line, Ravenswood. I’ve been a member of this society for three years now, and that, by rights, means I have first dibs.”
His words tipped Sebastian’s rage over the edge. He raised his arm, and with all his might, he threw a punch at the drunken man. The lord stumbled, flailing as he fell backwards over a chair. Arabella gasped, leaping out of his way as the attention of everybody in the room was drawn to them.
“Goodness,” she cried.
Sebastian glared down at the man now sprawled across the floor. “I apologize, My Lady. You should not have witnessed such violence, but men like that will not stop at words alone.”
“Ravenswood! What’s happening?”
Sebastian turned to see Sinclair marching towards them, a face as thunderous as his own mood.
“This … this rat,” he spat, “was bothering your daughter.”
Sinclair looked at Arabella. “Is that true?”
Arabella nodded, though Sebastian noted the spark of fear in her eyes as she cowered away from the lot of them. How desperately Sebastian wanted to take away that fear, to keep her happy and safe.And with me.
He blinked away his thoughts. Sinclair clicked his fingers, and several footmen came running. He needed only to point at the man on the floor, and the servants gathered him up, dragging him from the room unceremoniously.
“He will be dealt with appropriately,” he said darkly. Then, putting on a smile, he slapped Sebastian on the back. “As for you, my dear boy, I think a drink is in order. Any man who puts himself at pains to protect my daughter when there is nothing in it for himself is a very good friend of mine.”
