“You are not yourself,” Dorothea said.
“No.” He hardly brought himself to meet her eyes, and he continued to stir his tea, more slowly this time.
“Do not assume,” Dorothea said, “that I regret my engagement to Gregory in the least. It is true I miss him extraordinarily, and our engagement ended far too soon, but I would not have changed that experience.”
William resolved to be more supportive of his sister. He mourned the end of a relationship that had never occurred; she mourned the end of one that had. He pushed up from his chair, ignoring his half-eaten roll and spilled tea, and kissed the top of her head. “You are a braver person than I.”
Dorothea smiled. “We’ll find you a woman to be brave for. I am certain we can find you a pleasant debutante.”
The butler entered the room, saving William from answering. “You have a caller, my lady.”
“Do I?” Dorothea frowned. She rose as well and smoothed her dress, preparing for her visitor. “Who is it?”
The sun glared through the window, highlighting the dark circles under her eyes, derived from months of poor sleep. Her fiancé’s death still affected her.
No doubt William’s appalling behavior did not help matters. He sighed.
“It is His Grace, the Duke of Lansdowne.”
“So soon? How kind of him.” Dorothea patted her fingers over her hair. She need not have done so; her dark curls framed her face impeccably. “Very well. Do send him into the drawing room.”
William’s breath quickened. “I should go.”
“And leave me unchaperoned? How terribly daring. No.” Dorothea grabbed his hand and led him into the adjacent room, smiling. “You will keep us company.”
Dorothea motioned to the butler. “Doyle? Before you usher His Grace through, do tell Mrs. Holmes to bring us tea and biscuits. I’m certain the captain is still hungry, and the duke might appreciate something.”
Doyle bowed before exiting.
William and Dorothea proceeded to the adjoining room, decorated with gilded framed paintings of ancestors in white wigs posing outside Somerset Hall, the duke’s main country home. Grecian gods in various states of dress perched on fluffy clouds peered down at him from the painted ceiling.
A lump formed in his throat; the prospect of seeing Sebastian so soon unnerved him.
“Maybe the duke knows someone whom you might marry.”
The ton swarmed with young women used to being isolated in their fathers’ country manors, unaccustomed to the company of men. Their eyes would widen when they saw his uniform and the gold insignia indicating his rank, hopeful that he would sweep them into a life that would satisfy their parents. “There are plenty of prospects.”
“Indeed.” Dorothea smirked.
“That’s not what I meant,” William grumbled, placing his hand on his still-aching forehead.
Marriage held no appeal to him. Marriage called for fidelity, and he could not fathom being faithful to a woman when he had these urges, urges he could fill for a few guineas, urges he had surrendered to regularly with visits to various molly houses on the outskirts of London, and even in Brighton ever since his return from India.
Such explorations might not be the most savory thing to do, but he had promised when he faced death in India that he would satisfy these inclinations on his return. He had flirted with women sufficiently to know they failed to interest him. He had even bedded some women, locals who slipped into his chamber, likely gifted by other soldiers. Placing his arms on their curved bodies satisfied him far less than placing his arms on men. Nothing replaced the sensation of a man’s hard chest pressed against his.
He always used a pseudonym when he went out. Lately he had taken to calling himself Ralph. But his visits to molly houses were ridiculous and had to end; the constant risk of being discovered hovered over him.
Thoughts of Sebastian sapped his desire to do unspeakable things with a practical stranger. How had he led himself to imagine that a tumble with an unknown man could ever replace the pleasures of a true companion?
*
The duke arrived, hauling a giant bouquet of tawny roses. His intent to court Dorothea could not have been more conspicuous.
He was still handsome, of course. The dark blond hair still curled. His blue eyes and long lashes still made William’s heart ache. He longed to drag him into the next room, remove the man’s clothes, and run his lips across every inch of his body.
Sebastian met his eyes, and a smile spread on his face. William’s heart clenched, tightening with each millimeter Sebastian’s smile ascended. It would be so easy for him to believe that Sebastian’s smile was meant for him.
Sebastian bowed to Dorothea. “I hope you do not find it improper I am calling so soon after last night’s festivities.”
“Not at all.” Dorothea smiled, gesturing to the sofa. “Do take a seat, Your Grace. It is a pleasure to see you again.”
“These are for you.” Sebastian handed the bouquet to Dorothea, who beamed, burying her face in the sweet scent.
William struggled to stifle his dismay, his body more rigid, and his breath more uneven, than ever before.
While Dorothea rang for the house staff to find a vase for the flowers, Sebastian settled in the chair next to him, stretching his long legs in front of him. William eased down and squirmed in his chair, crossing his legs away from Sebastian.
When Mrs. Holmes arrived with the tea, William grabbed the porcelain teapot and sloshed liquid into the nearest puce patterned cup.
Dorothea gasped, and her face flushed.
“You usually do this, dear. I thought it was my turn,” William said.
She nodded, her eyes wide.
William busied his hands, anxious to avoid eyeing Sebastian’s long, slender body. He loved the way Sebastian’s cravat curled under his chin.
William thrust Dorothea’s cup in her direction. The murky liquid swirled, like a stormy ocean, and he willed his arm to steady.
“Tea?” William asked Sebastian, aware the man was observing him.
“Yes, please.” Sebastian nodded, his brow wrinkled. “With milk.”
“I rather became accustomed to making my own tea in the war,” William said apologetically. He passed Sebastian a drink before making his own.
“You have been through such trying times,” Sebastian said softly. “I am quite impressed by you. Your sister told me about your injury.”
The flattery heated William’s heart, like kindling desperate to catch light, no matter how paltry the spark, and he averted his eyes. Sebastian could say anything and it would affect him. William lurched to his feet, nearly tripping on the rug. “I should go. Please forgive me.”
He bowed, ignoring their startled faces, and bounded up the stairs. The day was not supposed to go this way. Sebastian’s and Dorothea’s voices murmured. Let them be surprised.
He closed the door to his room. Footsteps ascended the stairs, Dorothea probably coming to scold him. He would feign a headache, or a stomachache. Yes, contamination from the seed cake. That must be possible, right? William knew of men whose health plummeted after eating fish . . .
He leapt up, the ornate room, for all its size, suddenly seeming too constricting to accommodate him. Somebody knocked on the door, and he stopped himself from pacing the room.
“William?” He recognized the masculine voice at once, but he hoped he was mistaken and that Doyle was being overly informal.
He froze, afraid to move. Maybe he could just be quiet, willing the maple floorboards not to groan under his weight.
“Yes?” William answered in spite of himself. Never mind that plan.
The door swung open, and Sebastian stood before him. “You left.”
William’s cheeks warmed. “So I did.”
“I trust you are well?” Sebastian’s large eyes regarded William. He tucked some hair behind his ear, as if nervous to be in the same room as William.
“I’m fine. Pray forgive my rudeness. I fear I
have taken ill. You should return downstairs; I might be contagious.” Maybe food poisoning was the wrong excuse.
“I will brave that risk.” Sebastian smiled. “And your sister is all too conscious of the ramifications of being in a room with an unmarried man. I think she retired to her own room, though she did tell me where to find you.”
Breath rushed from William, and he slid onto the bed. He trembled, the pain in his arm, in his chest, engulfing him.
“May I join you?”
William nodded, astounded when Sebastian sat next to him and not in the armchair opposite. He allowed himself to listen to the other man breathe, savoring the experience.
“I used to visit this room sometimes as a child. I loved this bed. I found the curtains romantic.” Sebastian tilted his head, his gaze fixed on the lavish canopy.
The last thing William needed was Sebastian on his bed telling him how romantic it was.
Pink tinged the man’s cheeks, as if conscious of the impropriety of the sentiment.
William imagined pushing Sebastian down on the bed, straddling him, untying his cravat, and kissing his lips. He would tear off Sebastian’s shirt, tear off his breeches . . . William shifted, aroused in spite of himself. He leaned forward, protecting himself from any inquisitive look Sebastian might give him. The bed creaked, and he shut his eyes as sweat developed on his body.
“Why did you come?” The words came out more gruffly than William intended.
Sebastian, angel that he was, did not pause. “I was worried about you. Your sister was concerned as well.”
Of course. The good suitor. “I’m sorry to have cut your visit short. You wanted to see Dorothea.”
“I suppose so.” Sebastian cleared his throat. “Though I do not yet know her. I do know you. Somewhat. And I hope to know you better.”
William could think of all sorts of ways in which Sebastian could know him better, but he was not going to suggest any of them.
“You left the ball abruptly.”
“I was taken ill,” William said, in the spirit of keeping his story consistent.
Sebastian nodded and glanced away. “I was concerned.”
William swallowed, his throat dry. Surely Sebastian had no idea how this was sounding, how suggestive he was.
“Thank you for letting Dorothea live here. And me.” William’s voice was hoarse. He already owed Sebastian so much. “I was surprised and thankful when we learned you insisted Dorothea use this house.”
Sebastian shrugged. “Lewis would have desired it.”
“She would have suffered otherwise, Your Grace.”
A frown spread upon Sebastian’s face. He cocked his head. “Your parents’ death left you with few options.”
“They were good parents,” William hastened to say. He despised the pitying words people—often their former friends—would use to refer to them. “They just had less money than everyone thought.”
Though that was an understatement.
“Lewis planned to make a formal bequest for Dorothea in his will. I am only doing what is right.”
William nodded. He stared down at his mangled arm, conscious of his imperfections compared to the duke. He had nothing to offer a man like that. How could he have been so foolish to allow himself to believe otherwise?
“I enjoyed last night,” Sebastian continued.
“Meeting my sister?”
“And you.” Sebastian looked so earnest, staring into William’s eyes.
“You are kind.” William smiled, marveling at the length of Sebastian’s long eyelashes. Remembering himself, he coughed. “So we will be family.”
“Yes.”
William’s chest tightened, as if a boa constrictor were wrapping itself around his body, pressing its smooth, cool skin against him.
Sebastian straightened. “I beg your pardon. I understand why you are upset.”
“You do?”
William’s heart froze, his body rigid as if a team of cavalry had appeared before him with such abruptness that he struggled to remember if he had even heard the trample of their hooves. Had Sebastian discovered his secret? Surely not. But perhaps when their legs touched in the tavern . . . his desire was probably blatant. Sweat formed at the back of his neck, and he leaned away from Sebastian, waiting for the world to shatter around him.
“I should have asked you first.”
“What do you mean?” William attempted to control his breath. Perhaps Sebastian did not suspect the hours he spent longing after him. “What should you have asked?”
“For your sister’s hand. You are her closest living relation. I should have asked your permission before meeting her this morning. No wonder you were upset. I do apologize. It’s been awhile since I last did this, and I must reacquaint myself with the ways of the ton.”
“Her hand?” And then it dawned on him. He shuddered, realizing what Sebastian was about to ask. “My sister’s hand in marriage?”
“Normally I would have gone to her father, but . . .”
“Our parents are both dead,” William finished.
“Exactly.”
The air hung thick between them. William sighed and stared at the fireplace. The fire had consumed itself, and only ashes remained.
“Are you engaged now?” William asked, dreading the answer. His chest tightened. “She never mentioned . . .”
“No! No, we are not. Not yet.” Sebastian tilted his head. “Would you mind? If I were to ask her? I would take good care of her, I promise that.”
“You have my permission,” William said hastily. Did Sebastian truly think he was upset because he wanted Sebastian to ask him for Dorothea’s hand in marriage? He would need to leave. The thought of Sebastian listing all the ways he would be a good husband to Dorothea would be too much to tolerate. The conversation had continued for too long. He jumped off the bed, avoiding Sebastian’s bemused expression. “I am afraid I have a prior engagement I must prepare for.”
“I am sorry. I had no idea.”
“I just remembered. I must meet a friend in Hyde Park.” The words sounded false to his ears: it was an absurd statement. Sebastian would think him horrible.
“Oh.” Sebastian rose from the bed and strode to William. “But you are unwell. You must not strain yourself. I would not want you to harm yourself.”
“It is of the utmost importance, I fear. Please, do excuse me. Doyle will show you out—Your Grace.”
Sebastian’s eyes widened and he swallowed. He lowered his head, and William had to remind himself that sweeping him up in his arms would be the last thing Sebastian wished.
Chapter Five
William grasped the handle of his pistol, fingering the curves. He longed for India and the adrenaline rush of battle. Even if danger had filled his life there, he had not felt trapped. All those years spent anticipating his return to England only to find life in the ton more stifling and oppressive than the Oriental heat.
William desired men, though only the threat of death in the bloody battles in India had forced him to reconcile with that yearning. He had survived the clashing of swords and shooting of pistols, and he was determined to find happiness. He had promised himself that once in England, away from the smell of cannon smoke and dying men, he would fulfill his urges. He had heard rumors of men whose friendship invited speculation, and he wished to be one of those men, though he certainly had not admitted his inclinations to anyone else. Even if he had no desire to be the subject of gossip, he hoped he might meet a man who could be more. Under the moonlight and the shadows of the tree, he had allowed himself to imagine that Sebastian just might be that man.
“Preparing for battle already?” An amused voice broke his reverie, flinging him back to the present.
He lowered the gun, and a surge of pain jolted through his bad arm. His sister stood in the open door frame of his bedroom. She smiled, her expression fond. He locked the weapon away with care, lingering on the silver scrolls which decorated the walnut handle.
D
orothea strode to him, her long afternoon gown swishing against the furniture in his room. “You’ll be back battling the enemy before you know it.”
He nodded, conscious of the pain in his arm that followed him from room to room, from dawn to sunset.
His sister’s eyes saddened. “I know you long to return.”
“I enjoy living with you.”
“And yet you must rush off every morning.” She turned away.
Guilt flooded him at the resignation in her tone, at her conviction that he would prefer to avoid her.
“Dorothea . . .”
Her footsteps halted, and her dark locks fluttered. “Yes?”
“I want you to find contentment.” He swallowed, urging himself to continue. “I am glad you are finding happiness with Sebastian.” The man had been visiting his sister for weeks.
Her eyes darted away. “Thank you.”
The air thickened between them. He dreaded seeing her eyes lit with joy, her cheeks flushed, yet perhaps the possibility of not seeing these signs of affection antagonized him more.
He turned to her. The color of her cheeks remained unchanged, and her gaze was unreassuringly steady.
“I trust you are happy with him?”
Dorothea’s lips rose. “You need not worry so much. There is no country to save.”
He smiled weakly. He needed his younger sister to be happy. It might not be in reach for him, but he wanted her to grasp it, cling to it with all the might of her small-boned frame. “Love is important. If you cannot find it with him—”
Dorothea swung around, her eyes crinkling. A smile developed on her face. “I thought you were not romantic.”
William coughed.
Dorothea approached him. “Is that why you have not found somebody? You are too idealistic.”
He averted his eyes. “Idealistic is the wrong word.”
Her gaze softened, but her eyes stayed fixed on him. “You would like to find somebody, wouldn’t you?”
The Duke in Denial (Scandal in Sussex Book 1) Page 5
