He’d grown accustomed. To living with her and her sister, to actually working for a living, to being valued for his opinion.
And he was walking back to where he used to belong, to go tonight to a party where he’d see everyone who knew he used to belong, and no longer did.
The party. It was so important to Ana Maria. He had to attend.
“So you’ll be there tonight?” he asked.
Nash grunted. “She made me promise.”
Sebastian snorted in response. “She did the same thing to me.”
“Determined,” Nash said.
“Yes.”
They walked the rest of the way in silence, which was Nash’s preferred way to travel. Sebastian would have normally tried to engage him in conversation, just to annoy him, but his mind was too filled with what had happened the night before—and what might happen in the future. Both he and Ivy had skirted around the issue of what their activities might mean. Would they do it again? Sebastian certainly hoped so. Would it affect their working relationship? Would she tell her sister what had happened?
And what did he want it to mean in the future?
What did he want for his future?
He wanted her.
He stopped short in surprise, Nash continuing to stride ahead.
“Watch where yer going, mister,” a woman holding a basket of food chided. Nash turned around after a few yards, giving him a quizzical look.
Sebastian gritted his teeth and began to walk again, gesturing to Nash to go ahead.
He wanted her. Forever.
But did she want him? And what would that look like?
If he had still been duke, he would have set her up in a tidy house where he could visit her whenever he had the desire. Which he knew would be frequent.
But even thinking that felt tawdry. He didn’t want to own her, as a nobleman would a mistress; he wanted to be with her, as if they were partners. Partners in love.
He snorted at how mawkish he sounded. Nash and Thaddeus would howl if they heard his thoughts. The man he was before a few weeks ago would howl and then scoff if he heard his thoughts.
But he was neither howling nor scoffing.
The question was, what would the man he was now do to achieve his goals?
“Oh, Ivy.”
Octavia stepped back in appraisal. Ivy smoothed the gown, not because it was wrinkled, but because she was nervous. She, the woman who had fearlessly wagered her and her sister’s futures and set up her own gambling house, was nervous.
About wearing a beautiful gown to an evening party.
“It looks good?” Ivy asked, even though Octavia’s breathless tone had given her the answer.
“Amazing. Come look.”
Octavia shifted the full-length mirror toward Ivy, who took a deep breath before taking a look.
Oh. She did look amazing. She didn’t look like Miss Ivy, professional business owner.
She looked like a goddess. A short goddess, but a goddess nonetheless.
The gown’s golden threads glittered in the light cast by the late-afternoon sun, the low neckline and simple ornamentation drawing attention to Ivy’s pale skin and, as Madame Delyth had already remarked, her lovely bosom.
She had to admit it did look lovely in this context.
Octavia and Carter had dressed her hair in a more elegant style, cajoling a few curls to lay gently against her neck. She wore the gold gloves, and she and Octavia had found some gold earrings in a pawnshop.
“Goodness, miss,” Carter said. “You look like a princess.”
“Like a queen,” Octavia said.
“Thank you both,” Ivy replied. She looked at Octavia. “And you look like a fairy.”
The gown Madame Delyth had chosen for Octavia was lovely and needed very little alteration. It was pale green with an overskirt of sheer tulle studded with beads. Octavia wore white gloves and had found a small pearl drop necklace.
This was how she would have looked if their father hadn’t inflicted such damage to their futures.
But Ivy thought that perhaps the damage had resulted in something better than what would have awaited them otherwise; they made their own decisions, they did what they pleased, and neither of them had to wed anyone whom they disliked.
That Ivy didn’t think marriage was in her area of possible futures was something to be thought of at another time.
She felt her lips lift in a faint smile as she recalled the previous evening—she’d done her best to forget about it while she was working, even though it seemed he could not, judging by how he had tried to kiss her.
But now, preparing to return if only for one evening to her previous life, it was difficult not to.
Not that in her previous life she would have engaged in such play. She laughed aloud at the thought of that.
“What is it?” Octavia was in the middle of twirling in front of the mirror, but paused when she heard Ivy.
“Nothing,” Ivy murmured, shaking her head. Unable to keep herself from smiling.
“Carter, can you see where I might have put my evening slippers?” Octavia said.
Carter nodded, leaving the room.
Octavia’s mouth curled into a mischievous grin, and she raised the skirts of her gown to reveal her evening slippers were on her feet.
“Octavia!” Ivy exclaimed.
“I need to know what happened last night,” Octavia replied. “And we don’t have much time before the party. Before he sees you in that gown. Have I mentioned you look stunning?”
Ivy felt her cheeks heat. “You did. Thank you.” She took a deep breath, which was a bit more difficult than usual because of the closer-fitting gown. “I can’t—” she began, only to stop speaking when Octavia shook her head.
“I don’t need the details, to be honest. That would be decidedly odd. Sebastian is my friend.” She wrinkled her nose at the thought. “I just want to know if you’ve made good on your promise to think about what you want. What you want, Ivy, not what you think other people want.”
“I’m not sure I can tell you that,” Ivy said slowly.
Octavia frowned, putting her hands on her hips for emphasis. “I am your sister, you can tell me any—”
“Because what if I don’t know what I want? And what if I can’t have it?” Ivy knew how she sounded—needy, and wanting, and yet still fierce.
Octavia flung her hands up in the air. “That is the whole point of saying it aloud! It’s not as though you’d say what you want and that thing would walk through the door and wave hello.”
They both reflexively looked at the door.
“But you knew what you wanted to achieve with the club, Ivy. You had a plan, and you laid it out, and then you managed to do it.”
“Even though I might just as easily have failed.”
Octavia brushed that aside. “Of course, you might have. You might still. But you have to try, Ivy. You can’t just do things for everyone else anymore. What about you?”
He had done things for her the night before. Or, more accurately, had done something that had resulted in one tremendous thing. Her knees still felt shaky when she thought about it—that feeling of passion, nearly of rapture, as his mouth and hands had brought her to climax.
“Maybe you really cannot answer now. I understand because I know you.” Octavia gestured to Ivy. “But just know that you should be thinking about it, especially when you’re dressed like that.”
Ivy raised an eyebrow. “So my looking more attractive means I deserve what I want?”
“That is not what I am saying,” Octavia replied in an exasperated tone. “Sometimes I think you say things just to annoy me.”
Ivy suppressed a grin. Because Octavia was right.
“I am saying,” Octavia continued in a pedantic tone, “that the chances of you getting what you want increase if you are confident. And when you are dressed in something beautiful, and you know you look beautiful, you are confident.”
“I appreciate that you are
framing this in terms that a gambler can understand—my chances increase with more confidence,” Ivy replied, an amused tone in her voice.
So—could she gamble with the most precious thing in the world? Her heart?
And what would happen if she lost?
“Finan!” Nash shouted as he and Sebastian entered Nash’s house.
The butler emerged from the hallway, one eyebrow raised. “There’s no need to shout the house down, Your Grace. You told me you were coming with this one. That other one is in your library.”
“Brandy,” Nash said, striding toward the library. He flung the door open, then gestured for Sebastian to enter and followed, shutting the door firmly behind them.
Thaddeus was seated on the sofa, as rigidly at attention as though he was expecting the queen to pay a visit.
“What is it, Thad?” Sebastian asked. “Why did I need to come today?”
Thaddeus looked puzzled, glancing between Nash and Sebastian. “It’s not as though I summoned you. Unless . . .” He paused, focusing on Nash. “Did you just order him to come?” He shook his head. “I was hoping we could spend some time together, as we used to, that is all.”
“If that’s all, I should get back.” Back to her. Back to where he’d have to figure out just what he wanted. Back to where he might not get what he wanted.
“Just one drink, Seb,” Thaddeus replied.
“Please,” Nash added. Nash never asked for anything.
“One drink,” Sebastian agreed. He sat on the sofa beside Thaddeus, spreading his arms over the back of the sofa and crossing his legs.
He was not a military man, after all. Nor was he a duke.
Nash sat in the large chair opposite, his broad frame taking up nearly all the available space in the chair.
“Brandy,” Finan announced as he wheeled a round table into the room. He brought it to the side of the sofa, then began to pour.
“Here you go, sir,” he said, handing a well-filled glass to Sebastian. He distributed the remaining two, then nodded toward Nash and wheeled the table back out again.
“What are we drinking to?” Nash asked.
To her. To all the possibilities. To my future?
Damn it.
“To family. Most especially Ana Maria, whose love none of us deserves.” Thaddeus raised his glass as he spoke, and the other two mirrored his movements.
“To Ana Maria,” they echoed.
The brandy was excellent, of course. Nash spent little on things that most gentlemen in his position would—women, clothing, horses. But he refused to economize on his liquor, something Sebastian appreciated at this very moment. He hadn’t realized he had a headache until now, although of course it stood to reason he would—he’d gotten maybe three hours of sleep and had spent the evening engaged in a delightfully strenuous pursuit.
The brandy helped. Or it was muffling the headache. Either way, it made him feel more like himself.
Although who he was was the question of last night, wasn’t it?
“What is going on with you, Seb?” Nash asked. He gestured accusingly toward Sebastian, careful not to spill his brandy. “How is your dalliance with working for a living?” Nash spoke with a mixture of envy and disdain. The former likely because Nash wished he could just live life as a normal person, disdain because he knew he was dependent on his ducal benefits.
“You’ve proved yourself,” Thaddeus added. “We know you can do without us. But I’m not certain we can do without you.”
The words made Sebastian speechless. Thaddeus—taciturn, serious, distant Thaddeus—had just expressed an emotion that would have been natural coming from the demonstrative Ana Maria, but from Thaddeus?
Nobody spoke for a long moment.
“He’s right,” Nash said gruffly as he finished his brandy. He rose from his chair to pour himself another glass. He paused to regard Sebastian, nodded in emphasis, then returned to his seat.
“Thank you,” Sebastian replied, his throat thick. He had missed them; he missed the easy comfort of being with someone who’d known you your entire life. Who would remind you, when you were being particularly arrogant, of the time you practiced bowing for four hours straight because you were convinced you would fall over if you got it wrong.
“Drink up,” Thaddeus urged. He downed his glass, wincing as he drank. Thaddeus never had been one for drinking. If given the choice, he would always want to be doing something useful rather than indulging himself.
Whereas Sebastian never had had to choose—as he’d told Ivy, things just arrived. Women, power, influence, wealth, and everything else a young, healthy duke might expect.
If he could have returned to his past self, he’d remind that arrogant ass that things could change in an instant. That he should look beyond what was handed to him to see if there was anything else out there that he might prefer.
“So how are things?”
Thaddeus was terrible at making conversation. The way he asked his question made it sound as though he had just recently learned the language.
“Things are . . .” Sebastian began, then paused. Took a sip of brandy. “Things are fine.” He exhaled, shaking his head as he leaned over to splash some more liquor in his glass. “Although you two deserve more than that. I wish I could tell you,” he said, chuckling. “Some things are wonderful”—such as Ivy, his friendship with her sister, Mac’s food—“and some things are not.” His perpetual concern that he would lose his temper and lose his position. That he wouldn’t be up to the responsibility she’d entrusted to him. That she would make enough money so she could close up the club and head off to a remote cottage, as she’d mentioned.
“That’s remarkably vague,” Nash commented.
“As though you’re a fount of information,” Sebastian retorted. “It’s difficult enough to get you to say hello, much less tell us how you’re doing. Most of the time I have no idea if you’re even happy. Though you should be,” he continued in a wry tone, “what with being a duke. Even though you’d say you’d prefer not to be,” he added, forestalling Nash’s reply.
Nash made a grumbling noise and drank more.
Which, Sebastian mused, could be the title of Nash’s biography, given how often he did both things.
“Gentlemen.” Thad spoke in his most commanding voice. It worked, too; both Nash and Sebastian straightened in their seats. No wonder Thaddeus had been so successful in the army. “Stop bickering.”
“And how are you, Thad? Have you resolved the Great Conflict?” Sebastian asked slyly.
“What great conflict?” Thad asked in a puzzled tone.
“The one between the secretary and the valet.”
Nash snorted.
Thad looked nonplussed. “It has been an ongoing battle, to continue your noxious analogy, but I believe we have come to a peaceful resolution.”
“In other words, you’ve flown the white flag,” Sebastian replied with a smirk.
Thad gave an exasperated sigh as he waved his hand. “Fine. Mock me.”
“Oh, we will.” Sebastian grinned as he spoke. He had missed these two, the opportunity to spar with them, knowing nobody would take offense no matter what was said or done.
“As to mocking,” Nash said in a leading tone of voice, “you won’t escape, even if you have become a common man.”
“Oh?” Sebastian said, raising his eyebrow.
Nash leaned back in his chair, folding his arms over his chest. “You might have escaped the torment of being a duke,” he said, his expression making it obvious he knew he was being sarcastic, “but you still have to attend functions like tonight. Dance with some ladies who will still accept your request, drink the best wine at one of the most exclusive homes wearing clothing that someone in your new position would never be able to afford.”
“And your point is—?” Sebastian said.
Nash unfolded his arms, spreading his hands wide. “My point is that you have to suffer alongside us. Why not suffer but take some of the benefits? I a
m certain your strategic cousin”—at which point he gestured to Thaddeus—“could figure out some way for you to return. To your home, to your family. We wouldn’t have to miss you, you could enjoy the aristocracy’s largesse, and you could be satisfied that if things ever went sideways again, you would be fine.”
That was the most amount of words Sebastian had ever heard Nash speak in a row. Sometimes, if Nash was being particularly Nash-like, the most he would have spoken in a week.
Things were definitely not usual if Nash was willingly engaging in conversation.
“I have offered, if you recall,” Thaddeus said. “But you declined. Perhaps it’s just that I haven’t found the right incentive for you to return.”
Did Sebastian want to return?
It was tempting, to be certain. Especially since he’d be returning with the knowledge of all that he would never take for granted again.
But he wouldn’t have her. Nor would he have Octavia, or his friendly badinage with Mac, or even Henry and Samuel’s wary suspicion and hopefully growing grudging respect.
He reeled with the knowledge that returning wouldn’t be enough. Not without her.
And now what should he do with that knowledge?
“But meanwhile, it’s time to get ready,” Thaddeus announced. For the first time, Sebastian was grateful for Thad’s militaristic approach to time and scheduling. He didn’t have to answer Nash. Or himself.
Chapter Twenty-One
“You came!” Lady Ana Maria rushed up to greet Ivy and Octavia, a delighted smile on her face. She took their hands in hers, glancing from one to the other as she squeezed.
“Yes, and you look lovely.”
It was true; Lady Ana Maria wore a striking gown, one more suited for a married lady than a debutante, but it absolutely suited her. It was simply cut, but she’d made up for its simplicity by dressing her dark lustrous hair in a complicated style, winding strands of pearls throughout, a matching strand around her neck. The gown was dusky rose, making her skin look golden in contrast. Her gloves were a dark pink, and she had pearl bracelets on each wrist.
“And you, ladies! Miss Ivy, you look incredible in that color. Perhaps I should have worn gold instead.”
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