The Duke in Denial (Scandal in Sussex) (14 page)

“Please hand me my letter.” She stretched out her hand.

“Don’t concern yourself,” William stammered. “The sender made a mistake. It was addressed to me. We have the same last name.”

Dorothea’s eyes flickered to the letter, and he stuffed it into his coat pocket. “I will go now.”

Her eyes moved to his pocket. “We have more to discuss.”

He wavered. “What more could I have to say to you?”

“I might have something to say to you.” Dorothea looked down at her plate, still avoiding his eyes. She tapped her fingers against the tablecloth.

The clock ticked in the background, and dread filled William. “Dorothea?”

She gazed up, her jaw set. “You asked if I enjoyed the party. And I did. Until I made the mistake of wandering into the garden.”

“Did you?” He swallowed, refusing to think of all she may have seen. “Did you not fancy Lady Caroline’s new statues? I found them most enchanting.”

“They were not the only things to capture my interest.”

“No?”

Dorothea sighed. She folded her hands together. “I hesitate to bring this up. You are my brother, and I’m fond of you. But I feel I must say something.”

His back tensed. It was clear what Dorothea would say next: she would say the words he had always hoped she would never utter. She would say she knew his secret. Not conjecture. Not childhood rumor. But recent, unmistakable proof.

“I saw you. You know when. Why did you do it? It’s immoral. When you were fifteen was one thing, but you’re an adult now.”

“What about when I was fifteen?” William’s chest clenched, the words coming out hoarsely. He paused, thinking of those first kisses he shared with Edward, one of the young grooms on his parents’ estate, before their deaths. Those days had been wonderfully innocent. How would Dorothea know about that? It must all be conjecture. Women’s intuition.

“Why do you think our father packed you off to Harrow?”

William’s knees buckled. He yanked a chair from the breakfast table and sat down.

Dorothea lifted her chin. “I can assure you, he didn’t move you because of a sudden interest in your education.”

“No?” William reached across the table and grasped some bread. He avoided Dorothea’s eyes, busying himself with the butter, hoping she did not notice how his hands shook.

“You and that groom were far too familiar. Father hoped the incident occurred because we were in such an isolated place. He hoped that by giving you a more worldly view you would not become a deviant.”

“Oh.” A knot formed in his chest, and he struggled to breathe. His burgeoning sexuality, which he thought he had hidden with such care, had not only been witnessed but discussed by his family members. “I—”

“You won’t destroy this for me, will you?”

“What? Destroy? What can you mean?” William hoped he sounded dismissive. He may have done, but he doubted he sounded kind. Or trustworthy.

Dorothea’s face hardened. “I am not oblivious to your inclinations. You must understand what it means to want something to go well.”

“Why, whatever inclinations can you mean?” William’s voice trembled. He forced himself to sound strong.

“Sordid things.”

“I cannot imagine what you are referring to.” He spoke slowly, but his heart rate escalated. How fast would it need to go before he would faint? He was certain it was beating very quickly now.

“Men.”

William shuddered as if a block of ice had slammed against him.

“Nonsense. You know I admire women.” He hoped he conveyed authority in his tone.

“So you keep telling me, though I have yet to see any woman on your arm. I saw you. In the pagoda.” She rested her hands on her hips and her dark eyes blazed. “You kissed my fiancé last night in the pagoda. At our engagement party. How could you?”

“I don’t know,” William said gruffly. He would not tell her Sebastian kissed him back.

William had seized the moment, aware that Sebastian and Dorothea would soon marry, and then such kisses would be an impossibility. William would never want Sebastian to be an unfaithful husband, would never want Dorothea to suffer from that.

But did Dorothea really need to marry Sebastian?

Tension filled the air between them. The room warmed, as if the fire the servants had created had spread to the furniture.

“Perhaps it doesn’t matter,” Dorothea said. “Did Sebastian tell you we are to move to Sussex soon? You will see less of him then.”

“He did. Apparently you were most favorable to the idea.”

“I may have expressed that sentiment.”

“You might be positioning yourself on the middle of a battleground. Somerset Hall borders the channel.”

“It’s evident his upcoming absence grieves you greatly.”

Heat rose to his face, and his chest tightened. “This is about your safety too. You’re all I have left.”

“What a unique manner you choose to show your respects to me.” Her lips were drawn tightly together.

“I care about you.”

“And I you. But you kissed my fiancé. You endangered everyone.”

William asked hoarsely, “How did you find us? Was it just a coincidence?”

Dorothea reddened.

William blinked. “You looked for us?”

“You seemed tense around him. I wondered if there might be something between you two.”

William set his jaw. He thought he had been subtle. And she had known all along, had perhaps been analyzing all of his interactions with other men.

“That was the first time, Dorothea. I promise.”

His sister nodded. “Don’t damage my relationship with Sebastian.”

“Even if he doesn’t care for you?”

Dorothea paled. “Don’t forget that I can damage your career. I doubt you would hold up well if your superiors learned. You wouldn’t be allowed to return to the army. You might be forced to find some wealthy wife to support you. Given the nature of what the scandal would be, I doubt any but the most desperate would take you on. I’m not convinced you would find any marriage pleasurable, let alone one in which you settled for the dregs of the ton.”

William swallowed, his throat dry. His heart hammered in his chest.

How true. William had no doubt his colonel would not take kindly to any unsavory stories about him. He would be barred from the army. It was deemed acceptable for soldiers to do all sorts of vile things with women of the night. The army forgave them for defiling women in towns they had conquered following battles. Causing women to scream in agony was dismissed as normal behavior for soldiers, but to be discovered making consensual love with another man might lead to both of them being hanged.

William had little urge to argue with her more. The desire to visit Sebastian consumed him, and he removed the note from his pocket.

He tossed the note into the hearth. He watched with satisfaction as the flames shriveled the edges and moved rapidly to the center of the note.

“How thoughtful.” Dorothea tightened her lips.

William stared at her, irritated that she had not had a stronger reaction. He would be furious if she had burned a note Sebastian sent him.

He headed out of the townhouse again, only this time he rounded the corner and ran. He doubted it was more than half past eight now, and the streets were quiet except for the tradesmen and servants going about their duties. The ton would sleep longer, not venturing out to their usual activities of horse riding and people watching in Hyde Park until the afternoon. His feet pounded against the cobblestones, and he ignored the stares of everybody he encountered.

Dorothea had not acted with grace. Only concerned with his title and the security it would offer her, she did not love Sebastian. If he were engaged to Sebastian, he would spend every waking moment with him. He would gaze at him in open adoration. William was damned if he would permit Sebastian to marry a woman who did not care for him. Even if said woman was his sister and threatened William’s career. Sebastian was simply too wonderful; the man deserved to be worshiped.

Sebastian could lead a life of pleasure, but he gave Dorothea and William his main London townhouse because his cousin’s will had not provided for Dorothea. He even intended to marry her, rescuing her from the rumors that swirled around her about her relationship with Gregory Lewis. Sebastian was determined to do right by everyone except himself.

William ran past a few startled onlookers toward Sloane Square and Sebastian.

Chapter Ten

William bounded up the marble stairs to Sebastian’s apartment two steps at a time. He had never visited Sebastian before, and his heartbeat quickened at the knowledge the man was so near. He battered the crimson door, brushed past the startled maid, and marched into the apartment.

“Your Grace,” he called, storming into the empty parlor. William scanned the contents of the room: the carefully chosen decor, the primrose pillows, and the antique chairs. A painting of an army man hung over a walnut bureau. William’s eyes narrowed, noting the subject’s ripped shirt and exposed chest. This was not a picture men interested in women put on their walls.

“Sebastian.” His voice rose. He snatched the painting off the wall and carried it with him. “What is this?”

The sound of purposeful footsteps rushed toward him. He swirled, hopeful to see Sebastian. He needed to see Sebastian.

It was not Sebastian.

A man in a dark suit faced him. The person blinked and averted his eyes from the painting.

William sighed, energy escaping from him. He slouched his shoulders, conscious of the ridiculous image he must evoke. The floral embellishments of the gilt frame pushed into his fingers, and he rested the painting against his leg. “You must be Sebastian’s manservant.”

“And you must be Captain Carlisle.”

He nodded, heartened Sebastian had mentioned him to someone in his household. That must mean he was not entirely lacking in importance to Sebastian.

The servant glanced at the painting, and William’s face heated.

“I have a query about the artist,” William mumbled.

The servant nodded, and his eyes softened.

“Where is he?” William asked.

“Perhaps if you take a seat—”

William brushed past him. The man had not denied Sebastian was home. The urge to speak with him overwhelmed William. He searched the rest of the apartment, barging into the kitchen, and then clasped a door handle to another room.

“Sir!”

William ignored the outraged expressions of the servants and swung the door open.

Sebastian’s room. William lifted his nose, the scent of fresh cotton wafting over him. He surveyed the room, admiring the clean lines. The simple furniture lacked the opulence of so many places of the ton.

A bump lay in the middle of the bed. William gasped. It might be Sebastian. He hoped it was Sebastian. He leaned the painting against the wall and stepped to the bed, struggling to resist the temptation to run his fingers over the crisp white sheets.

He grabbed a stool and whispered, “Sebastian.”

The bump stirred, and William inhaled sharply as an arm slipped out from beneath the cover.

“Grayson?” Sebastian’s voice, muffled by blankets, responded.

William cringed. He hoped that was the name of the manservant.

“It’s William. I—I need to speak to you.”

“William?” This time the voice was louder, and the bed covers shifted violently as Sebastian’s tousled head appeared. He blinked, confusion evident in his vivid blue eyes. “You’re here.”

“Forgive me. I know it is unconventional . . .”

“Unconventional!” Sebastian sat up in the bed, revealing an ivory nightshirt that William longed to tear off. Sebastian’s glistening, ruffled hair framed his face, giving him the appearance of a misplaced angel. William longed to unbutton the neck and touch the white ruffles.

William bit his lip. “Well. Perhaps very unconventional. But I needed to speak to you in private.”

He paused. Dorothea had threatened his commission. And she was corresponding with another man. And perhaps she was seeing Hammerstead as well. But he had no desire to bombard Sebastian with attacks on his fiancée’s character. All he desired was to ask whether Sebastian cared for him, but the words were too foolish to utter.

“Then speak to me.”

William marveled at Sebastian’s solemn tone. Sebastian’s eyes were large and full. As were his lips. William wanted to kiss them. Desperately.

“You want to speak about the engagement party?”

William nodded, his chest clenching. He crouched nearer Sebastian, meeting the man’s eyes anxiously, hoping he had not misread things. Perhaps William did not appeal to him. Perhaps he really did love Dorothea, and William was ruining a lifetime of family gatherings; perhaps he would shatter William’s heart.

Sebastian whitened. “It was inappropriate. I know. Forgive me.”

The words shot through William with the force of the greatest Indian cannon.

“You must despise me.” Sebastian lowered his head, and his eyelashes, so dark and long, fluttered.

“I could never despise you.”

Sebastian’s eyelashes flickered up. “I will strive to be a good husband to your sister. I—I don’t know what came over me.”

“I think you do.” He eyed the painting. “Perhaps you have always been drawn to men.”

Sebastian froze.

“Perhaps,” Sebastian whispered, his eyes wide with fear.

William sensed he lay on the verge of something vital, a discovery which might make his life glorious. It had been a risk to come to Sebastian’s home, one he needed to take. He had almost died on the battlefield in India, and he might die once he returned to fight. He might perish before then—Lewis had. In a life filled with risks, he might as well take one that held the possibility of a tremendous reward.

William touched Sebastian’s hand, wincing when the man flinched. He took a deep breath and confessed, “I am most fond of you.”

He cupped Sebastian’s face and ran his fingers over his silky locks, smiling when a blush of pleasure appeared under the elegant ridge of Sebastian’s cheekbones.

This time Sebastian did not break away.

“You are so handsome,” said William in awe. “You have no idea. No idea at all.”