The Duke in Denial (Scandal in Sussex) (2 page)

Sebastian shifted his feet. Of course William wouldn’t find London overwhelming. The prospect of losing his life no longer hung over him, now he was not at war.

They edged nearer to the ball, silent. In moments, they would separate, each making the rounds of the crowded social event.

Sebastian didn’t like the idea of spending any more time in London society than duty necessitated. The dancing and the small talk were not horrible to contemplate, but he did mind the dewy looks he received from the women. Devoting much of his time to outside pursuits had given his body an athleticism they appreciated, and his blond hair curled naturally, lending him a fashionable air. A widower with a tragic past seemed endearing to the women, and he sometimes wondered if he should be gazing at them in a similarly besotted fashion.

William halted, looking uncertain, and Sebastian paused.

“For my peace of mind,” William said, “let me get you a drink. I assure you, I don’t go about my evenings knocking gentlemen off their feet. I spotted a tavern farther back. Why don’t we go there?”

Sebastian nodded, surprised by William’s suggestion and conscious of disappointing his aunt if he arrived late. Still, even if he were introduced belatedly to his future wife, once they wed they would have a lifetime together. He saw no reason to hasten the meeting. William and he wouldn’t have much of a chance to speak once they entered the teeming ballroom.

They departed the square, Sebastian’s heart racing.

*

The Unicorn Inn sat on the corner of a narrow side street. Sebastian must have strolled by the small building several times and never noticed. William pushed open the door, and a burst of noisy chatter met them. Sebastian struggled to remember the last time he visited a tavern, possibly visiting friends at Cambridge. His evening clothes made him conspicuous amongst the more casually dressed people. He stepped on the dark wood floor, ducking his head to avoid the beams across the ceiling; the tavern had not forgotten its Tudor past.

William led Sebastian to a quiet table in the corner, passing by men playing cards.

“What do you want?” William’s eyes sparkled—smoky brown, lovelier than any man’s eyes had any right to be.

“Want?” Sebastian gazed at his companion. For one moment, he imagined William caressing his cheek, pulling him closer to his face. He shuddered. Clearly he had been too long without a woman. The marriage was more important than ever.

“To drink? Personally, I am quite fond of ale,” William said.

“Ale it is.” Sebastian did not want to admit his unfamiliarity with the beverage. He contented himself with brandy during the day, wine with his meal, and port afterward, as all the other ton did. Some of his class drank ale with breakfast, but he never approved of such indulgence.

“Two tankards,” William called to the barmaid.

Sebastian liked that William took charge. His companion’s hair fell over his brow, and Sebastian fought the urge to brush the wayward locks aside. That would definitely be uncalled for. Sebastian shook his head, pondering how his thoughts had veered so inappropriately, dismayed at the effect William had on him.

The barmaid bustled over at once. Her chestnut dress brushed against the edges of the chairs. She smiled at William, her eyelashes fluttering. Sebastian eyed him, wondering if he was attracted to her.

“Two drinks for the handsome gentlemen.” She placed them on the table, revealing her ample cleavage when she leaned down.

Some patrons frowned at William, perhaps unhappy with the attention she showered upon him. Were the barmaid a member of the ton, her beauty would be paraded before all the nobles as an example of a perfect wife to be.

“Thank you.” William raised his drink, gazing at Sebastian. “Cheers.”

Sebastian smiled and clinked his tankard against William’s, hoping his face would not contort at the inevitable bitter taste.

Instead William’s face twisted, and William rubbed his fingers against his left arm.

Sebastian frowned and his eyes lingered on William’s arm.

“Where have you been hiding yourself?” William asked hastily, removing his fingers. “I’ve never seen you before in London.”

“Managing my estate. It keeps me busy.” Sebastian sobered at the thought of the dark green grassy hills and florid meadows in the Dales. He yearned to return soon. But first, he would need to visit Somerset Hall.

When he looked up, William was smiling at him.

“What brings you to London?” William ran his fingers over the tankard. “Is it your wife’s choice to come here?”

“No wife,” Sebastian said.

“Really?” The warm glow of William’s smile radiated over the wooden table.

“Not anymore.”

“Widowed?” William’s eyes widened. “I didn’t realize . . . I’m sorry.”

“So am I. Henrietta died giving birth.”

At first, he had not quite known what to do with a wife and wondered why poets made such a big deal of love and lovemaking when it seemed just an embarrassing task. But they had become friends, and he mourned her death.

“And the child?”

Sebastian’s chest tightened, the familiar pain gnawing on him. “Charlie died when he was two. A fever.”

William’s face twisted. “I’m so sorry.”

Sebastian nodded. Memories of his son, his life’s passion, flooded him. Charlie’s death had been sudden, but Sebastian remembered every minute he watched, helpless, as his son struggled for breath, the doctor ultimately defeated.

That was the past. The future lay before Sebastian, one in which he could still do his duty, still be honorable, still seek to make his remaining family content.

“Are you attached?” Sebastian asked.

No doubt William was engaged to one of the debutantes, one of those young women who looked like the barmaid but who possessed all the wealth and social skills which came with being one of the ton. Probably she spent her time drawing pictures of the manor house in which she lived, pressing flowers she gathered from her conservatory and singing songs in her drawing room. Or perhaps William was already married. Perhaps he had five children at home.

“I’m not attached,” William said. “Though,” he paused, gazing into Sebastian’s eyes, “I might like to be.”

William leaned forward, and his booted foot touched Sebastian’s. The table was small and William’s legs were long. The touch must have been accidental, but Sebastian did not move. He pressed his foot back, enjoying the sensation. Warmth rushed through him, and then a very private part of him hardened. He jerked his foot away from the other man.

“Are you searching for a wife, then?” Sebastian fiddled with his napkin, the cloth coarser than that to which he was accustomed. “This is the place to be. Right at the height of the season. Lots of qualified women here.”

William dropped his shoulders before lifting them and offering a weak smile. “I’m just enjoying being back in England. Glorious Britain and all.”

Likely William had women throwing themselves at him and enjoyed it. Or perhaps he was one of those men who had acquired a married woman to be a mistress. Sebastian’s chest tightened. “I imagine you quite enjoy London.”

William tilted his head to the side, observing Sebastian. “It has its advantages, I suppose. Even though the place is swarming with titled people. Unexpected meetings . . .”

“You don’t like people with titles?” A lump formed in Sebastian’s throat, and the words came out hoarser than he desired. Did William know Sebastian was a duke? Was he teasing him?

William leaned back. “I don’t think much good comes out of giving vast amounts of power to certain individuals at birth.”

“Oh.” Sebastian stilled. He stared at the table, running his eyes over the grooves of the wood. “I’m sure they try their best.”

“They’re all pretentious,” William continued. “They wouldn’t have chased after their hat.”

Sebastian coughed. Perhaps now was not the time to disclose his new position to William. His heart raced. He leapt into conversation, endeavoring to keep his voice steady as he struggled for another subject. “My aunt adores the city. She would love nothing more than to reside here the whole year now her husband has passed away.”

“My condolences.”

Sebastian nodded. “I’m confident she’ll return to London in the autumn.”

“And in between?”

“We will see what happens with the French. Hopefully they will not invade.”

“If they do, it will be on the south coast,” said William. “Brighton will be less popular than usual.”

“And my aunt’s home is near Brighton. Well, I suppose it’s my home now.”

“I would like to meet her,” William said. “My sister was once engaged to somebody in the Sussex gentry, though he died.”

“I’m sorry. I would be happy to introduce you to my aunt,” Sebastian said. “I rather think she is conspiring to introduce me to my new bride tonight.”

William stiffened, and he rested his hands on the table. “She is forcing you to marry again? You are a grown man. You do not need to comply with her will.”

“No, no,” Sebastian said. “It’s not like that.”

“You want to marry again?” William sighed and leaned back. The chair creaked beneath him, and the blood vanished from his face. “That is, of course, different. Congratulations.”

If Sebastian did not know better, he would have thought William seemed disappointed.

“I have not met her yet. It might not happen. It is only a thought.” Sebastian regretted his statement. William seemed upset. Sebastian finished his drink, forcing down the bitter bubbles.

“Perhaps we should make our entrance at the ball,” William said, frowning. They hurried out, the regulars staring at them as they exited the tavern.

Sebastian pulled his coat tighter around himself, bracing against the cold night. He darted his eyes to William, who stared straight ahead. Even without their earlier levity, Sebastian found himself taking smaller steps, anxious to prolong their time together.

They headed into the townhouse, leaving their coats at the entrance and zigzagging amongst the clusters of people. All seemed intent on welcoming William back to London. He must have been a popular fixture in London society.

The ballroom lay on the second floor, and they climbed the white marble stairs together. From time to time, Sebastian glanced at William, admiring his strong form, the red uniform accentuated against a sea of cream and pastel gowns. They strolled through large gilded doors, welcomed by the pale pink walls of the ballroom decorated with gold baroque plaster. A relief of the Roman goddess Minerva regarded them from the ceiling, and for a moment, Sebastian felt uncomfortable under her all-knowing gaze.

“Do you not desire to dance with any of the beautiful women here?” Sebastian gestured toward the partygoers bouncing to a cotillion. He had a tendency to babble about beautiful women in the presence of handsome men. If they thought him inarticulate, he would so much rather they considered his reticence to be the result of the women who surrounded them rather than their masculine selves.

William’s body tensed, but his features relaxed. “I’ll find my sister. She told me she may have some news to share with me tonight. Perhaps I’ll see you later.”

Sebastian nodded and watched William disappear into the throng of well-dressed guests, wondering why all the colors seemed to fade in his absence.

Chapter Two

William stepped through the crowded ballroom, brushing past perspiring guests and the herds of women doused in clashing perfumes as he sought out his sister. He did not offer every clumsy man he encountered a drink, and he was regretting that he had followed his impulse to do so with Sebastian.

A stout man with a moustache that curled in a ridiculous flourish interrupted his thoughts. He recognized him at once. Sir Ambrose, society know-it-all and the self-proclaimed savior of him and his sister after their parents died. Sir Ambrose swaggered toward him, and he tensed, bracing himself.

“And how was the war?” Sir Ambrose asked after greeting him.

“It did its name justice,” William said.

The man tilted his head. “Its name?”

“Very warlike. Blood and all that. Dying.” William paused. Surely the man did not mean him to go on? Sir Ambrose’s granite eyes bored into him. “Killing. Everything one expects.”

“Ah ha. You fought in India, didn’t you?”

“Indeed. Under Lord Arthur Wellesley. We defeated six thousand Marathas at Assaye.” William smiled, still marveling at that unexpected triumph.

“Sweltering country,” Sir Ambrose said. “Wouldn’t want to fight there.”

“Yes.” The heat of India did attract the most comments. He surveyed Sir Ambrose’s corpulent body and suspected the aristocrat would not want to fight anywhere.

“We should return to war soon. Otherwise the frogs will come for us! Sailing over in balloons.” The man laughed, his face red under the glow of the eight-hour candles dispersed around the room in formidable candelabras.

William smiled in spite of himself at the man’s joviality. “I think it’s been proved the winds would not allow for that.”

“They’ll try though. It’s a shame the colonies gave them all that money for Louisiana last year.”

William acquiesced. The fact that a British bank had lent the colonists the money in the first place did nothing to rectify the misfortune.

“But let’s not dwell on miserable topics. How’s your sister?” Sir Ambrose licked his lips.

William stepped back, his boots scraping on the polished floor. His sister’s beauty was renowned, and she received more attention than she desired.

“Her fiancé’s death left a terrible void, of course, but she’s holding up.”

“So deplorable about her fiancé’s untimely passing.” Sir Ambrose thrust up his shoulders and dropped them, his expression overwrought, playacting an emotion William was certain the baronet did not feel. “She’s transformed into such an alluring woman. Do tell me, is she to come out of mourning soon? I imagine she must be most eager to marry. They do say engaged women are ruined if their betrothals fall through.”

William narrowed his eyes and lowered his hand, half expecting to find the hilt of his saber. Perhaps it was for the best he had not brought the weapon with him tonight. Sir Ambrose may have been a friend of his parents, but William had never cared for him. “Do not say you are implying anything improper.”