The Duke in Denial (Scandal in Sussex) (22 page)

“Were you?” Sebastian’s eyes widened. Even Dorothea looked shocked.

“I see the highwaymen did not choose to make an appearance for you.”

Dorothea shook her head.

“Quite appropriate. You are far too imposing for them. An admirable quality,” William said.

His sister flushed. “To what do I owe the honor of your presence?”

“I could hardly keep away.” William had not seen Dorothea since their argument, and he could see not much had changed between them.

“Is this your first visit to the manor? Shall I give you a tour?” The question appeared innocent, but William knew the answer held the utmost significance to his sister.

He paused, shifting, not wanting to confess this was not his first time at the manor. In the end, he did not have to.

“Your brother? Why he has been here several times. He must have developed quite a fondness for walking with the amount of times he’s sauntered over here,” Penelope said.

“The South Downs are most pleasant,” William said. “The chalky cliffs and rolling hills please the eye.”

“You see?” Penelope laughed. “He should have been a painter. Or a poet.”

Dorothea winced. “My brother has always displayed the strangest romantic tendencies.”

“How sweet,” Penelope said. “Such a shame he is unattached. He will make some woman a lovely husband one day.”

“Do you know of any eligible women in the area?” Dorothea turned to Penelope eagerly.

William noticed Sebastian watching the interaction. Penelope sighed. “I am afraid they are all in London.”

William smiled. “What a pity.”

Dorothea frowned, following Penelope inside.

“It must be a pleasure for you to have your sister here,” Reynolds said to William.

William nodded. “We know each other too little.”

“Indeed.” Reynolds gazed at him intently.

William shifted, uncomfortable. Perhaps it was because the man played cards. Maybe he had developed a habit of reading others far too well.

“Shall we?” William gestured to the library. “Perhaps we can have a drink while Dorothea settles into her room.”

“Of course,” Reynolds murmured. “You do know your way about the place.”

Chapter Sixteen

Dorothea and Lady Reynolds occupied their time in planning an extravagant wedding. His sister took a distinct pleasure in torturing him by asking his thoughts on everything from decorations to fashions. He could not care less if his sister chose to wear a white wedding gown, as was growing popular, or a more adventurous color.

William clambered up the hill from Lyngate.

Tonight would be different. The evening would not be spent stealing surreptitious glances at Sebastian in the dining room and library.

William dreaded going to Sir Ambrose’s. The man unnerved him. If Dorothea were not also going, he might consider staying home. But Dorothea disliked the man more than he did, and he could not permit her to visit without him. He could not see her suffer. Sweat formed on the back of his neck, and his pace quickened.

His route to the manor passed the gatehouse where he had first encountered Sebastian. The small brick building looked innocuous, and he smiled, remembering Sebastian’s conviction it was connected to the strange happenings.

As if a passing vagrant was an unusual circumstance.

He inhaled. His heart rate quickened as he gazed about him. Nobody was in sight. He did not need to be at the manor house for a while—plenty of time to do a bit of investigating. Perhaps he might even distract himself from the unpleasantness of the upcoming evening.

The forest soared behind the gatehouse, and he crept on scattered leaves and twigs, their crunch alluding to memories of past storms and blustery days. He advanced, pressing his heel down on the ground first to avoid breaking a twig.

He fingered the pistol hidden inside his coat, ready for any highwaymen. He always kept a knife hidden in his boot as well. Cursing the conspicuous color of his uniform, he proceeded to the window. Crimson was not easily hidden, even in the thickened undergrowth.

He pressed his body against the brick wall of the gatehouse and peered inside the window.

All remained as he had last seen it: a bed, a table, and two chairs. Otherwise, the place was empty.

He crept around the gatehouse, pushing the door open with sudden force. Nobody leapt out, nobody screamed. He sighed. Had he hoped for adventure? Fortifying a coast that no enemy might ever venture on differed from the bustle of actual warfare. Regular visits to a man he would never again touch agonized him, as did observing his sister and Sebastian form a union that would doom them all to unhappiness.

Perhaps a distraction would suffice. He stepped into the house, ducking his head under the Tudor beams, and lowered himself on the impeccably made bed. If a thief did live here, he was a very tidy one. In fact . . . He crouched under the table and scanned his eyes over the corners of the room and frowned. Sometimes what wasn’t there was significant.

Spiderwebs. Not one single spiderweb.

Not that William had a great admiration for spiders. But he did notice their absence. Somebody spent time in this place. Not somebody who wandered there accidentally—somebody who stayed long enough to tidy the place. Perhaps the vagrant had set up a home there.

Surely the person isn’t Dorothea’s secret admirer?

William hurried to Somerset Hall, determined to set up surveillance to trap the culprit soon.

For a moment, he hoped the others would forget about the visit to Sir Ambrose’s.

They did not forget. At half past four, everyone dispersed to change. William remained in the parlor.

Lord Reynolds strolled down first, decked in breeches and a cobalt coat. But William’s heart jumped when Sebastian appeared at the top of the stairs, dressed in an ebony coat and black satin breeches with an ivory cravat. His golden hair glistened.

Dorothea and Lady Reynolds came soon after.

Dorothea appeared regal in a high-cut deep aubergine dress, her dark curls framing her face. Lady Reynolds had donned a simple draped cream lace gown.

“You resemble a goddess,” Reynolds breathed upon seeing his wife. He held out his hand and said, “My Grecian woman.”

William smiled, his heart lurching at the expression of happiness he would never experience. “You two are most charming.”

Lady Reynolds beamed at him, and her eyes crinkled at the corners. “Dear Captain Carlisle, now you have returned to England, when will you get married?”

“Yes, William, do share.” Dorothea fixed her dark brown eyes on him.

He frowned, his stomach clenching. He turned to determine if the others had noticed the conversation. They had.

Lord Reynolds cocked his head, seeming all too intrigued by the exchange. Sebastian turned his back, paying enormous attention to the paintings lining the hall.

“I doubt I am the marrying type,” William said.

“But that cannot be true. You are kind and gentle. You are exactly the marrying type. I am certain,” Lady Reynolds exclaimed. “Why, if you have a fault, it is only that you are too humble. You do not realize the catch you would make for some lucky woman.”

“William suffers from extreme modesty. I do not believe I have ever seen him form an attachment.” Dorothea smoothed the folds of her gown.

“It would be unseemly in the army.” William hoped the topic would vanish. It did not.

“You are far too considerate for your own good,” Lady Reynolds said. “Many officers form attachments. Everyone needs to form an attachment.”

“Then I simply have not found the correct woman. His lordship had already married you.” William nodded at Reynolds.

Lady Reynolds giggled and hid her mouth behind her lace fan. Sebastian turned, his face darkened.

“Not everyone is as fortunate as I was to find the right person.” Reynolds placed his hand on the small of his wife’s back and guided her outside. William was grateful to Lord Reynolds for rescuing him.

“Shall we?” Sebastian led Dorothea outside where the carriage awaited them. His sister’s gloved hand grasped onto Sebastian’s arm.

The setting sun shone against Sebastian’s face and hair. The man practically gleamed. William shivered despite himself, wishing he might take the man in his arms again, in awe that at one point he actually had.

“Is anything wrong?” Lady Reynolds asked.

“Just a chill,” William said as the carriage approached. “I am eager to sit inside.”

“You should acquire a new carriage,” Lady Reynolds said to Sebastian, wrinkling her nose. “This one is more to my mother’s taste.”

Rococo flourishes covered the raven-colored coach.

“I recommend a barouche,” Lord Reynolds said. “Most stylish.”

“Nonsense. The top does not even close.” Sebastian stretched out his arm to guide Dorothea into the carriage.

Transfixed by the stunning couple, the now-familiar pain in William’s stomach returned. His sister slid her hand into Sebastian’s.

“What a beautiful couple you make,” Lady Reynolds said, staring at them. William was also riveted.

Dorothea smiled, entering the carriage. Sebastian followed after her, settling beside her.

The others piled in on the other side, and the coach rolled down the drive. William forced himself to ponder the view, to focus anywhere other than resting his eyes on his sister and Sebastian. They did make an elegant couple. He clutched his hat in his hands, running his fingers over the satin rim, hoping he might distract himself.

Lady Reynolds cast a critical eye upon the occupants of the carriage. “Stop.”

The groom, ever dutiful, did so. The coach halted, throwing Sebastian and Dorothea into the seats in front of them. The horses stomped in confusion.

“Whatever is the matter, Penelope?” Lord Reynolds clutched his wife.

“The lovebirds cannot sit next to each other. I take my chaperone duties seriously. Dorothea, you move next to me. William, you sit next to Sebastian.”

William avoided Sebastian’s eyes, reluctant to sit beside him, conscious of the closeness to which they would be subjected. They had avoided being close to each other since they had spoken in the garden.

“I doubt His Grace is likely to take advantage of my sister in front of us all,” William said.

“Just switch seats.” Penelope crossed her arms.

“Better do what she says.” Lord Reynolds shrugged. “I know this from experience.”

“Because I am always right,” Penelope said.

“Most consistently.” Lord Reynolds smiled.

Being in the same coach as Sebastian, and sharing the same seat, no less, caused William’s heart rate to escalate. The man dazzled. Still, he had already protested and could not continue to do so without incurring the wrath of Lady Reynolds and the possible disdain of her husband. There was no good reason why he could not sit next to Sebastian.

Dorothea frowned but did not argue.

William changed seats with his sister, sliding onto the rose seat beside Sebastian, edging as far away from him as possible, praying the ride would be smooth.

The coach started again with a lurch, and William clutched his hat. His sister gazed out the window. He was certain she had mixed feelings about being back at Somerset Hall without Lewis.

Sebastian’s hand lay casually upon the seat between them. Desperate to follow the trail of blond hair on Sebastian’s long hand to his wrist to—heaven help him, much farther—William shifted, conscious of other, even more interesting body parts mere inches from his own.

His cock swelled.
Damn.
He wiggled on the seat. Sebastian turned his head to him, his eyes wide. All William could focus on were Sebastian’s full lips. All he remembered was the sensation of his mouth on Sebastian’s, and all he imagined were Sebastian’s lips on him. All over him.

He avoided eye contact with Sebastian.

William fixed his eyes on the golden tassels that hung everywhere and the gold embroidery that decorated the rose curtains. The carriage was every bit as hideous as Lady Reynolds claimed.

“This carriage reminds me of everything the French Revolution fought against,” Sebastian said.

William noticed a quiver in Sebastian’s voice, as if Sebastian were also trying to distract himself.

“Indeed,” Penelope said. “Not that one is sympathetic with French revolutionaries.”

Sebastian gave a sharp laugh. “At least now they no longer perform mass executions on a daily basis, though their plan now, to be led by Bonaparte and attack all the nations surrounding them, seems little improved.”

“But it’s working,” William said.

“Working? Why, it’s horrible.” An emotion flickered across Penelope’s face, and she scrunched her eyebrows together.

Dorothea shot him a warning glance. William nodded, mindful both Penelope and Dorothea had lost somebody dear to them in the war.

“I just mean,” William continued, “that Bonaparte has been very successful. He’s conquering all these countries, and he may conquer us soon.”

Reynolds nodded. “There have been many rumors of French spies.”

“And French boats on the coast, if the newspapers are to be believed,” Dorothea said.

William frowned, reminded of the Frenchman who had insisted on sending a love note to Dorothea. Perhaps Dorothea knew more than she indicated.

“So Bonaparte is doing a good job?” Penelope asked.

“For him,” William said. “He’s come a long way.”

“Then it’s good we have you to protect us,” Sebastian said.

The words warmed William.

“I remember taking carriage rides with Marcus when we were first married,” Lady Reynolds said, breaking the silence. “Every turn created excitement. Our thighs brushing together. That jolt of heat. Do you remember that, darling?”

The coach swerved around a bend in the road, forcing Sebastian and William together. He withheld a sigh as the warmth of Sebastian’s leg pressed against his and caused William’s cock to swell again.

For a blissful moment, Willam felt like their bodies communicated in secret. He moved his leg closer to Sebastian’s. A moan covered by a rapid cough escaped from the duke. He eyed Sebastian. A flush appeared on the man’s cheeks, much like the flush that appeared when they were in bed together. Naked, writhing.