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Authors: Jillian Hunter
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a stop. Her cousin’s footsteps scuffed against the cobbles. She and Sebastien sat for another moment, regarding each other in heated silence. Her every female instinct craved his hard-sculpted body in her bed again. But her heart sought retribution for his neglect.
“Welcome home,” she said.
Then she picked up her tail with as much dignity as she could muster, and left before he could say anything to stop her.
Chapter Seven
He watched her dive through the carriage door her cousin had opened and stride across the pavement to their Belgrave Square town house. He sat back with a sigh of pent-up desire. What pitiful male arrogance to expect she’d want him back without certain demands met on his part. A woman needed explanations and apologies. Damn if he could find the words to make her understand why he’d stayed away so long.
He shook himself and stepped outside into the night. His gaze shot to the figure lurking at the back of the carriage.
“Is she upset with you?” Will asked, materializing from the misty shadows.
“I didn’t hear the door slam,” he said. “Let’s hope she left it unlocked.”
Will held up a conciliatory hand. “Look, she’s my cousin, as close to me as a sister could possibly be. But that doesn’t mean I can influence her behavior, and if you don’t mind me saying—”
Sebastien looked around sharply. Two horse mentrotted toward the carriage, then suddenly crossed the street. He stepped in front of Will, instinctively guarding him.
“London is unsafe these days,” Will commented after several moments elapsed. “A gentleman is afraid to walk to his club after dark.”
“What with this Mayfair Masquer breaking into bedrooms?” he asked wryly.
Will lowered his voice. “I don’t think we were ever in any actual danger.”
Sebastien grunted. “Lighting bombs in a crowded ballroom is not what I consider to be a harmless pastime. And just because I went along with this tonight doesn’t mean I’ll do so again.”
Will stared down at his feet, looking for all the world like a chastened schoolboy. Wisps of straw-blond hair escaped his bell-trimmed hat. His rice powder had smeared, white chalk merging into triangles of black boot polish. “Perhaps you should leave finding the rest of the letters to her. If only to prove your love.”
Love.
Sebastien gazed up at the elegant white stucco town house. Candlelight flickered behind the third story bay window, illuminating the ironwork balcony. “Even a man in love needs leverage, doesn’t he?” he mused.
“I hope you’re not seeking my advice. I don’t have the guts to ask the most desperate of debutantes to dance.”
Sebastien laughed. “No. Only to set her dress on fire with your gunpowder theatrics.”
“Did I do a decent job?” Will asked, his grin widening.
Sebastien tactfully avoided an honest answer. “You looked after Eleanor while I was away. Nothing else matters.”
“It’s your turn now.”
His mouth twisted into a droll smile. “Well, wish me luck.”
Eleanor peeked out through the bedroom curtains to the lone figure in the street. Will had trundled off into the night, presumably to get his beauty rest for rehearsals tomorrow at the theater.
She wondered if Sebastien was going to stand there forever.
Had he changed his mind? Had she frightened him off?
She turned from the window in utter exasperation and went to her dressing table to remove the last of her whiskers.
What an impossible man to predict.
Had all that kissing and heavy breathing been a prelude to a passionate evening or to another night of twiddling her thumbs in the dark? Thumbs that were dying to undo his costume and reacquaint themselves with the lovely muscles of his chest, his shoulders, his other parts.
She pulled off her hat and her cap, purposelydropping them in the middle of the floor. Let Lord Boscastle comment on what a little sloven her ladyship had become. She tugged off one of her jackboots, threw it over her
“Welcome home,” she said.
Then she picked up her tail with as much dignity as she could muster, and left before he could say anything to stop her.
Chapter Seven
He watched her dive through the carriage door her cousin had opened and stride across the pavement to their Belgrave Square town house. He sat back with a sigh of pent-up desire. What pitiful male arrogance to expect she’d want him back without certain demands met on his part. A woman needed explanations and apologies. Damn if he could find the words to make her understand why he’d stayed away so long.
He shook himself and stepped outside into the night. His gaze shot to the figure lurking at the back of the carriage.
“Is she upset with you?” Will asked, materializing from the misty shadows.
“I didn’t hear the door slam,” he said. “Let’s hope she left it unlocked.”
Will held up a conciliatory hand. “Look, she’s my cousin, as close to me as a sister could possibly be. But that doesn’t mean I can influence her behavior, and if you don’t mind me saying—”
Sebastien looked around sharply. Two horse mentrotted toward the carriage, then suddenly crossed the street. He stepped in front of Will, instinctively guarding him.
“London is unsafe these days,” Will commented after several moments elapsed. “A gentleman is afraid to walk to his club after dark.”
“What with this Mayfair Masquer breaking into bedrooms?” he asked wryly.
Will lowered his voice. “I don’t think we were ever in any actual danger.”
Sebastien grunted. “Lighting bombs in a crowded ballroom is not what I consider to be a harmless pastime. And just because I went along with this tonight doesn’t mean I’ll do so again.”
Will stared down at his feet, looking for all the world like a chastened schoolboy. Wisps of straw-blond hair escaped his bell-trimmed hat. His rice powder had smeared, white chalk merging into triangles of black boot polish. “Perhaps you should leave finding the rest of the letters to her. If only to prove your love.”
Love.
Sebastien gazed up at the elegant white stucco town house. Candlelight flickered behind the third story bay window, illuminating the ironwork balcony. “Even a man in love needs leverage, doesn’t he?” he mused.
“I hope you’re not seeking my advice. I don’t have the guts to ask the most desperate of debutantes to dance.”
Sebastien laughed. “No. Only to set her dress on fire with your gunpowder theatrics.”
“Did I do a decent job?” Will asked, his grin widening.
Sebastien tactfully avoided an honest answer. “You looked after Eleanor while I was away. Nothing else matters.”
“It’s your turn now.”
His mouth twisted into a droll smile. “Well, wish me luck.”
Eleanor peeked out through the bedroom curtains to the lone figure in the street. Will had trundled off into the night, presumably to get his beauty rest for rehearsals tomorrow at the theater.
She wondered if Sebastien was going to stand there forever.
Had he changed his mind? Had she frightened him off?
She turned from the window in utter exasperation and went to her dressing table to remove the last of her whiskers.
What an impossible man to predict.
Had all that kissing and heavy breathing been a prelude to a passionate evening or to another night of twiddling her thumbs in the dark? Thumbs that were dying to undo his costume and reacquaint themselves with the lovely muscles of his chest, his shoulders, his other parts.
She pulled off her hat and her cap, purposelydropping them in the middle of the floor. Let Lord Boscastle comment on what a little sloven her ladyship had become. She tugged off one of her jackboots, threw it over her
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