Until this moment, he had not known he would want to do anything more.
A dangerous, dangerous desire.
Then again, was not all desire dangerous?
“I see my son is entertaining your wife as I bore you with talk of hunting,” the man beside him said with a chortle. If the man in question had not been the Earl of Derbyshire, Sebastian might have been tempted to clock him square in the jaw.
As it was, he watched Eleanor in time to see her laugh, head tipped back and lips wide in mirth. Lord Sinclair, that ridiculous boy child, had done what Sebastian never had.
“She is a pretty thing, is she not?” Sebastian forced himself to say, tone light as though it meant nothing to him that his wife was currently making a fool out of him.
When they returned home, he would find a way of punishing her. Perhaps in the way she desired, then denying her everything she wanted. A promise that every time she misbehaved, he would torment her beyond all endurance.
That would teach her.
A spike of arousal lanced through him, and he abandoned the train of thought, choosing instead to excuse himself from the Earl and prowl further around the room. Before he could get his wife back in his sights, however, Luke materialized from seemingly out of nowhere to accost him.
“How are you doing, my dear fellow? I had hoped you would be here. But where is the lovely Duchess?” His gaze followed Sebastian’s until he found her, and he made a small noise of acknowledgment. “Ah. I see.”
“Go away,” Sebastian growled.
“I think if you truly wished me to leave, you would go to greater lengths.”
“What lengths do you wish me to go to? Speaking to Lord and Lady Rochester to have you cast out? I have not ruled it out, I assure you.”
Luke smiled wistfully. “I am sorry the years have been so harsh to you.”
“Enough, Luke.” A pang of pain interrupted Sebastian’s irritation, and he rolled his shoulders, trying to dislodge the feeling. “I am not a man who indulges in friendships.”
“You were once.”
“That was then.”
“Is now so very different?” Luke peered at Eleanor once again, and Sebastian had to resist the urge to strike him. For both looking at his wife, and for being so very right. Now was no different in his essence, save that he now knew he would not endure another person leaving him.
No man could control the actions of others, not fully. All one could do was remain in control of oneself, and that was something he fully intended to do. He would make it so he did not run the risk of becoming close to anyone ever again, and thus, no matter what their actions were, he would not be hurt by them.
He had learned his lesson with Luke once. He would not play the same game again.
“My wife is none of your business,” he snapped. “Do not speak about her again. And do not speak to me again. That is not your place.”
“You cannot hide from the world forever, Sebastian,” Luke called from behind him. “You may have given up on your friends, but your friends have not given up on you.”
Sebastian did not dignify the statement with a response, or even a grunt of acknowledgment. He had no friends remaining, no matter what Luke wished to delude himself into thinking, and he preferred it that way.
And indeed, as he strode around the room, no one spoke to him except for the sake of having exchanged words with the Duke of Ravenscroft. The thought was freeing until the second dance came to an end and Lord Sinclair finally led Eleanor from the dance floor—and straight into the waiting arms of Mrs. Margaret Bennett.
Sebastian stiffened, though he had not meant to. He had no love for his wife, but he had even less love for the woman who had treated the girl as a servant in her own home. Neither party had admitted to as much, but he knew how to read between the lines. Upon seeing her stepmother, he saw the way Eleanor’s shoulders curved in, and the way her chin fell a little lower.
Lord Sinclair, cad that he was, merely bowed his excuses and abandoned Eleanor to her fate.
Sebastian did not think before he moved, striding toward them both until he came to stand beside Eleanor, looming over her and glowering at Mrs. Bennett. At least she was not carting one of her obnoxious daughters with her.
“Mrs. Bennett,” he said, barely reaching for politeness as he placed Eleanor’s arm firmly in the crook of his elbow. She was shaking again.Fear.The girl thought nothing of defying him, sometimes in decidedly open ways, but the merest brush with her stepmother made hershake.
“Your Grace,” Mrs. Bennett said, dipping into a curtsy. “I am relieved to find you both here safe and sound. Eleanor, you know, has not been responding to my letters, so I was convinced she must be ill.”
“That is not true,” Eleanor said weakly. “I have indeed responded to your letters, ma’am. But—”
