Dark curls framed a face—soft, heart-shaped, with a chin lifted in defiance or determination. The dim light obscured details, but it hardly mattered. His gaze caught on the blue-gray eyes, wide with something between surprise and terror. Then his attention dipped to her mouth.
Soft lips. He knew the shape of them.
After all, he’d had them pressed against his, not all that long ago.
She stared up at him, dawning horror in her face as she, too, came to the same conclusion. In a quick, nervous movement, she clamped a hand against her mouth and stepped back, angling her body from his as though attempting to hide something from him. Perhaps her entire identity.
“So, little shepherdess,” he smirked wolfishly, releasing her shoulders. “We meet again.”
That full mouth of hers fell open with apop. “Y-your Grace?”
“The very same. But the question is… who are you?”
“I—” She glanced in the direction of the drawing room. “What are you doing here?”
“In this house?” He raised a brow. “Were you not informed of my call?”
“Yes, I—” She flushed and looked away again. She appeared different here, with her face fully revealed. Shyer. The freckles across her nose and cheeks made her appear younger than he suspected she was. “I had expected you to be in the drawing room,” she finished stiffly.
“Ah. As it happens, I was just returning.” He nodded to the door, which was now opening. Mrs. Bennett appeared in the doorway, her face pinched and sour. Once, perhaps, she might have been pretty, but that had long gone now. “Mrs. Bennett!” he said with a pleasant grin. “I’ve just had the fortune of encountering your fourth daughter.”
Mrs. Bennett gave a false smile. “You are mistaken, Your Grace. She is the daughter of my late husband, Miss Eleanor Bennett.”
Miss Eleanor Bennett curtsied, her head bowed low. He wondered briefly if she was worried he would reveal all about their kiss, and he smirked. If she thought he was in the habit of revealing his rendezvous, she was very much mistaken. “Your Grace,” she murmured.
“I believe Miss Eleanor is feeling a little under the weather,” Mrs. Bennett said. “Is that not right, Eleanor?”
“I—” the girl stuttered.
Sebastian looked at her again, the way her hands were clasped in front of her, and the way her shoulders hunched. “Miss Eleanor…” he mused. The name didn’t sound familiar to him, and he thought he knew all the notable young ladies of theton. “Are you often ill, Miss Bennett? I don’t recall seeing you before.”
She sent him a speaking, blushing glance before looking at her feet once more. “No, Your Grace,” she mumbled.
“Come back inside, Your Grace.” Mrs. Bennett beckoned to the drawing room. “Isabel—my oldest, if you recall—would so like to play something for you on the pianoforte. She is thought to be a rare talent.”
Isabel simpered, and Sebastian knew for certain that a life with this woman would be intolerable. She would constantly be vying for his attention, and she would no doubt irritate him until he provided it.
Unless…
He glanced again at Miss Eleanor, who appeared to be trying to merge with the wallpaper.
An invisible lady.
One who appeared entirely uncomfortable with any attention, and who had escaped a ballroom so she might be alone instead of dancing.
If he had to marry, he would prefer his wife to be someone silent and docile, who would allow him to live his separate life with little interference.
Following Mrs. Bennett’s directions for now, he stepped back inside the drawing room, taking a seat and enduring the mediocre performance offered to him. Miss Eleanor Bennett made no other appearance, and he wondered at that, too. Why she had not been involved, and why she had not been invited to join them even after their introduction.
All the more intriguing.
“Well, Your Grace?” Mrs. Bennett said as her three daughters preened behind her. “Have you made up your mind which of my three daughters you wish to marry?”
Sebastian didn’t so much as blink at the veiled suggestion behind her words, and the less-than-subtle emphasis she placed onthree. “You flatter me,” he said, giving her a winning smile. “I hardly know how I could make a choice such as this so soon. Would you be amenable to a promenade tomorrow so I might better acquaint myself with the Bennett girls?” He paused, letting his words settle before adding, “Allfourof them.”
Irritation flitted across Mrs. Bennett’s face before she replaced the expression with another smile, this one a good deal faker than the last. “Why, of course, Your Grace. Though I don’t see the need for Eleanor to be there. You saw the poor girl yourself. She hardly has any social skills to speak of, and we are not expecting that you will favor her with your hand in marriage when she would be so unsuitable as a wife.”
How ironic that you consider your unfavorable brats as better prospects, he thought grimly, and rose to leave. “Iinsist. Itwould hardly be fair of me to exclude any one of the Bennett girls when my father asked me to select a bride from amongst them.” He inclined his head. “Until tomorrow, then.”
