“Yes,” she said, affecting a lightness she did not feel.
“I confess I am dreadful at fishing. My father used to say it was because I lacked patience—but I believe it was because, even as a lad, I felt sorry for the poor creatures and tossed them back.” His tone was low, teasing, threaded with quiet amusement.
As she reached for the rod he offered, her fingers brushed his—just barely—a fleeting touch that sent warmth rippling up her arm and stole her breath.
He smiled again, but there was something in it now, something unspoken, tender, and dangerous all at once.
And in that moment, Maryann realized she was no longer afraid of what she might feel if he continued to look at her that way.
Twilight drapedthe lake in shades of amber and violet. The air smelled of smoke, wild thyme, and the faint sweetness of bakedbread. Sebastian turned the skewered fish over the fire, the skin crisping and curling with a hiss as the juices fell onto the glowing embers. Across from him, Maryann sat cross-legged on the grass, her cheeks flushed from the heat, eyes bright as she laughed at something Sarah said.
It struck him how right this moment felt. No duties to tend to, nor any expectations of propriety or pretense. Just the soft crackle of fire, laughter, and the company he hadn’t known he’d been starving for.
Sarah giggled as the kitten pawed at a crumb of bread, and Maryann reached over to save the morsel, shaking her head fondly.
“She is happy,” he said quietly.
“Yes.” Maryann’s voice softened. “She cried so much that first night without Lizzy and Vi. I know you think her to be my child,” she added, her tone steady, though her eyes shimmered with faint amusement.
“You told me once that she was not.”
“I did,” she said, smiling faintly. “Many people in Dorset thought the same. There was even a young man who appeared to court me for a time but once gossip reached him, he withdrew his attentions. Though the evidence was plain that I could not have been her mother, his pride could not endure the whispers. I was fortunate that my heart had not yet become engaged, else it might have broken me.”
Sebastian’s brows drew together. “Who is her mother?”
“A widow,” Maryann said softly, her gaze drifting across the lake. “My father… turned to her for comfort after my mother’s death. She bore him a daughter, but only a few weeks after giving birth, she left Sarah at our doorstep. My father refused to marry her. He said only mama could ever be his wife. It was a sentiment of loyalty, perhaps even love, but one that left the poor widow vulnerable to scorn. His refusal, though noblein intention, cast its shadow upon all of us. The neighbors whispered. Some pitied us; others mocked. And through it all, I was determined that no cruelty should ever touch Sarah again.”
She drew a deep breath. “I have made up my mind that, as she grows, no one must ever know the truth. The world can be merciless. It would see her branded before she’s even had a chance to live. In time, she will have her own place in society, untainted by the sins of others. And I will save every penny I earn to give her a dowry worthy of her. She will have choices, a future. I will make certain of it.”
Her words struck something deep within him—something that stirred respect, admiration, and a fierce, unbidden tenderness.
Sebastian stared at her. “You would sacrifice everything for her.”
Maryann smiled faintly, her eyes glimmering. “I would.” She looked away for a moment, took a bite of her fish and said, “This is too wonderful, my lord; you have finally revealed your secret talent. You are wasted as a viscount. You were clearly born to roast fish.”
Sebastian smiled. “Ah, then I shall have the cook dismissed, and you two shall dine on my efforts alone.”
“An agreeable arrangement,” she said, a teasing lilt in her tone. “We must do this again. It feels… wonderful.”
Something in her voice, soft and wistful, seemed to reach inside him and settle there. The firelight brushed against her features, gilding her skin in gold. A few rebellious tendrils had slipped free from her chignon, curling along her neck and caressing her flushed cheeks. The color rising in her cheeks held him captive. She had an enchantingly pretty face and a mouth far too lush and tempting to ignore. She looked both serenely composed and impossibly lovely. “How did you learn to roastfish—or even build a fire pit like this? I never imagined such things fell under the purview of young lords.”
He passed her another skewer and reached for the sherry. “My father often took me hunting and fishing when I was a boy. We’d roast our catch just like this. Sometimes my mother joined us, though she always complained of the smoke.”
Her gaze softened. “You were an only child?”
He nodded, tearing a piece of bread in half and handing her one. “I was and quite thoroughly showered with their love and attention.”
“So you were spoiled,” she teased, eyes glinting with mischief.
“Dreadfully so,” he drawled, the corner of his mouth lifting. “My mother wished for another child, but it was not to be.”
“I cannot imagine life without siblings,” Maryann said, her smile fading into something gentler. “It is chaotic, there are quarrels and laughter and mischief, but it is… home.”
For a moment, her eyes glimmered with the ache of memory, and he knew precisely where her thoughts had gone. Her sisters.
“I saw them yesterday,” he said quietly.
Her head snapped up. “You saw Lizzy and Vi? How?”
