“I went to my mother’s garden party. They were there, happy, well cared for. Your sister Elizabeth is already admired. My mother says a young baron has expressed interest in courting her.”
Her eyes brightened with tears she tried to blink away. “Truly?And they are well?”
“They are,” he said softly. “They looked radiant. The countess treats them kindly.”
Maryann’s lips trembled into a smile. “Thank you. For telling me. I’ve worried so much.”
She leaned toward him before he could rise or think and pressed her lips to his cheek. The kiss was light as air, gonebefore he could breathe her in, yet it seared through him with startling force. Sebastian turned his head slightly, and for an instant, their faces were so close he could see the faint shimmer of firelight reflected in her eyes. She smelled like lavender and something sweetly feminine that made him ache.
“Maryann,” he said, his voice low, roughened by restraint.
She blinked, startled, and sat back quickly, her cheeks aflame. “Forgive me. It was foolish. I only meant—”
“That you were grateful,” he said quietly, cutting her off before she could apologize further. “I understand.”
But he did not understand, because a small peck on the cheek should not feel like this. Like a spark that could set him ablaze. Sarah laughed again, chasing the kitten across the grass, and the spell between them broke.
Sebastian looked away toward the lake, the fire crackling softly beside them. Yet he could still feel the ghost of her lips on his skin, warm, lingering.
Maryann delicately cleared her throat. “Was the garden party lovely?”
“It served the purpose my mother intended,” he replied, his voice faintly amused.
“Permit me to ask the purpose, my lord.”
Sebastian’s lips curved. “I think we are beyond such formalities, Maryann. Call me Sebastian.”
She glanced at him, startled. The faintest flush touched her cheeks as she tucked a stray wisp of hair behind her ear. “Very well… Sebastian.”
A surprising warmth bloomed in his chest at hearing his name spoken in her soft, hesitant voice. “Hmm,” he said lightly, “my mother wished for me to meet several of the eligible ladies she had so carefully chosen—those she deemed suitable to become my bride.”
Maryann’s eyes widened, her composure faltering for a moment. “Oh. I see. Then… you are to marry soon?”
He shrugged, breaking a piece of bread with casual ease. “I am eight-and-twenty, and there is little reason to keep waiting. By next Season, at the latest, I shall have chosen a bride.”
Her voice came quiet, almost tentative. “From your mother’s list?”
“Yes,” he said. “It is the sensible course.”
Maryann’s brows drew together. “Is that not rather cold?”
He looked up. “Cold? In what regard?”
“I should think marriage ought to be founded upon love or at least affection,” she said, her tone thoughtful but edged with quiet challenge.
Sebastian gave a low, rich laugh. “You sound like a poet. Marriages among our rank are seldom born of sentiment. They are arrangements and alliances meant to strengthen holdings and unite families of consequence.”
She frowned, her gaze fixed on the lake’s glimmering surface. “And do you not wish for love, my lord? To marry a woman who stirs your heart?”
“Why would I?” he asked lightly, though there was a flicker of something darker in his tone. “Love changes nothing of a man’s duty. It complicates what should be simple. No, better sense and compatibility than passion. I do not need love to live contentedly.”
Maryann’s lashes lowered, veiling the expression in her eyes. “That sounds… very lonely, Sebastian.”
He smiled faintly but did not answer. For the first time, her words pierced something he had long believed immovable.Was it indeed lonely?
“There was a woman once… or at least, I thought she was one worth feeling something for. I was eighteen—reckless, full of romantic drivel, and fancied myself a man of grand emotions.She was a courtesan, clever enough to make me believe I was the one she wanted, when all she truly sought was access to my father. I defied him for her. I defiedeverything. And in the end, she laughed for her trouble and moved on to her next conquest. That was the day I learned what love really was—an illusion dressed up as virtue. A convenient madness people cling to, so they can justify their folly. It makes fools of men, weakens judgment, and ruins fortunes. Since then, I’ve regarded love as a contagion best avoided as it makes fools of the best of us.”
“Does that mean you would never allow yourself to fall in love?” she asked wistfully, then took another bite of her fish, sighing at the taste.
