Good heavens, is he still smarting overthat!
Holcroft the Holy and his strict code.
“That failure was out of character for me, and I regret that my behavior did not conform to my own standards,” he says, forcing me to smother an impatient sigh at the tedious repetitiveness of his mea culpa.
Yes, yes, sir, we get it. You are a highly moral creature who fell short—once!
“The problem, Mr. and Mrs. Hyde-Clare, is that I cannot sufficiently regret the breach in honor, because it led to the most felicitous occasion of my life: meeting your daughter. Had I abided by my conscience, I would not know her as I do or love her as I do. I understand that I have violated your trust and pledge now to earn it back.”
Wait.
Did he just…
I am sorry—what?
A glance at my parents reveals nothing untoward.
But seriously!
Incensed, I say briskly, “Mama and Papa, please leave.”
Astonishingly, they do.
Despite a lifetime of the contrary, they display good sense and rise from the sofa without saying a word. Of course Mama looks as though she wants to argue, but she holds her tongue as she follows my father to the entry.
As soon as the door snaps shut, I jump to my feet, rigid with anger, and seethe, “Howdareyou!”
Do I stamp my foot?
I might have stamped my foot.
Honestly, I am too irate to notice.
Sebastian takes a step toward me, his bearing as severe as mine as he says, “I am sorry if you do not like it, but the fact of the matter is that I do owe your parents an apology. Ididviolate their trust by allowing you to enter Lyon’s Inn. Ishouldhave returned you immediately to Portman Square. It was a violation of your trust, too, and?—”
I let out a squeal, a high-pitched wail of consuming frustration—or a dying-hyena cry (I am desolate to report that I cannot tell the difference)—and he stares at me, thunderstruck, still seemingly incapable of comprehending his transgression.
Huffily, I say, “I am beginning to think you are not perfect, Sebastian.”
A blank look.
He gives me a blank look.
The nodcock.
Imperfect indeed!
“How dare you tell my parents you love mebeforeyou tell me?” I ask furiously.
Sebastian takes umbrage at the accusation.
Heis offended.
The man who professed love to me via my parents!
“I did not tell your par?—”
But he halts his denial in the middle of a word, then draws his brows close and asks with confusion, “Did I really?”
