Chapter Eight
After their meeting on Bond Street, Sebastian had promised himself that he would not trouble Septon’s sister again. Yet, here he was, lurking in the bushes like a footpad, hoping to catch her alone.
He made sure he was not being observed and reached into his coat pocket for his flask, taking a long drink to numb the feeling of embarrassment. The last year had been frustrating. But through it all, he’d carried a sense of hope. He would find the woman who loved him, tell her he returned her feelings and all would be fine. But loving a dream was easier than the reality of Cassandra Fisk.
If he turned the clock back a day and a half to the moment before she had refused his offers of marriage he could at least go on flirting with her and assuming that she would admit to their first meeting. Once she trusted him enough to do so, he could propose and she would accept.
At a minimum, he could have written a better apology than the one word he’d sent her. He’d thought himself quite clever giving her a flower, a pin and an unsigned note. When he saw her again, in a few days, or perhaps a week, he’d planned to be cool and composed and as mysterious as she was. He would know by her reaction if he had ruined his chances or was open to another advance.
As a gentleman, he would abide by the consequences, either way.
That had been his plan yesterday. But he’d spent the night thinking of all the other men who would be courting her in the meantime. She was a desirable woman and he was not the only one who had noticed the fact. He could not afford to make mistakes as he had yesterday. In a week, she could be married to someone else, and he could be nothing more than a distant memory to her.
This morning, he’d found himself back at the servant’s entrance of the Septon townhouse, bribing the kitchen maid to discover the family’s evening plans so he could follow her and see who she was with and what they were doing.
When and if he settled the matter of Cassandra’s future, he would have to speak with Julian about his talkative staff. For the most part, the servants in the Septon house were loyal. But little Meg in the kitchen had an invalid mother and a brother with weak lungs. It had not been hard to gain her loyalty, in exchange for enough money to give security to her family. Septon might want to sack her for the indiscretion, but Sebastian would gladly have her in his house for the service she’d provided.
Today, she’d told him that the carriage was being readied for a trip to the Montpellier Tea Garden. The place was quaint, though he usually preferred more substantial entertainments. But it was not as if one could take a vicar’s daughter to a gaming hell. If he meant to marry Cassie, he’d best get used to milk cows and tea biscuits.
Or, perhaps not. Septon was not about to invite him along on tonight’s outing, and the clientele at the place was usually working class with only a smattering of the upper crust. It would be hard to explain his presence, should he be noticed. He should stay away, since he had promised Julian that he would not get in the way of Cassandra’s happiness.
He’d promised himself the same thing yesterday. She needed time to follow her heart. But what if that traitorous organ was leading her away from him? If he had stayed at home tonight, he would have been tortured by the idea that she was strolling through a moonlit garden with someone else. So, instead of keeping a shred of pride, he was wandering in Montpellier alone, sticking to the shadows and hoping to catch a glimpse of her and whoever she was with.
He knew from experience what would happen if thetonlearned that he was trailing after a country virgin like Caro Lamb stalking Byron. He would be lucky to be viewed as a laughingstock.
More likely, people would think him pathetic, just as they had when he’d come into the title. He’d been such an awkward young man. Lonely, as well. Grieving a father who had been both a mentor and friend. He’d had the daft idea that a hasty marriage would fill the void in his life. And to have chosen Francesca as the object of his love…
He stole another drink from the flask. He’d vowed that he would never again play the fool for a woman. He had kept that promise for nearly seven years. But apparently there was no changing his true character. Time and experience had not changed the fact that he was a mooncalf.
As if to prove it, he caught sight of Cassie walking towards him, deep in conversation with the gentleman who escorted her.
Rutland. The man he least wanted to see. The fellow was Julian’s choice for brother-in-law, young, handsome and of good family. He was also leading Cassie to the perfect place for a romantic proposal. Only an idiot would choose a street corner on a busy day when there were secluded benches on a moonlit path.
Suddenly, his heart was racing and his mouth dry. Rather than standing his ground and greeting them as if nothing waswrong, he stepped behind a boxwood topiary trimmed in the shape of a squirrel.
They passed close enough so he could hear Rutland going on about his father’s roses.
Did Cassie like roses? Did she prefer them to lilacs? Dammit to hell, he had rose gardens and hothouses of his own on his estate. He could fill her bedroom with them, if that was what she wanted. Instead, he was hiding behind a big green rodent while another man stole his one true love.
He ran a hand over his brow, covering his eyes. He should go home. If he had misunderstood the situation and she wished for another man, he should not stand in the way. What was his love worth if he forced it on an unwilling recipient?
But he could not leave, yet. He had to hear for himself that she was marrying another. Then, perhaps, he could have some peace. He waited until he was sure that they had gone into the maze and rounded a corner or two before setting out after them. At each turn, he paused, listening for the sound of conversation. The drone of the tiresome Rutland would carry through the leaves, even if he whispered.
He was more than a little familiar with the maze, just as he knew the dark walks of Vauxhall well enough to navigate them with his eyes closed. He had taken women to both of them on more than one occasion. There was a place a little way forward and to the left where the path turned back on itself ending in a blank wall of shrubbery with a nice view of the rising moon. It was just the place he’d have taken her, had it been him.
He followed the path around several bends, pausing before the last turn and leaning against the hornbeams to listen. What he heard was even more disappointing than an offer of marriage. It was the faint sound of lovers in an embrace. The silence broken with soft sighs and the rustling of clothing, barely louder than the whisper of wind in the leaves.
He froze in place and closed his eyes, wishing he had never come. The noises were like a knife to the heart. He needed to leave immediately, before they heard him lurking just out of sight. He pulled away from the hedge, careful to cause no creak of branches to alert them.
Then, before he could take a step he heard Cassie’s voice, breathless, but firm. ‘No.’
Rutland laughed.
Her next sound of protest was cut short as her mouth was covered with his.
Sebastian was around the corner before he had formed a plan. His first instinct was a primal desire to tear the other man apart. He was already upon them before he remembered that if they came to blows, he would certainly lose. Rutland was three inches taller and two stone heavier than him. Nor would it be wise to issue a challenge. He was a poor shot and a worse swordsman. He’d lost the only duel he’d fought.
But that did not mean he was without weapons.
