Chapter One
“Grace, what the devil do you think you’re doing?”
Max Seton-Mowbray stalked down the impressive staircase of Mowbray House to see his sister standing beside several valises, tying her bonnet beneath her chin.
She lifted an eyebrow. “What does it look like, brother dear? I’m going home. And don’t shout at me like that. I’m your older sister, remember. I deserve a little respect.”
Max sighed. “You’re leaving. The day before the only real concert in town this month. The one it took me three weeks to get seats for. The one you said you wanted to attend more than anything.” He frowned, his forehead crumpling with the force of it. “Two days before Christmas. This was to be a specialgift, Grace. How could you?”
She lifted a hand to her face, the fingertips finding the roughened skin of the scars that criss-crossed her skin from eyebrow to earlobe. “You know why. I can’t do it, Max. I thought I could. I wanted to. But this morning, when I awoke, I knew immediately. I just cannot do it.”
“Let’s talk about it.” He took her hand.
“There’s nothing to discuss.” She withdrew her hand.
“Don’t make me do it…” he threatened.
“You wouldn’t…”
“Hah. You’re so wrong…” He grabbed her in a practised move and tossed her bodily over his shoulder.
She shrieked. “Max, dammit, put me down, youoaf.” She pummelled his back with her fists, to no avail. He was taking her into the parlour whether she liked it or not.
“Do you need any assistance, sir?”
“No thank you, Deery. I can manage. But answer the door will you? I believe I heard a knock.”
Her brother’s nonchalance irritated Grace beyond belief. “Put me down, Max. This is most unseemly of you.”
“Unseemly?” He ignored her attempts to shatter his spine. “Unseemly is trying to walk out of your brother’s house without a farewell or explanation. Unseemly is turning your back on a special treat that someone—that would be me—worked quite hard to procure.” He dropped her into a chair.
She bounced back to her feet. “Don’t think I don’t appreciate the thought.” She poked a finger in his chest. “I do. I thanked you several times. But you know damned well why I always run away at the last minute.”
“Stop poking me and don’t swear,” reprimanded Max.
“You are my brother not my mother. As such, I love you dearly but I will not—repeat not—be bound by your every command. You are overbearing, arrogant and how Kitty puts up with you I have no idea at all.”
At this point Max winced, since her voice was approaching the level of a flock of screech owls.
“And in addition, if I want to leave Ishallleave. I think the time of asking your permission is well past, dear brother. In fact, there never was a time I needed your permission for anything. So I’m going to leave whether you like it or not.”
She stalked around him, nose high in the air, then glanced back over her shoulder. “Give the tickets to someone else.”
Marching to the door, she promptly caught her boot on the edge of the carpet and cannoned forward—right into a rather elegant waistcoat.
Swept off her feet by a pair of strong arms, she let out a tiny squeak of surprise.
“Oh blessed are the gods for delivering the most delicious of fruits into my grasp,” said Sir Peregrine Hawkesbury. “My prayers fell not upon deaf ears, since the tree of delight has offered up such sweetness.”
Max rolled his eyes at the sight of his sister held high against his friend’s chest.
Grace looked up at her saviour’s face, a degree of scepticism on her countenance. “Shakespeare?”
“Hawkesbury. I’m sure the bard has an apt quote for this moment, but damned if I could think of one. So I improvised.”
Deery stepped forward. “Sir Peregrine Hawkesbury has arrived sir.” His voice was level, as if seeing guests catch ladies in their grasp was a routine matter at this hour of the morning.
“The master of the obvious,” muttered Max. “Thank you, Deery. Is there tea?”
