“Could’ve warned me.”
“Where’s the fun in that?”
Sebastian scowled. “Some of us likewarning.Preparation.”
Thomas only grinned. “Don’t be jealous.”
Sebastian sat straighter. “I’m not jealous!”
Thomas smirked. “Right. Of course not. Speaking of triumphs—Lady Swift has been unbeatable lately. She’s going to dominate the field next season.”
Sebastian blinked. “Your mare? What does your horse have to do with your unborn child?”
“She’s of excellent breeding. Bold spirit. Lightning-fast gait.” He paused for effect. “Just like you.”
Sebastian gave him a long, unimpressed look. “Did you just compare me to a horse? And a female on top of that?”
“If the hoof fits.”
“Please stop.”
Sebastian rubbed at his temple. He needed a nap. A nap, hot tea with honey, and six blankets.
“A-a-choo!” Another sneeze, sharp and wet. He fumbled for his soggy handkerchief and dabbed at his nose, which had now developed that raw, flaking texture of early-stage misery.
“That sounds awful,” Thomas said. “I’ll send someone with tea and to light the fire.”
“I don’t need—” Sebastian sniffled again. “Fine.”
Thomas headed for the door, pausing just long enough to deliverone last dagger. “Ashley’s friends are already here. Rotheworth is here somewhere as well.”
Sebastian’s stomach dropped. Pink dress. Scathing scowl.
“I’m begging you,” he muttered. “Don’t let me say anything stupid.”
Thomas grinned. “You? Say something stupid? Never. Just remember—girls talk.”
And with that, he was gone.
Leaving Sebastian, damp and feverish, with the knowledge that the most beautiful girl he’d ever sneezed on was likely somewhere downstairs.
Chapter Four
“Icannot wearthis. Absolutely not.” Maddie stared at herself in the mirror, her breath catching on sight. Or more precisely, on her bosom. Two pale swells were scandalously perched atop the low-cut bodice, defying gravity and good sense. She hadn’t shown this much skin in her entire life. Now Ashley had commissioned a few scandalous dresses designed to seduce.
Her mother would faint when she saw the bill. Possibly twice.
It’s all to catch your duke.
Ah yes. Her duke. Paisley. The one her mother might have pursued herself had she not been wed to her father for three decades. And that was saying much. Paisley’s mother, after all, was the viscountess’s friend.
She rolled her shoulders back, squaring them like a soldier facing battle. The bodice would certainly catch his attention. Any man’s, for that matter. But keep it?
She had her doubts.
Still… the gownwasrather pretty.
Soft pink. Gentle and romantic. Not at all what she usually wore—and precisely why it felt so foreign. So dangerous.
