For a fleeting moment, Sebastian considered telling Vincent about the woman who happened upon him in the small library. He knew his friend would be endlessly fascinated by this intimate yet fully chaste encounter, but Sebastian decided to keep his recollections to himself.
No one needs to know about my little fox.
“Hmm.” Vincent kept his gaze on the ballroom before them, ever the watcher, always looking out for danger.
“What?” Sebastian asked testily. “What is it?”
“You are concealing something.”
“My fa?—”
“Other than your face, clever bastard.” Vincent turned his head toward him for a moment to shoot him a full smirk. “Tell me what our generous, mysterious host got up towhile readingin another room.”
The dose of sarcasm Vincent coated this statement with irked Sebastian mildly, but it also made him feel quite known, and he liked that.
Sometimes, being known terrified him; other times, it made him feel a comfort he had not felt in too many years. Vincent, and his other best friend, the Duke of Whitestone, Percival, did that for him.
“Host,” Sebastian laughed, trying to deflect. “Lord Spencer is our host.”
“Lord Spencer is a placeholder for our host, the name paraded by a random peer whom you paid off enough to keep quiet. What would thetondo if they knew their beloved Duke of Talwyn was the true host of these devious balls?”
“I prefer the term notorious, or perhaps adored. Prestigious, even.”
“An event like this can be all of those things,” Vincent said, his tone flat in that way of his that always made Sebastian wonder when he was jesting and when he was not. “Either way, what would they think?”
“I honestly imagine, on some days, that the ladies and gentlemen of thetonwould be unfazed to learn about my behavior. Why not let an infamous rake be the host of these balls? They would call me villainous and scandalous, even worse things, but they would not really be surprised.”
At that, Vincent’s brow crooked above the outline of his mask. “You would let that happen? You have your family’s name at stake.”
Sebastian scoffed. “My family ruined their own name enough behind closed doors. Perhaps it’s about time I do my part to bring that into the light.”
“You would never be so careless,” Vincent countered.
“You do not know the whole story,” Sebastian shot back, but as he tried to concentrate on their conversation, he felt his focus slipping.
Suddenly, the ballroom before him was double-layered, swimming in and out as the layers overlapped and parted. The back of his neck felt clammy, and his stomach sat heavily too.
“Because you refuse to tell it. However, I know?—”
“You… do not… know.” Sebastian suddenly reached for the nearest tabletop. He gripped the wood tightly between his fingers and squeezed.
“Seb?”
“You… don’t…Damn.” He pressed his free hand to his forehead. “I am doing this—this… for the…” He inhaled sharply, fighting the sudden, strange wave of dizziness, stronger than in the hallway. “For the… for the Crown.”
“Sebastian.”
He heard Vincent’s voice, but it was garbled. It sounded like they were flailing underwater, and when Sebastian tried to focus on his friend, he saw two of him.
“Vincent.” He thought he said it, yet he was not entirely certain the name made it past his tongue. “Vin?—”
Hands gripped his elbows tightly. “By Jove, Sebastian, you can handle your wine, but how much have you had tonight? You are swaying like a boat unmoored.”
“Only… only—” He frowned down at his hands, watching as they swam in his vision.
He could not even feel them, and it was true: he could handle his liquor, but this was different.
This was not a drunken sensation, and he certainly had drunk more at past celebrations and never felt this close to dizziness.
