As Phoebe continued clapping, her eyes stayed fixed on the Duke of Talwyn.
Look at me. Please. You have stirred my emotions, and I need to know that I have touched your soul, too.
No matter the fervency of Phoebe’s wish, the Duke did not acknowledge her. He sat next to his friend, the Duke of Whitestone, and stared straight ahead, as if willing the audience members to ignore him, and devote their attention to the next performer.
Reluctantly, Phoebe pulled her gaze away from the Duke, but her mind stubbornly refused to focus on the next song. It did not matter if the entertainer stood on his head and recited the alphabet backward. Just as Genevieve had said, Phoebe was a lost cause now.
She only had eyes for the Duke of Talwyn.
Chapter Eight
Two days after Verity’s musicale, Sebastian’s thoughts were clouded with disparaging thoughts. He was consumed with thoroughly despising Lord Birchwood, and his whole, musty, dark townhouse.
Still, he sat at the Marquess’s dining table, surrounded by the most prominent members of theton. Almost all his acquaintances had accepted the invitation to attend this supper, but Sebastian paid them all no mind as his eyes kept straying to Lady Phoebe.
Phoebe.
Her face was sullen, her eyes downcast, as she sat between the Earl and Countess of Tripleton.
Lady Tripleton wore an enormous turquoise brooch in the middle of her chest, drawing attention to her decolletage. She was perhaps a touch too old to don such baubles, but theCountess, instead of being embarrassed, was rather pleased with herself. She kept gesturing with her right hand to the brooch and encouraging those sitting nearest to admire the new piece of jewelry.
When she wasn’t collecting half-hearted compliments, Her Ladyship gushed to her neighbors about a friend she had met the other day while shopping on Bond Street.
The gentleman who sat on Lady Tripleton’s left side, Lord Morton, nodded politely and his nostrils flared amusingly when the Countess of Tripleton boasted about another acquaintance her husband had made that would further his business prospects.
Neither the Tripletons or Lord Birchwood had spoken a word to Lady Phoebe since they had sat down, and Sebastian did not like how alone she looked.
Unlike the shimmering golden gown she wore to Verity’s musicale—which resembled a harp Sebastian admired, and that captivated him even during his solo—her dress tonight was entirely different.
This one was a deep, ocean blue that caught the light. It wasn’t necessarily shimmering like her golden dress, instead this one seemed tomove. With every slight shift Lady Phoebe made, her dress moved with her, giving the illusion of currents.
Try as he might, Sebastian was captivated and unable to focus on what Lord Fairfield was saying from his left.
“What do you think, Your Grace?”
Finally, his attention was snagged, and Sebastian looked at the lord, a viscount, if he recalled correctly, with raised brows.
“Yes?”
Lord Fairfield frowned. “The vineyard… in Italy?”
Sebastian had barely listened to a word of the conversation but still nodded. “Oh, yes, of course. Yes, yes, I do agree. A particularly viable choice, Lord Fairfield.”
He looked away quickly, hoping his lack of comprehension of the topic was not visible on his face.
“Thank you, Your Grace.” Lord Fairfield appeared rather placated, settling back into his seat.
Sebastian mustered a smile, jerking his head in a nod, as if to sayit is my pleasure.The conversation continued around him, but as he took a sip of wine, his eyes lifted to Lady Phoebe. He eyed her quizzically over the rim?—
—right as her gaze lifted and they connected.
Something slid through him, something strange and warm, pleasurable without beingpleasureitself. Sebastian did not know what to do with the newfound feeling, but those blue eyesof Lady Phoebe’s had ensnared him too much for him to look away.
He gave her a discreet, polite smile, and watched how her cheeks flushed with the attention. He lifted his glass a little in a nod to her, and she sipped from her own cup.
When Sebastian finally looked away, his thoughts strayed to the musicale the other night, and how she had seemed rapt with attention when he had performed.
His song had been a slow ballad, and it had been one moment he had half unmasked before theton, letting himself be softer and vulnerable before them. Phoebe’s eyes had rounded, and Sebastian had tried to not let his pride get the better of him.
