“She is trapped with that foul man,” Sebastian growled, “because ofa debt?”
He slammed his palms down on the desk, shoving to his feet. Restlessly, he paced back and forth across his study’s rug, trying not to get lost in the storm of thoughts that demandedherepay the sum, if only to free Lady Phoebe.
But, no. No, he could not do that. He had the money in his coffers. The Talwyn estate was worth more than Sebastian could ever dream of spending. But he could not rush to Lady Phoebe’s aid.
It would look too suspicious; his interference would incite too many questions. Jumping into the fray now and offering to pay the outstanding debts would expose him, and Sebastian could not risk it.
There must be another way.
Outrage rolled through him as he gripped the windowsill, his head hanging forward. His hair fell into his eyes as he tried to steady himself.
He did not know how long he stayed like that, trying to control his rising temper. Sebastian was not an angry man. He was charming; He was mild-manner and the life of the party. People adored him because he always kept his personal feelings under control, yet he could not do anything at that moment.
He breathed in and out through his nose for as long as it took for his heart rate to slow, to calm down.
I must do something.
He envisioned bringing Lord Birchwood down himself. Sebastian would work on the man quietly, in the shadows, never revealing all he knew or how he had come to learn this information. He would remove Lord Birchwood from the picture by degrees and save Lady Phoebe that way.
Birchwood does not deserve to be pardoned. Lord Tripleton either. Those men have debts to pay and…
But then Sebastian recalled how he obtained this information he meant to use against the gentlemen.
They are involved in some sort of criminal activity. They have either interacted with Betula or the know the man personally and that means they have betrayed their King.
A coy smile spread over his face and Sebastian embraced this side of his nature. He would don a mask again and become the charming, charismatic Duke of Talwyn.
No, he would not need to wear a mask.
Hewasthe Duke of Talwyn.
He was none other than Sebastian Halshore, Duke of Talwyn, who sang so sweetly ladies swoon before him and who never resisted a card game, a drink, or a private meeting.
He had forged himself from the ground up and had become that persona years ago. Some days, he did not remember the boy who had been left at the side of the road, watching the broken carriage where?—
“No,” he growled to himself. “Do not think of that. That is not who you are. That is the memory of a little, hurt boy. You are not that child anymore.”
No, he was not.
He was the Duke of Talwyn, primed and ready to destroy the men like Tripleton and Birchwood who needed to be eradicated from thetonaltogether and brought to justice.
Chapter Thirteen
“Penelope accepted the Prince’s proffered hand. Her fingers shook violently as he laced their fingers together and led her down the pathway. The pair strolled through the garden wordlessly, occasionally sneaking careful glances at one another, until the Prince pulled Penelope to a stop.”
“She gazed into his eyes, marveling anew at the depths of color she could discern there. They were not just emerald green, as she had imagined the first time they met. Those glowing orbs housed the mysteries of the world. A riot of colors in varying shades of brown, gold, and luxuriant green sparkled and as the Prince drew Penelope closer, she lost all concept of time and space completely.”
“Oh!” Genevieve moaned. “Do go on. Don’t stop there.” She laid a hand on her forehead and heaved a dreamy sigh. “Does the Prince kiss Penelope? Does he tell her he loves her?”
Phoebe lowered her journal and peered at her friend overtop the riffled pages. “I do not know.”
“What do you mean?” The incredulous words burst from Genevieve’s lips. “You are the author of this tale. Surely, you know what unfolds between the Prince and Penelope next.”
Placing the diary on her lap, Phoebe gave another gentle shrug. “I have not written the rest of the garden scene.”
“Why not?” Genevieve pouted. “You knew I was coming to see you this afternoon and you promised the last time I was in your company that you should have this chapter concluded by now.”
“I have been otherwise…engaged.” A sick sense of loathing flooded Phoebe’s insides when she recalled exactly why she had been kept from working on her little writing project. “My mother and father insisted that I promenade through the park with Lord Birchwood on Sunday afternoon and last night, just when I thought I might be granted a few moments of solitude, His Lordship showed up, without warning to take me for a carriage ride.”
