Sebastian faced him and shrugged. “My jaw recovered from the last punch. If you wished to repeat the action, I’m sure it would do so again.”
Delacourt stared at him for a long moment, seeking…well, Sebastian wasn’t quite certain of what. He forced himself to remain still under the scrutiny until Delacourt turned to the sideboard that was laden with food Sebastian hadn’t touched.
“Are you going to invite me to breakfast?” he asked.
Sebastian stepped forward with a flare of hope suddenly burning in his chest. “I-if you would like, I would very much love to have you. Please, take what you would.”
Delacourt was quiet as he loaded his plate with all his favorites. Sebastian had to smile because they had done this so many mornings either before they went to fence or box or shoot. Or after a late night when they were both still half-drunk.
Once Delacourt took a seat, Sebastian picked up his teacup and took the head of the table near his right. Delacourt arched a brow. “You aren’t eating?”
“I couldn’t, I don’t think,” Sebastian said. “I’ll admit, I’ve been picturing what this encounter would be like for over a week and breaking bread together was not how I imagined it.”
“At first it wasn’t how I imagined it either,” Delacourt admitted with a shake of his head. “I think I’ve challenged you to a duel or slapped you in the face a dozen times in my mind.”
Sebastian forced himself not to duck away from his friend’s gaze. “And is that what you’re here to do now, no matter how politely we’ve begun?”
“No.” Delacourt chewed thoughtfully for a moment and said, “I’ve no intention of dueling you or fighting you.”
“Not that I’m not pleased to hear it, but may I ask why?” Sebastian asked. “I’d certainly deserve it.”
“Areyouchallengingme, old friend?” Delacourt asked before he sipped his tea.
“Never,” Sebastian said. “If we were to duel, I think you’d have to shoot me. I would never be able to bring myself to fire upon you.”
“That’s nice to hear.” Delacourt brushed his hands together and then leaned back, draping his elbow over the back of his seat with nonchalance. “I think it would be very difficult for me to shoot you, too. And even if I could, I wouldn’t. Because Marianne would never forgive me.”
“She would never forgive either of us if we physically hurt each other over her, no. And she’s had so much loss lately.” Sebastian frowned. “How—how is she?”
“She rallied quite well after you left the estate. Not a one of the gentlemen there ever would have noticed that she was not herself.” Delacourt sighed. “None but me. And I suppose you would have known, too, wouldn’t you? You would have seen the little shifts in her. The little flutters and frowns and distractions that add up to how her heart breaks.”
Sebastian set his jaw at that thought. Marianne with a broken heart. Over him?
Delacourt leaned closer. “May I ask you a question?”
He nodded, still unable to speak.
“Were you truly willing to risk our lifelong friendship over adalliance?”
“Yes,” Sebastian said, but it sounded wrong and so he shook his head. “No.”
Delacourt’s hands clenched on the table. “I think you’ll have to make up your mind,Sebastian.”
He emphasized Sebastian’s given name and he jerked his head up to look at his friend. They had stopped calling each other by those when they each inherited. It brought him to mind of long-ago times when they had first become close as brothers.
He cleared his throat. Aside from Marianne, the person he would want to discuss these sorts of topics with most was the very one sitting across from him. Not being able to talk over his confusion and upheaval over the unexpected connection to Marianne had been stifling.
“It…it wasn’t a mere dalliance,” he said softly.
Delacourt’s cheek twitched, but he gave no other physical reaction to that confession. “Then what was it?”
Sebastian closed his eyes and tried to find the words for what he was too afraid to explore in his mind and his heart. He thought of every moment he’d spent with Marianne, not just in the last few weeks, but since he’d first met her. He thought of their friendship and how much it had meant to him even when he tried to play it off as unimportant. He thought of all the times he’d gravitated toward her to hear her opinions or receive her praise. Or even her gentle censure when he deserved it.
He thought of the first time he’d kissed her and the way it had felt so right. Almost like he’d never kissed anyone else before her, which was certainly not true. He thought of how she wound her way into his blood, keeping him up at night with thoughts of her.
“Sebastian,” Finn said softly.
He opened his eyes. “I can’t name it,” he said at last. “I don’t know.”
