The night air drifted past, enticing and mysterious, and he could hear the dripping of a fountain.
He followed a path, heading down to what he assumed was a water garden. The sound enticed him, and he stopped at the edge of a pond, staring in awe at the beauty of the dark water that mirrored the lights. It was a small pond at ground level, paved around the edges, and surrounded by a low wall, perhaps three inches high. Lilies floated there, dark shapes on the black surface that shimmered in the light from the distant windows. Water played into the pool from a tall fountain that sent up a single, slow plume of spray. He breathed in the cool, sweet scent of the damp air, and the sound of the trickling water soothed him.
As he stood there, he paused. Someone was speaking nearby.
It was not a loud voice; the words were little above a whisper. He froze, then began to walk slowly towards the sound, his inquisitive mind overcoming him.
He reached a hedge and stopped at the edge of the path that led through it. Whoever was speaking was in the space beyond the hedges, and he paused there, listening to what they had to say.
“It’s not fair,” a woman’s voice hissed. “It’s not. My grandmama…” The voice faltered, then continued, choked with tears. “Grandmama was the daughter of a marquess. And even if she wasn’t—what she said was cruel. She’s so cruel!”
Sebastian took a step to the opening in the hedge and stopped. He could see the figure who was speaking. She stood against the dark hedge behind her, the moonlight pouring down onto her and making her pale skin glow whitely in the dark.
She was a tall, shapely woman, and she was crying, and in an instant, he knew why the voice had sounded so compelling to his ears.
“Evelyn!”
The woman turned towards him and gasped, her hand lifted to her lips. It was Evelyn, her dark hair coming somewhat loose from her chignon, her pale face lit by the moonlight and seeming distressed. He made a gesture to calm her.
“Shh,” he murmured. “I did not mean to intrude. I heard that you were distressed.”
“Sorry,” she whispered, turning away, but he could hear the misery in her voice. “Please pay me no heed.”
Protective anger surged through him.
“I will always pay you heed,” he said quietly yet firmly. He approached and laid a gentle hand on her shoulder.
She turned back toward him, eyes shimmering. “No,” she murmured. “No, you should not.”
His brow furrowed, stung. “If you do not wish me to—”
“It is not that,” she interrupted, shaking her head. Her voice trembled. He reached for her hand. Her gloved fingers were cold.
“Whatever is the matter?” he asked softly.
“I can’t...” she began, then paused, shaking her head. “I am not suitable.”
Sebastian stilled. Given what he had overheard, he could guess precisely what—or who—had planted such a thought.
“Someone was cruel to you?” he asked gently. “Someone said something? Perhaps about that ridiculous article?”
“Yes. No… I—I do not wish to trouble you with it,” she whispered, faltering. Another tear slid down her cheek.
“I, for one, know that article was nonsense,” he said quietly. “I was in it too, after all.”
A breath of laughter escaped her, soft and fragile. Relief warmed him.
“I suppose…” she murmured.
“I know,” he said firmly. “You are never to feel ashamed. You saved my life. Hardly something to be ashamed of.” He offered a small, teasing smile.
“I suppose,” she said again, her voice barely audible.
He gazed into her eyes. She looked so sad and confused, and he longed to comfort her. He lifted his hand, gently scraping back her hair where it brushed her face. Her eyes widened and he breathed deeply, a fresh longing overtaking him. He could feel the soft, silky texture of her hair and the scent of her—floral and delicate—wafted towards him.
He stared into her eyes, and his gaze locked on hers. Her stare was wide, and yet he sensed no fear in it. She was veryclose, her scent haunting him, that sweet gaze drawing him closer.
He bent forward and, almost without his meaning to, his lips descended onto her own.
