He’d forgotten his seduction of her hand. He simply held it. “Why are you wearing no gloves?”
“I was hot. They were annoying me.”
“It does not matter what you want. Only what society says you must do.”
He spoke the words ironically, but she met his look squarely. “Words you live by.”
“Words I thrive by.”
It was her eyes that dipped to his mouth. He went hot everywhere all at once, his neckcloth a choking claw at his throat, her hand in his a burning branch. But it was only a fleeting glance. He saw her correct herself, a keeled-over ship dragging itself upright, fleeing cleanly before the wind.
She addressed his shoulder, voice firm. “Your uncle—”
A commotion cut her off, the sound of voices from the front of the house. He’d recognise that deep, rough voice anywhere. He knew the vicious anger.
“Well.” He let her hand go, and turned once more for the door, “they do say speak of the devil…”
With hindsight, with his uncle in this mood, he ought to have told Mrs Ardingly to stay back. But it didn’t even occur to him, just that they would set out together, hurrying stride for stride towards the source of the commotion. She wouldn’t have listened anyway.
They found the major in the hallway, Joshua, the porter, rushing to close the door behind him and block any interestedstares from the street. Lady Pemberthy came hurrying up from the opposite side of the house, arriving at the same time they did. And Tom… Tom hung twisting and spitting from the grip the major had on the back of his coat.
“Found this rat climbing out of your window,” the major snarled. “And this stuffed down his shirt front!”
In his other hand, he held the mantel clock.
Sebastian’s uncle met his eyes, full of mocking triumph. “This is the urchin you rescued, is it? This the boy half of town thinks must be your bastard?” His gaze passed Sebastian and landed on Mrs Ardingly, who stood quivering at his shoulder—more in rage than fear, Sebastian was sure.
“You bring your fleas to the house of Thorne, do you, miss? Trying to climb society on my nephew’s shoulders and never caring how much dirt you get on him? Pah.” He gave the boy in his grip a rough shake. “I’ll throw this rat out for you, Cote, if you’re too soft. But not before he’s had a lesson he won’t forget.”
He threw the boy down, both Mrs Ardingly and her aunt calling out in protest as the boy hit the bottom step hard with a cry of pain.
Mrs Ardingly made to rush forward, but Sebastian held her back, hurrying forward himself. The boy still moved, thank God, scrabbling to sit up, spitting blood. He grinned, cut lip running scarlet over his teeth as he sneered up at the major. “Missing sumthink, you dumb cove?”
From his hand dangled the major’s pocket watch.
God, it was suicide to pick the major’s pocket and taunt him with it just then. With a shout of rage the major reached out, picked up a heavy silver candlestick from the sideboard and leapt for the boy. Sebastian got in the way, taking the blow on his arm.
“Good God,” someone was shouting. Joshua, the servants. The pain in Sebastian’s arm was white hot, deafening. “Get the watch, get a runner, quick, quick.”
Lady Pemberthy was screaming something, Mrs Ardingly was all ablaze, stalking towards the major, spitting scold after scold, as though he wouldn’t kill her, the mood he was in.
“Enough!” Sebastian shouted, straightening. He stood between the major and the boy. “You will put that down, or I’ll see you hang.”
His uncle was still, breathing hard, face red and ugly. He scoffed a laugh, tossing the candlestick down. It landed hard enough to chip the marble floor.
“Please.” Sebastian looked over at Mrs Ardingly. Lady Pemberthy was wailing, half collapsed against a wall. “Can you get your aunt away from here? She doesn’t need to see any of this.”
She searched his expression, loath to leave.
“I will deal with this,” he said. “But…please.”
Her reply was a quick nod. She did what he wanted. Going to her aunt, she gathered her up, politely asking Joshua to open the door, and took her from the house.
The door closed, leaving silence, apart from his uncle’s heavy breathing and Tom’s occasional sniff. He wasn’t crying; his nose was bleeding. Or so he’d surely say. Above them, behind them, Sebastian knew a dozen servants watched, tucked out of sight, motionless.
“Joshua.” Sebastian’s eyes didn’t leave his uncle’s as the porter came over. “Escort Master Tom to his room. See to it he has whatever he needs, including the doctor, if necessary.”
“Yes, my lord.”
