Hawthorne removed himself from the room so quickly Veronica was convinced she’d felt a breeze from the tails of his livery coat.
Sebastian turned away from her and she swallowed again while her eyes moved up from his legs covered with a dusting of dark hair, over his arse, which was fine even when hidden by a towel, to his muscled back and shoulders still teaming with droplets of water from his bath.
She cleared her throat to ensure her voice was still there. “Where is she?” she asked in a tone that she could only hope was both nonchalant and uninterested.
“Who?” he replied simply, as he continued to pull clothing items from the wardrobe.
That cursed towel looked as if it might drop from his hips at any moment and, for the life of her, she couldn’t decide if that would be a bad thing. Very well. Yes. Bad. Quite bad.
“You know quite well who…Melissa.” Veronica could barely push the hated name past her lips. She prayed she still sounded unaffected.
He turned then, and his green gaze met hers. A grin covered his face, and he shrugged. “I’ve no idea where she is,” he said simply. “In fact, your guess is as good as mine.”
Veronica crossed her arms over her chest and eyed him warily. “No doubt she’s still in the bath,” she said, nodding toward the bath chamber, desperately hoping her voice continued to sound blasé rather than angry or jealous. Because she was not jealous. She was not and she never would be. It was a fool’s lot to be jealous over a man who could not be faithful. If she’d learned nothing else, it was that.
“You’re welcome to look,” he offered, nodding toward the bath chamber as he used another towel to dry off his considerably muscled chest.
She hadn’t seen the man in two years, and he’d certainly been muscled back then, but he was more muscled now. His biceps bulging, his pectorals swelling, his abdomen outlined in six clearly defined packs. Her mouth went dry. She was looking all right. But not at what he’d offered.
She forced herself to swing her gaze toward the bath chamber door. She wanted to go look. Drat it. She was sorely tempted to go look. But that would imply that she cared, and she would rather be dead than allow him to think that for one moment. “No matter,” she said, still trying to sound completely unaffected.
“I haven’t seen Melissa since the night that you—”
“Please.” Veronica put up a violet-gloved hand and glanced away, completely unable to hear another word on the subject. They’d had this discussion…at length. More than once. And the fact remained that he was a liar and a cheater, and no amount of discussion would change that.
“Fine.” He placed his hands on his nearly bare hips. “Why are you here, Veronica?”
Hearing her name on his lips did something to her. It brought back a memory of him whispering it in her ear when he was so deep inside her that—No. Her breath came out in a heated rush. That sort of thinking was not helping. She swallowed and tugged at the top button of her brocade-covered pelisse, which was currently choking her in the ungodly hot room. Where was a fan when one needed one? “I’ve come because…” She swallowed again, but for an entirely different reason this time. “My grandfather is dying.”
Sebastian’s chin jerked up momentarily. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he said with a genuine warmth that nearly made tears spring to Veronica’s eyes.
She shook her head to rid herself of the unwanted emotion, reminding herself of her mission. “He’s gravely ill and Mama says…” She bit her lip, unable to say the words out loud now that the time had come, even though she’d practiced them in the carriage over and over.
“He’s unlikely to live much longer?” Sebastian prompted in a solemn tone.
She didn’t want to feel grateful that he’d saved her from having to say the awful, the obvious. But she was. She nodded. “Yes.”
“And?” he prompted.
She couldn’t concentrate while he was wearing a towel, for heaven’s sake. She shook herself and averted her gaze. “And…I thought you should know,” she finished. Blast. Why couldn’t she just come out and say what she must? She dared a glance at him again.
He scrubbed a hand through the back of his wet hair and narrowed his eyes on her. “Look, I know you’re here for a reason, and that reason isn’t merely to tell me your grandfather is ill. Justin could have told me that. What do you want?”
Blast again. She was making a mess of this. She pressed her lips together tightly and sucked air into her nostrils. It was time. And if she didn’t word this correctly, Sebastian might refuse. Her grandfather’s happiness in his last days depended on this. She swallowed again and said the words as evenly as she could while bile rose in her throat. “I want you to come to Christmastide at Whitmore Manor…with me.”
His dark brows shot up, but the look of surprise was quickly replaced with one of suspicion. “Wait.” He cocked his head to the side and eyed her warily. “Why?”
Arms still folded, she impatiently drummed her fingers against her elbows and gave an impatient sigh. “Justin hasn’t told you?”
“Told me what?” Sebastian asked, eyes still narrowed.
She straightened her shoulders and shifted uncomfortably on her booted feet. “That we’ve never told Grandfather that we…that you and I are…” Her voice trailed off. She wanted to kick herself for being unable to complete the sentence.
Only one of Sebastian’s eyebrows arched this time. “That you accused me of being unfaithful and refuse to listen to the truth?”
She spun on her heel, reaching for the door handle. “I’ve no intention of rehashing this tired subject again. If you only wish to argue, I’ll leave. We’ve both said all we have to say on that matter, I believe.”
“Wait.”
