“There isn't,” Damien insisted, shooting him a pointed look.
“Naturally,” Laurent said with a solemn nod that was ruined by the twitch at the corner of his mouth.
Damien narrowed his eyes. “You are becoming irritating.”
Laurent's grin widened as he tapped ash from his cigar. “I learned from the best.”
Damien sighed heavily and rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. For several moments neither spoke. The distant sounds of laughter drifted from inside the house while the lanterns flickered softly around them.
Then Laurent smiled. “You realize your denial is only making this more suspicious,” he said, turning slightly to face him.
“There is nothing to deny,” Damien replied, perhaps a touch too quickly.
“Very well.” Laurent lifted both hands in surrender, though the amusement never left his face.
The smug expression on his brother's face suggested he believed precisely none of that. Feeling increasingly annoyed, Damien flicked ash over the terrace railing and straightened. “We should return inside.”
“As you wish,” Laurent said, pushing himself away from the balustrade and gesturing towards the doors.
The moment they stepped back into the parlor, Damien froze.
Music filled the room. Not merely music. Singing. His gaze instinctively sought the source. There, beside the pianoforte, sat Rosaline. Her fingers moved gracefully across the keys as she accompanied the singer standing beside her. The singer in question happened to be Lady Seraphine.
The conversation around them faded into insignificance. The room seemed to narrow until only she remained.
Seraphine stood with perfect poise, one hand resting lightly upon the pianoforte as her voice floated through the room. It was not the loudest voice he had ever heard. Nor the most technically impressive. Yet there was something undeniably beautiful about it. Warm. Clear. Effortless.
Seductive.
She smiled at something Rosaline played, and the expression transformed her entire face. Candlelight danced across her features, illuminating the freckles scattered over her cheeks.
Damien found himself staring. Again. Like an idiot.
A complete idiot.
He should have looked away. Instead, he remained rooted to the spot. The song ended with enthusiastic applause. Several guests immediately praised the performance. Seraphine laughed softly and dipped into a graceful curtsy.
And Damien's attention remained fixed upon her.
Blasted. Entirely blasted.
Because in that moment, watching her sing beneath the candlelight, he realized he was in far more trouble than he had originally thought.
Chapter Fourteen
The following morning, Seraphine descended the staircase, expecting another day full of carefully arranged activities.
“Good day, Lady Seraphine,” the footman said at the bottom of the stairs.
“Her Grace wishes to inform the ladies that the men have gone riding across the estate, and the ladies are gathered in the parlor for an informal breakfast, games, and lounging.”
“Very good, thank you,” she said and made her way to the parlor.
This left the ladies entirely to themselves, which created a noticeably different atmosphere within the house. Seraphine felt able to breathe knowing she would not have to face Damien.
She entered the parlor. Without the men present, the room had transformed into a haven of laughter, gossip, music, and comfortable disorder.
Several ladies sat around card tables playing simple games while exchanging the latest scandals from London. Others occupied sofas with embroidery hoops balanced upon their laps. Near the pianoforte, two young ladies took turns performing songs while their audience politely applauded every effort, regardless of talent.
