Page 13 of The Season of Lady Chastity

Lady Hawke glanced about the room and went silent.

“Adventure. My dear wife loves nothing more than tales of exploit,” Lord Hawke, Colin, said with a laugh.

“I do so love adventure, especially when the heart is concerned.”

Bastian nodded in agreement but was uncertain whether he agreed with Lady Hawke’s choice of reading matter. What did adventure and matters of the heart have to do with each other?

He turned to find that Lady Chastity had, indeed, taken a seat on the low lounge; however, her brother, Lord Torrington was seated next to her. A slender wedge of velvet was left open, and the broad-shouldered lord patted the cushion. Bastian eyed the proffered sliver of chaise before glancing about the space—the only other chair available was nestled near the tall bank of windows across the room. Nowhere near close enough to participate in the games to be played.

It was either cram himself onto the lounge with Chastity and her daunting brother or remove himself from the gathering altogether.

Lady Chastity met Bastian’s stare and smiled, nodding to the place next to Torrington.

No one in the room seemed to see anything peculiar about the seating arrangement, and if Bastian mentioned anything, he’d likely be made the end of another round of jests.

So far, Montrose and his friends hadn’t taken to the moniker used in Bastian’s youth, and for that, he was grateful.

Bastian swallowed the lump in his throat and lowered himself to the lounge, resting his bum on the edge of the seat as his thigh grazed Torrington’s thick, muscular leg. Their eyes met before Torrington glanced down at their touching pants. Bastian would not pull away first. For some reason he sensed that the viscount would see it as a form of weakness, and besides, Bastian had nowhere to pull away to. He could almost hear the lounge groan under their combined weight.

“Shall we begin?” Montrose asked from his place next to Lady Lucianna.

Chapter 4

The green salon was as it was named: green. Very green, actually. Varying shades of chartreuse, jade, evergreen, moss, sage, and olive covered every surface from the rugs on the floor to the draperies pulled back from the bank of windows and the chairs, lounges, and sofas littering the room. With a few hints of white and, perhaps some red, the salon would be outfitted for a Christmastide celebration year-round.

She could almost imagine boughs of holly and mistletoe hung at the arching doorways and garland adorning the wood shelving at the far end of the room.

Despite the contrasting hues vying for notice around her, Chastity found herself unable to keep her gaze from Lord Mansfield where he was perched—seemingly uncomfortably—on the lounge. Triston’s great mass separated them, but it in no way dwarfed Bastian’s size. Despite her brother’s bothersome demeanor, the earl hadn’t shied away as she’d expected. He’d sat where Triston had indicated. The sight was comical, and Chastity sensed that everyone in the room—except for perhaps Bastian himself—held in their mirth.

They were not making a mockery of him as the lords by the moat had. No. This was Triston’s, Roderick’s, and Colin’s unconventional way of welcoming the earl into their selective group.

“Triston.” Chastity sighed, ready to put the earl out of his misery. “Do you not think it would be best if you sat with Edith?”

Her question was all it took for everyone to break into laughter, the men’s deep chuckles filling the room as Edith, Ophelia, and Luci giggled behind raised hands.

Bastian attempted to remain unaffected by the laughter, but spots of red shone above the lapel of his white linen shirt.

“Very well, dear sister.” Triston stood and moved around the low table, sinking to the floor in front of Edith’s chair. The move was only for appearances as he kept his eyes fixed on Lord Mansfield.

Bastian adjusted himself until he sat fully on the lounge, keeping nearly a foot separating him and Lady Chastity as he kept a leery eye on her brother.

As everyone bickered over which game to play, Chastity made a show of arranging her skirts as she slipped a few inches closer to Bastian. Not so close that they touched, but near enough for her to catch his scent: woodsy with a hint of cinnamon. It was very unlike her brother’s favored cologne, Albany, but she found it to her liking nonetheless.

With Prudence not in attendance, Chastity found herself laughing along with the group as they played charades—playacting with great exuberance in a manner that would have normally had her shying away. All the while, she kept a watchful eye on Bastian as he participated in a much more reserved fashion. When it came around to his turn, he blushed and made a show of not meeting anyone’s eyes as he acted out his charade. He brought his arms out before him and intertwined his fingers before wiggling them back and forth.

“Stream,” Ophelia guessed with a knowing smile, but her face fell when Bastian shook his head.

Colin leapt from his chair. “Wind.”

Bastian once again shook his head, indicating an incorrect answer.

Chastity couldn’t remove her stare from Bastian’s movements long enough to wager her own guess. Though he didn’t know the group, the earl seemed to relax with each passing moment until she barely recognized him as the same man from their time by the edge of the moat. She’d sensed he’d gone to the water’s edge heavy in thought—much as she had. But now, he smiled and laughed, though not as openly or vigorously as the other men.

Any hint of Triston’s attempt to intimidate Bastian was long forgotten, though it made little sense why her brother had made the attempt at all. Hadn’t Triston, and her father, been wanting nothing more than for Chastity and Prudence to find a suitable match? Was there something about Bastian that her brother recognized that eluded Chastity?

In any event, it gave Chastity the courage to be bold in her own actions, not the wallflower miss she’d always been.

“A snake.” It was Edith who guessed correctly, and she clapped her hands with joy.