Page 37 of The Season of Lady Chastity

Chastity swallowed, nodding to Bastian and turning a scowl in Triston’s direction. She was angry, intensely mad, and she’d have her brother know it. He had no right to order her about. He was not her father, and if her suspicions were correct, he wasn’t even her true brother.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” she snapped, a forced smile on her lips before she walked from the room, her head held high, and four sets of eyes on her back.

Chapter 10

Bastian felt helpless, inside and out, as he watched Chastity stalk from the library, the sound of her half boots echoing in the halls, her staccato steps punctuating her obvious ire. He knew she’d restrained herself where Lord Torrington was concerned. But, largely, he had the overwhelming sense he’d failed her in some way.

By the time she pulled the door closed behind her, he’d set his mind to rectifying the situation with Torrington. He could not have Chastity’s brother angry or disappointed with her.

“Lord Torrington, please do not think—”

Chastity’s brother’s grim frown turned into a smirk, and he clasped his hand to Bastian’s shoulder. “I think we fooled her well and good, Mansfield.”

“Pardon, my lord?” Bastian sputtered.

“Triston. My friends call me Triston, not my lord or heaven forbid, Torrington.”

“We fooled her?” Bastian attempted to begin anew, his stare traveling past Chastity’s brother to Montrose and Hawke. Both men wore matching smirks, and Bastian was once again the one left out of a private jest.

“My new friend, Bastian.” Triston turned, leading Bastian toward the other men, his hand still firmly affixed to his shoulder. “May I call you Bastian? Of course, I can.” He didn’t wait for Bastian to respond. “You see, my dear sisters, lovely as they may be, have been quite adamant in their refusal to accept the courtship of any man. Not so much as even a dance. Can you believe that?”

“No,” Bastian replied. Chastity was charming, eloquent, and witty; everything any London lord should desire in a wife—or at least a suitable dance partner.

Everything that had led him to believe Chastity was spoken for…that and the love note he’d seen her with.

“I cannot give any sign that I approve of her spending time with you.” Triston chuckled and gestured to an empty seat beside Montrose. “Join us. I am in a jovial mood.”

“What do you mean you cannot give her any sign that you approve?” Bastian took the proffered seat. “Approve of what, exactly?”

“Her interest.”

Bastian’s eyes narrowed in confusion.

“Her interest in you, Bastian,” Torrington spoke the words slowly. “She has taken a liking to you and, I must say, I approve wholeheartedly. However, if she were to become aware of my endorsement, she may very well change her mind. Which would not do well for either of us, I am afraid.”

“We only just became acquainted,” Bastian refuted, not willing to grasp on to what Torrington offered. “I can assure you—”

Chastity’s brother slapped the arm of his chair. “Allow me to assure you of something, my lord. My sister’s determination to remain unnoticed and unattached has never suited me. I suspected when Chastity chose a man worthy of her”—there was that word again, worthy—“she would fall as hard and fast as I did for my Edith. Well, to be fair, Edith fell for me first—from a tree as it were—but that is neither here nor there.”

Torrington waved his hand, and the other two men chuckled, obviously more informed on what exactly Triston was speaking of.

Once again, Bastian was left in the dark while those around him spoke of things he was not part of.

Surprisingly, he realized he wanted to be a part of Lord Torrington’s group.

It was too soon to hope for anything beyond their few days together at Oxburgh Hall. Besides, nothing had changed with his home life. His mother still needed him close in case she suffered another attack.

“Very kind of you to speak to your sister’s interest.” Bastian thought of the note she’d clutched the previous day. Was it addressed to her? Or had she written it to another? “I assumed Lady Chastity had a gentleman awaiting her return to London.”

Perhaps Chastity hadn’t shared news of the note with her brother.

Their kiss—Bastian’s first kiss—had taken him by surprise; however, he was intuitive enough to realize that the desire coursing through him matched the longing within her. If Ruthven and his friends hadn’t stumbled from the manor, Bastian would have held Chastity in his arms for much longer. All night, if she allowed it. The taste of her lips, tinted by the plum dessert they’d been served at their evening meal, had entranced him and held him prisoner.

And he’d been resigned to that fact.

She could have asked anything of him in that moment. Demanded that he throw his family coffers at her feet, steal a king’s ransom of jewels to adorn her body, or travel to the far reaches of England to pick some flowers of her choosing.

He would have done any of it with utter happiness and unequivocal dedication to earning Chastity’s satisfaction.