Page 61

Lorenzo sighed. “You are not subtle, amico. You have returned looking like you might strangle the next man who speaks to you. What happened?”

Silence stretched between them.

Sebastian turned, exhaling sharply as he met Lorenzo’s assessing gaze. The truth burned on his tongue, his every instinct at war. He did not want to say it aloud. Did not want to acknowledge it. Because once he did, it would be real.

But Lorenzo was relentless.

“Sebastian.”

The name was a command, sharp and unyielding. Sebastian’s hands clenched. His breath came hard and fast.

“She is having an affair with my cousin,” he bit out.

Lorenzo’s brows lifted. “Which one?”

“Richard,” Sebastian snapped.

A beat of silence. Then Lorenzo snorted.

Sebastian’s glare could have stripped paint from the walls. “You find this amusing?”

Lorenzo held up a hand, still chuckling. “I find it absurd.”

Sebastian scowled, turning back to his packing. “I saw them. Together.”

Lorenzo’s amusement faded. “Did you see them together, or did you assume?”

Sebastian tensed. “They were alone. She was distressed. He was comforting her.”

Lorenzo sighed. “Sebastian⁠—”

A knock at the door interrupted them. Sebastian exhaled sharply, grateful for the reprieve. He stalked to the door and wrenched it open.

Campbell stood there, composed as ever, though there was something in his expression that gave Sebastian pause.

“Lord and Lady Saunton are waiting for you in the family drawing room, milord.”

Every ounce of breath left his lungs. The room seemed to tilt. Slowly, he turned to glance at Lorenzo, who had gone very, very still.

Richard was here.

With his wife.

Waiting for him.

His grip on the doorframe tightened.

So. The guilty party had come to explain himself. Sebastian’s jaw clenched as he forced himself to breathe. “Very well,” he said, voice cold.

Without another word, he stepped past Campbell, descending the stairs with agitated strides. He would hear what they had to say. And then, by the heavens, he would decide whether or not to break Richard’s jaw.

Sebastian stepped into the family drawing room, his broad shoulders nearly brushing the doorframe. The tension in the room was palpable, settling over the space like the particular stillness of a house braced for difficult news. Richard was pacing the length of the carpet, his movements restless, his cravat visibly loosened as though he had been tugging at it in frustration.

And Richard’s wife, Sophia, sat primly on the settee, her delicate hands fiddling with her gloves. The firelight cast a warm glow over her flawless complexion, her red-blonde hair shining like burnished gold beneath the soft lamplight. She was dressed in a blue gown that complemented her striking blue eyes, which lifted to him the moment he entered.

Sebastian was momentarily struck by her serene beauty.

How could Richard, a man who had spent years as a notorious rake, but who now supposedly valued his reformed reputation, be so foolish as to betray such a fine female? A wife like Lady Saunton, graceful, mild, the picture of quiet dignity? The thought only fueled his anger.