Antonia bestowed a smile and a “Thank you” and moved down the hall.
Sebastian nodded to the beleaguered butler and followed at her heels.
Now for the moment that might just turn this exercise into a quagmire. He hadn’t exchanged more than two words with Cecilia, Lady Ennis, since breaking off their liaison six years ago.
As with all his dalliances, his affair with Cecilia had been exceedingly discreet, at least at the time. Later…he strongly suspected it had been Cecilia herself who had let that particular cat out of its bag. Still, she’d been selective, and not that many people knew of it. Drake did, but then Drake knew everyone’s secrets. Ennis certainly did, and some of those at the house party might, but in general, that particular information was not widely known. Sebastian was perfectly certain it hadn’t reached the more rarefied circles of the haut ton—those inhabited by his parents and relatives, and Antonia, her parents, and her relatives.
How the next few minutes went would depend very much on Cecilia and how she behaved.
He really had no clue what he was walking into.
As Antonia approached the other guests, the group rearranged itself into several knots, leaving Cecilia Boyne, Lady Ennis—a blonde a few inches shorter than Antonia and considerably more plump—to turn and greet Antonia.
“Welcome, my dear.” Cecilia clasped Antonia’s fingers, and the pair touched scented cheeks. “I’m so glad you managed to find a suitable escort and could join us.”
“Thank you for being so understanding.” Retrieving her hand, Antonia gestured to Sebastian, who had halted at her shoulder. “I’m not sure if you’ve met Earith. Lord Sebastian Cynster—Cecilia, Lady Ennis.”
Cecilia’s blue eyes lifted to meet Sebastian’s, and she smiled. “Indeed, we have met, although it was some years ago. Welcome to Pressingstoke Hall, my lord.”
Sebastian took the hand Cecilia offered and half bowed. “It’s a pleasure to be here, Lady Ennis.”
As he straightened, Cecilia bent a rather searching look on him—one that suggested she was wondering whether his appearance at her home meant anything beyond the obvious.
Pretending obliviousness, he turned and scanned the other guests. Antonia had already drifted away to be greeted by her friends. Until he’d seen her and Cecilia together, it hadn’t occurred to him that there was only a year or two between them. Cecilia seemed so much older; a long-established matron, she’d already presented her husband with the requisite two heirs before Sebastian had allowed her to entice him to her bed. Perhaps it was simply experience that made her seem so aged relative to the vivacious, vibrant, untouched passion he now saw whenever he looked at Antonia.
Antonia, who was currently surrounded by young ladies, three of whom were throwing intrigued glances his way.
He looked at the front door, confirming no more guests had arrived. On impulse, he turned to Cecilia. “Are we the last?”
She scanned the heads, then nodded. “I believe you are.”
“In that case”—he wasn’t sure inviting Cecilia’s assistance in even a minor way was wise, but when it came to the other gentlemen present, he needed her insights rather than Antonia’s—“perhaps you might introduce me to the gentlemen. I don’t see any I know.”
Cecilia beamed and linked her arm with his. “Of course.”
He endured more than ten minutes of her leaning a little too heavily on his arm, of her pressing a little too definitely against his side. But she did as he’d asked and introduced him to all the men there.
Being the last to arrive was helpful; he was able to put all the men in context—who was a friend of whom.
Ennis’s younger brother, Connell Boyne, was about Sebastian’s age and had arrived from Ireland over a week ago. Sebastian was given to understand that Connell acted as his brother’s agent on the Ennis estate outside Tulla; he was left to infer that Connell’s presence in Kent was in relation to the management of said estate.
There were three other bachelors present, all about thirty years old—a Mr. Henry Filbury, a Mr. Patrick Wilson, and a Mr. Baylor Worthington. Filbury and Wilson were Anglo-Irish, family friends of the Boynes and particular friends of Connell’s, while Worthington was an Englishman, a friend of Connell’s who lived in London.
Two old friends of Ennis’s—a Mr. Samuel Parrish and a Mr. Harold McGibbin—were there with their wives. Both men were of an age with Ennis—somewhere around forty years old. The pair appeared to be well-to-do landowners and were Anglo-Irish; by way of a holiday designed to appease their wives, the foursome were making a tour of various spas in southern England. Ennis had invited them to stay as part of their holiday.
Lord Ennis himself wasn’t in the hall. Sebastian waited for Cecilia to mention her husband. Had something occurred to send Ennis running? Or…? He longed to ask Cecilia or one of the other men, but didn’t wish in any way to signal that he had an interest in Ennis.
Indeed, if any there knew of his affair with Cecilia, him asking after Ennis would be the last thing they would expect him to do.
Eventually, Cecilia towed him to make his bow to the older ladies—Mrs. Parrish and Mrs. McGibbin. Both were thoroughly delighted to make the acquaintance of an English marquess, who, moreover, was a duke’s son. To Sebastian’s relief, both ladies kept their avid curiosity in check, yet he still felt distinctly hounded, a sensation that only grew when Cecilia drew him across the hall to meet the younger ladies.
Miss Melinda Boyne, a cousin of Ennis’s, was a mousy young woman who had been invited to make up the numbers; she blushed furiously as she thanked Sebastian for coming and thus giving her a chance to have a short holiday from Southampton, where she lived with her aging mother.
Miss Amelie Bilhurst was an English miss with bouncing golden curls; she was a cousin of Mrs. Parrish and was making the tour of the spas with the older couple. Sebastian suspected the Parrishes viewed Miss Bilhurst as a fetcher-and-carrier, but she smiled a great deal and seemed genuinely delighted with her lot.
Finally, Cecilia introduced him to Antonia’s coterie of friends—the Honorable Miss Melissa Wainwright, the Honorable Miss Claire Savage, both daughters of viscounts, and Mrs. Georgia Featherstonehaugh, a somewhat dashing young matron who was transparently attached to her husband, the Honorable Hadley Featherstonehaugh, grandson of the Earl of Titchworth. The latter greeted Sebastian with patent relief.
Although he gave no sign of it, Sebastian was very aware of the assessing glances Miss Wainwright and Miss Savage directed his way; it seemed Antonia had established his role as unwelcome-escort-foisted-upon-her-by-her-overprotective-father only too well.
Then Cecilia was called away to deal with some query from the housekeeper; as her arm slid from his, and she moved away, he very nearly exhaled in relief. Cecilia had placed herself next to Antonia; now she’d vacated the space, he shifted closer to his supposed charge.
She threw him a quick glance, but said nothing—nor did she edge away.
“They’re fussing about rooms,” Miss Wainwright said. “I hope they sort things out soon—I’d like to unpack before tea.”
“I just want a cup of tea,” Georgia Featherstonehaugh said. “We left London in our carriage before six this morning.” She turned an inquiring gaze on Antonia and Sebastian. “How did you two get here?”
“Sebastian drove us down in his phaeton,” Antonia replied. “It only took us just over six hours, so we left Green Street at the altogether decent hour of eight.”
“Lucky you!” Miss Savage smiled at Sebastian. “I came up from the New Forest so had to stop overnight with friends in Brighton.”
“Just over six hours…” Hadley Featherstonehaugh looked at Sebastian rather eagerly. “That must mean you used your own horses.”
Sebastian nodded. “I babied them along. We stopped at Faversham for lunch, so that gave them time to recover.”
“What are they?” Hadley asked.
With a grin, Sebastian settled to discuss horseflesh with Hadley. Pre
dictably, the ladies lost interest and started chattering about projected excursions and events with which they hoped to fill the following days.
Eventually, the topic of carriage horses was exhausted, and Hadley was called to order via a question from his wife. Sebastian raised his head and scanned the company, but other than various staff, no one else had joined the gathering.
Antonia noticed. She put a hand on Sebastian’s arm. She’d intended purely to attract his attention, but the muscles under her fingers tensed to steel, and his head whipped around, and his gaze pinned her. Her heart leapt; her pulse spiked. Pretending to be entirely unaware and unaffected, she coolly informed him, “If you’re looking for Ennis, Cecilia said he was busy with unexpected estate matters and would join us later.”
He stared at her for a second, then his chest rose as he drew in a breath, and he nodded and looked away. After a moment, she remembered and drew her hand from his sleeve.
A second later, he asked, “Is there any event or entertainment scheduled for today?”
She resisted the impulse to blink in surprise. Was his naturally deep voice a touch deeper, rougher? “No. Nothing tonight. Just tea at four o’clock, and then dinner at eight.”
“Drawing room at seven?”
She nodded. “The usual.”
She’d had plenty of time during the journey into Kent to confirm that her sudden susceptibility to him hadn’t faded and, subsequently, to decide how best to cope with—and to hide—her unexpected sensitivity. But if the way he’d tensed and the sheer potency of the look he’d bent on her when she’d entirely innocently laid her hand on his arm was any guide, she wasn’t the only one battling a newfound susceptibility.
That, she hadn’t factored into her deliberations at all.
Indeed, that such a situation might exist had never entered her head!
She needed to rethink, rather desperately, about him and her, but that required time alone, away from him.
Yet she remained determined to participate in his mission and contribute to the outcome as and when she could. She’d wondered if, as soon as he was through the front door, he would quit her side; playing the role of escort at a country house party didn’t require him to loom at her shoulder every minute of every day. Yet he’d gravitated back to stand beside her and, even when he might have drifted away, had shown no inclination to do so.
She was in two minds about that. While he was by her side, she could keep abreast of what he was doing vis-à-vis his mission. But if he was by her side, she tensed and remained in a hypersensitive state in which her nerves seemed so taut they quivered, just waiting for a touch, a look, an expression to set them twanging. That seemed to have become her new default state when he was near.
“Everyone!”
They all looked toward the staircase.
Cecilia was standing two steps up, with various footmen and maids behind her and the round figure of the matronly housekeeper beside her. “We have your rooms prepared. If the ladies would like to come forward, we’ll have you comfortably settled in good time before tea. Four o’clock, everyone, in the drawing room, which”—Cecilia pointed to her left—“is over there.” She looked down and smiled. “Mrs. Parrish. We’ve put you just along the west wing, with Miss Bilhurst on one side and Mr. Parrish on the other.”
Antonia fell in behind the Featherstonehaughs. Somewhat to her surprise, Sebastian maintained his position beside her. They chatted to Hadley and Georgia about the amenities Cecilia had mentioned could be found in the grounds, as others were sent upstairs to their rooms, and the four of them edged closer to the bottom of the stairs.
Finally, Georgia faced Cecilia.
Cecilia smiled on their group. “As it happens, you’re all in the east wing—the first three rooms on the eastern side. Your windows look out on the shrubbery and wilderness and over the woods.” Cecilia consulted her list. “Antonia, you have the room closest to the gallery, with the Featherstonehaughs next door along.” Cecilia paused to allow the housekeeper to organize a footman to lead Georgia and Hadley to their room.
Then Cecilia turned and looked directly at Sebastian.
Antonia nearly blinked. The quality of that look…she felt decidedly de trop.
“Given you are Antonia’s escort,” Cecilia was saying to Sebastian, her tone husky, “I’ve placed you in the same wing, two doors down, beyond the Featherstonehaughs.”
The housekeeper faced Antonia and bobbed a curtsy. “If you’ll follow me, my lady, I’ll show you to your room. Your maid’s already there unpacking your things.”
“Thank you.” Antonia raised her skirts, and, without looking at Sebastian or Cecilia—what was going on there?—she started to follow the housekeeper up the stairs.
She’d taken only one step when Sebastian’s long fingers closed like a vise about her elbow.
“As my room is two doors from yours, I’ll see you to your door.”
Seared by his touch—and equally surprised by his hard tone—she glanced back. His face was set in uncompromising lines. She also saw the hand Cecilia reached out to him that he adroitly sidestepped, leaving Cecilia to turn the surreptitious attempt at a caress into a vague gesture.
Facing forward, Antonia continued up the stairs. Sebastian’s grip eased, then his fingers fell away. She gave no sign she’d noticed anything, but once they’d reached the gallery—temporarily deserted—she slowed until the housekeeper was sufficiently far ahead, then halted and looked at Sebastian. “What’s between you and Cecilia?”
She’d have to be a ninnyhammer to have missed the implication.
He halted close beside her, but he’d been looking over the gallery balustrade at Cecilia below.
Antonia resisted the impulse to fold her arms and tap her toe and simply waited.
Eventually, his lips twisted in a faint grimace. “We had an affair six years ago. I broke it off. I’ve barely seen her since.”
Antonia blew out a breath; she was rather surprised he’d told her so directly. “Well, that’s not going to make your mission any easier.” Then she realized and frowned. “I assume Drake knew—he always knows everything—so why…?”
She raised her gaze to Sebastian’s face in time to see a rueful smile tug at his lips.
“Believe it or not,” he murmured, “Drake considered it an advantage.” He met her eyes. “He didn’t want to write my name to Ennis, to identify me as his surrogate, but the connection—which Ennis knows of—allowed Drake to describe me as ‘the man Ennis would least want to see.’”
Antonia made a rude sound. She turned and walked on to where the housekeeper stood not-so-patiently waiting at the archway leading to the east wing. “I’ve noticed that Drake has a warped sense of humor.”
Sebastian said nothing, just followed her to her room. As she passed through the door Mrs. Blanchard had opened, Antonia heard him confirming with the housekeeper that the room he’d been assigned was actually four doors down the wing, there being two dressing rooms in between.
Antonia shut the door and discovered a smile was teasing her lips.
Beccy, her maid, who’d been born on the Rawlings family estate at Lambourn and had been Antonia’s maid since Antonia had left the schoolroom, came to bob a curtsy. “Do you want to change for tea, my lady? Or will it be just a wash?”
Antonia handed Beccy the bonnet she’d been carrying by its ribbons. “Just a wash, and I want to redo my hair. I’ll wear the gray watered silk for dinner.”
“I’ll lay it out while you’re downstairs.” Beccy followed Antonia to the dressing table. After Antonia sat, Beccy started to pull pins from her heavy hair.
“Nice place?” Antonia asked.
“Fair enough,” Beccy replied. “They’re friendly, and everything seems to be run as it should be. More than one iron, and that’s a blessing.”
Antonia smiled. Beccy unraveled her long hair, then plied the brush. Antonia closed her eyes, soothed by the regular tugs on her scalp.
She wasn’t, she dec
ided, going to worry about Sebastian, not until she had some better idea of what this odd awareness that had sprung up between them presaged. There was nothing gentle about it; her senses responded as if to a spark landing on her skin. The effect was far more marked, far more intense, than anything she’d ever felt with any other man.
Of course, she knew what such sparks normally meant, but this was Sebastian—he was almost like a brother…only she’d never seen him in such a light.
Never. Not ever.
He’d always simply been him—in a class of his own, at least in her eyes.
What his particular class was…that was what she now needed to decide.
Then another thought impinged. He was pretending to be her escort—supposedly there to protect her, to defend her virtue. Yet when Cecilia had approached him, he’d seized her arm…as if, in reality, she was protecting him.
Her eyes still closed, Antonia grinned.
* * *
In the room four doors down, Sebastian shrugged out of his coat and handed it to Wilkins. A dapper individual, plain of face and self-effacing in manner, Wilkins was a godsend in many ways. Other servants found him far more approachable than they expected a marquess’s man to be—and so they talked, usually more freely than they otherwise would.
“I’ve laid out a clean shirt, my lord. I gather the second gong will be rung at seven, with dinner at eight.”
Sebastian started to undo the links closing his cuffs. “So I heard. See what you can learn about the Anglo-Irish contingent.” He glanced at Wilkins. “Have they all brought manservants?”
“Most.” Wilkins lovingly brushed the dust from Sebastian’s coat. “Mr. Filbury and Mr. Wilson are making do with one of the footmen, and Mr. Connell Boyne is sharing the services of his brother’s man, which is causing something of a strain as, apparently, Lord Ennis is very particular about his dress.”
Sebastian grimaced. “In that case, concentrate on Parrish and McGibbin, and you may as well see what you can learn about Mr. Worthington, as well.”