She shook her head. “I DON’T LIKE DUCK.” And then, in a blessed whisper, she added, “It gives me hives.”
Sebastian decided then and there that until he himself was old enough to have sired grandchildren, this was more than he wanted to know about any woman over the age of seventy.
While Lady Millicent was busy with the beef burgundy, Sebastian craned his neck only slightly farther than was subtle, trying to hear what Annabel and Edward were talking about.
“I was a very recent addition,” Edward said.
Sebastian presumed he was talking about the guest list.
Annabel gave him—Edward, that was; not Sebastian—another one of her brilliant smiles.
Sebastian heard himself growl.
“WHAT?”
He flinched. It was a natural reflex. He was fond of his left ear.
“Isn’t the beef marvelous?” he said to Lady Millicent, pointing at it for clarification.
She nodded, said something about Parliament, and speared a potato.
Sebastian looked back at Annabel, who was chatting animatedly with Edward.
Look at me, he willed.
She didn’t.
Look at me.
Nothing.
Look at—
“WHAT’RE YOU LOOKING AT?”
“Only admiring your fair skin, Lady Millicent,” Seb said smoothly. He’d always been good on his feet. “You must be quite diligent about staying out of the sun.”
She nodded and muttered, “I watch my money.”
Sebastian was stupefied. What on earth had she thought he’d said?
“EAT THE BEEF.” She took another bite. “IT’S THE BEST THING ON THE TABLE.”
He did. But it needed salt. Or rather,he needed the salt cellar, which happened to be located directly in front of Annabel.
“Edward,” he said, “would you please ask Miss Winslow for the salt?”
Edward turned to Annabel and repeated the request, although in Sebastian’s opinion, there had been no need for his eyes to travel anywhere below her face.
“Of course,” Annabel murmured, and she reached for the salt cellar.
Look at me.
She handed it to Edward.
Look at me.
And then…finally. He gave her his most melting smile, the kind that promised secrets and delight.
She flushed. From her cheeks, to her ears, to the skin on her chest, so delightfully displayed above the lacy trim of her bodice. Sebastian allowed himself a satisfied sigh.
“Miss Winslow?” Edward asked. “Are you unwell?”
“Perfectly well,” she said, fanning herself. “Is it hot in here?”
“Perhaps a little bit,” he said, obviously lying. He was wearing a shirt, cravat, waistcoat, and jacket, and he looked cool and comfortable as an ice chip. Whereas Annabel, whose dress was cut low enough so that half of her bosom was exposed to air, had just taken a long sip of wine.
“I think my soup was overly warm,” she said, shooting a quick glare at Sebastian. He returned the sentiment with a tiny lick of his lips.
“Miss Winslow?” Edward asked again, all concern.
“I’m fine,” she snapped.
Sebastian chuckled.
“TRY THE FISH.”
“I believe I will,” Seb said, smiling at Lady Millicent. He took a bite of the salmon, which really was excellent—Lady Millicent apparently knew her fish—then sneaked a glance over at Annabel, who still
looked as if she’d dearly love a tall glass of water. Edward, on the other hand, had got that glazed look in his eyes, the one that appeared every time he thought about Annabel’s—
Sebastian kicked him.
Edward snapped around to face him.
“Is something wrong, Mr. Valentine?” Annabel asked.
“My cousin,” he bit off, “has uncommonly long legs.”
“Did he kick you?” She turned quickly to Sebastian.Did you kick him ? she mouthed.
He took another bite of fish.
She turned back to Edward. “Why would he do such a thing?”
Edward flushed to the tips of his ears. Sebastian decided to let Annabel figure that one out on her own. She turned and scowled at him, which he returned with: “Why, Miss Winslow, whatever can be the matter?”
“WERE YOU TALKING TO ME?”
“Miss Winslow was wondering what sort of fish we’re eating,” Sebastian lied.
Lady Millicent looked at Annabel as if she were an idiot, shook her head, and muttered something Sebastian couldn’t quite grasp. He thought he heard salmon. Maybe beef, too. And he could have sworn she said something about a dog.
This concerned him.
He glanced down at his plate, making sure that he could identify every meat-like substance, and then, satisfied all was what it should be, took a bite of the beef.
“It’s good,” Lady Millicent said, giving him a nudge.
He smiled and nodded, relieved that she seemed to be speaking in a quieter voice.
“Should get some more. Best thing on the plate.”
Sebastian wasn’t sure about that, but—
“WHERE’S THE BEEF?”
And there went his ear.
Lady Millicent was craning her neck, looking this way and that. She opened her mouth to shout again, but Sebastian held up what he hoped was a silencing hand and signaled to a footman.
“More beef for the lady,” he requested.
With a pained expression, the footman explained that there was none left.
“Can you get her something thatlooks like beef?”
“We have duck in a similar sauce.”
“God, no.” Sebastian had no idea how hivey Lady Millicent might get, or how long it would take for her to get there, but he fervently did not want to find out.
With an exaggerated gesture toward the far end of the table, he said something to her about a dog, and while she was looking the other way quickly slid the rest of his beef onto her plate.
Upon not locating a dog (or frog, hog, or log) near the bottom of the table, Lady Millicent turned back with an expression of some irritation, but Sebastian quickly held her off with: “They found one last portion.”
She gave a grunt of pleasure and set back to eating. Seb hazarded a glance back at Annabel, who appeared to have been watching the entire exchange.
She was grinning from ear to ear.
Seb thought of all the ladies he’d met in London, the ones who would have looked on in horror, or disgust, or if they had any humor, would have been biting back their smiles, or trying to hide them behind a hand.
But not Annabel. She smiled like she laughed, magnificent and grand. Her eyes, greenish-gray turned pewter in the evening light, sparkled with shared mischief.
And he realized, right there across Lady Challis’s heavily laden dining-room table, that he could never live without her. She was so beautiful, so gloriously womanly, his breath quite literally whooshed from his body. Her face, heart-shaped, and with that mouth that always looked as if it wanted to smile; her skin, not quite as pale as fashion wanted, but utterly perfect for her. She looked healthy, wind-kissed.
She was the type of woman a man wanted to come home to. No, she wasthe womanhe wanted to come home to. He’d asked her to marry him…but why? He could barely remember. He’d liked her, he’d lusted for her, and God knew, he’d always loved saving females who needed saving. But he’d never asked one to marry him before.
Could his heart have known something his head hadn’t quite grasped?
He loved her.
Headored her.
He wanted to crawl into bed with her every night, make love as if there would be no tomorrow, and then wake up in her arms the next morning, rested and sated, and ready to devote himself to the singular task of making her smile.
He lifted his glass to his lips, smiling into his wine. The flickering light of the candles was dancing across the table, and Sebastian Grey was happy.