Antonia made a noncommittal sound.
They walked on in silence, for which she was grateful. She was still coming to terms with the implications of what she’d just done. Sebastian, clearly, assumed her action had been prompted by an urge to help him with the mission.
She knew otherwise.
Cecilia’s proprietary assumption had sparked a reaction in Antonia unlike anything she’d ever felt before. Sheer possessiveness had erupted and gripped her. She’d seen her mother react in just such a way toward ladies who presumed to approach her father, thinking to lure him into an affair. Her father found such clashes amusing; he was prone to stand back and watch with an indulgent smile on his lips.
He understood what lay behind her mother’s steely rebuffs.
Sebastian didn’t possess such insight, an insight born of experience—thank God.
Her head high, her gaze fixed forward, Antonia paced alongside him, her hand resting lightly on his sleeve—gripping only a little; that was all she would allow herself.
Beneath her outwardly composed exterior, she was metaphorically taking in great gulps of air and trying to calm the whirlpool of swirling emotions inside her.
She’d wondered what Sebastian meant to her—how the passionate, fiery woman who lived inside her truly saw him.
Now, she knew.
That woman who was her true self saw Lord Sebastian Cynster, Marquess of Earith, as, quite simply, hers.
Chapter 3
Sebastian walked into the drawing room just after the clocks had chimed seven o’clock. The first man he saw, standing before the fireplace and chatting with McGibbin and Parrish, was Lord Ennis.
About forty years old, Ennis was shorter and stockier than Sebastian, and his black hair, gleaming under the gaslight, clustered in thick curls about his pale face.
Unhurriedly, Sebastian crossed the room to the group before the hearth, transparently intent on exchanging greetings with his host, as any guest would. McGibbin and Parrish welcomed him with smiles, but Ennis had stiffened fractionally when he saw Sebastian approaching, and his expression had grown distant and a touch chilly.
His own expression easy and relaxed, after nodding to the other two, Sebastian politely inclined his head to Ennis and offered his hand. “My lord. It’s a pleasure to have the opportunity of visiting Pressingstoke Hall.”
Ennis briefly gripped his hand. “Earith. Lady Ennis mentioned that you would be here. I hope you find your stay entertaining.”
The words were stiff and stilted, contrasting sharply with Sebastian’s assured drawl. It was clear Ennis wanted nothing to do with Sebastian, but he’d expected that. And with McGibbin and Parrish hovering, now was not the time to mention a private meeting.
“Actually”—turning, Sebastian scanned the guests—“given I’m here as a favor to the Chillingworths, I expect my appreciation of my stay will largely depend on Lady Antonia.”
“Indeed.” Ennis’s rejoinder was clipped.
Sebastian barely registered it. He’d located Antonia’s glossy dark head and discovered that she—and Miss Wainwright and Miss Savage—were surrounded by Connell Boyne, Filbury, Wilson, and Worthington. The four gentlemen were patently putting themselves out to please, although none of the ladies as yet seemed won over.
Worthington laughed and edged closer to Antonia, leaning near as if to whisper something in her ear.
Antonia shifted, easing back.
The impulse to march across and insert himself between Antonia and Worthington was powerful enough to make Sebastian sway…
He wasn’t going to accomplish anything with Ennis at the moment.
And if he wanted to keep up the façade of being Antonia’s escort…
Adopting a world-weary air, Sebastian turned to Ennis, McGibbin, and Parrish. “If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, I believe my role of escort demands my presence elsewhere.”
McGibbin and Parrish were amused. Ennis was relieved.
They parted with nods. His gaze fixing on the group gathered before the long windows overlooking the terrace, Sebastian strolled nonchalantly past the other guests to fetch up beside Antonia.
She saw him coming and readily shifted to make way for him—he sensed with some relief. Worthington looked somewhat taken aback to find Sebastian suddenly beside him, but soldiered gamely on with the story he was telling.
In less than a minute, Sebastian realized that the only threat Worthington posed was that of boring his listeners to madness. But his three friends—Filbury, Wilson, and Connell Boyne—were of quite a different stripe. All three struck Sebastian as minor jackals, gentlemen-scavengers on the lookout for a fortune to make their own. They didn’t rank among the more dangerous of the breed, but all three had enough nous to realize that, of the unmarried ladies at Pressingstoke Hall, Antonia was the juiciest plum.