While Worthington rattled on, apparently oblivious to the implications of Sebastian’s sudden appearance, the other three eyed him assessingly.
Sebastian stood beside Antonia and, one by one, met Filbury’s, then Wilson’s, then Boyne’s eyes; he didn’t actually do anything, just let his threat infuse his gaze, his stance, the very air between them.
All three got his message, loud and clear. They dropped their gazes, and a certain tension—the intentness of hunters assessing prey—that had tightened the atmosphere evaporated.
Antonia exchanged resigned looks with Melissa and Claire; on her part, those looks were also placating. She’d insisted to her friends that Sebastian was merely a family friend sent to fill the role of escort, that he was nothing more to her, and she was nothing more to him. That was what she’d believed at the time. But she and her friends were more than experienced enough to recognize precisely what he had just done, and such heavy-handed intervention didn’t fit the script he was supposed to be following.
But her friends’ confusion was the least of the problems plaguing her.
The manner in which Sebastian had done what he’d done had set warning bells ringing in her brain.
He’d acted with arrogant, invincible authority, with an air of absolute, inalienable right.
She knew him, knew men like him—she knew the difference between an escort stepping in to protect his charge and…the aura Sebastian had projected, which had been several orders of magnitude more extreme.
There was no way any of the three other gentlemen would approach her now, other than in the most innocent of contexts. Not that she wanted them to approach her in any non-innocent circumstances, but still…
In just a few short minutes, without uttering a single word, Sebastian had declared that she was his.
His—in some way, in whatever way he meant.
He’d behaved as if he owned her, as if she—her time, her consideration—were his by right.
Given her own eye-opening revelation of mere hours before, a revelation from which she was still mentally reeling, him behaving in such a possessive way was only compounding her difficulties.
Apparently satisfied with the result he’d achieved, his expression once more politely mild, he glanced down at her. She caught his eye, narrowed hers fractionally, and with a deceptively sweet smile curving her lips, looped her arm in his and murmured, “Walk with me.” She directed her smile around the circle. “If you’ll excuse us?”
It wasn’t a question. Melissa and Claire inclined their heads with clear relief; they didn’t want Sebastian destroying all their fun.
The other gentlemen brightened and replied, “Of course” and “Until later.”
Maintaining an expression of unimpaired calm, Antonia steered Sebastian toward an unoccupied corner of the room. He didn’t resist; from the look in his eyes, he assumed she had something to impart regarding the mission.
Doing her best not to grit her teeth—could his obliviousness over what he’d just done be any more obvious?—she halted and seized the moment of him turning to face her and her drawing her arm from his to jab a finger into his side. That got his undivided attention. She glared into his eyes. “Behave.”
His pale green eyes searched hers even as his brows lowered and bafflement overwhelmed his arrogance. “What?”
He truly had no idea. She resisted the urge to wave her arms. “You can’t just go around”—she gave in and waved one hand—“intimidating people.”
His features set—in intimidating lines. “Why not?”
“Because we’re here—supposedly—to enjoy ourselves as a group.”
“But they were—”
“Behaving exactly as anyone would expect.” She couldn’t put her hands on her hips. “You appear to have forgotten that I—and Melissa and Claire—are twenty-nine. We knew perfectly well what those three—indeed, even Mr. Worthington, teddy bear though he is—were thinking. For all their belief in their own sophistication, they are boringly predictable and nothing we haven’t dealt with before—but they can be entertaining. If you’re imagining we’re three innocent misses who require a nursemaid, you are a long way off the mark.”
“I’m hardly a nursemaid.” He stared frowningly down at her for several seconds; she glared belligerently back. Eventually, he grated, “So what am I supposed to do? Just let those jackals sniff about your skirts?”
“Unless I signal otherwise, yes!”
Sebastian’s jaw clenched even more tightly. He wasn’t sure he could do as she asked. Just the thought set his hackles rising. But her eyes were flashing more silver than gray, and she appeared very set on him backing off.