The Lady By His Side(19)

Stepping back from the table and ostensibly chalking his cue while he waited for Parrish to line up his shot, Sebastian surreptitiously studied Ennis. He took in the way Ennis moved around the room, the quality of his actions, his stride, listened to his rather forced laugh…

Ennis was nervous—anxious. The longer Sebastian watched, the more he was sure of it.

Ennis had been hiding earlier—he’d wanted to limit the time he spent with his guests.

And now Ennis was watching certain of those guests closely…all the Anglo-Irish men and also Worthington…

Damn! His lips compressing, Sebastian looked away. Drake had been too clever. Ennis had misinterpreted Drake’s message. If Ennis’s thoughts were fixated on an Irish plot, then the man Ennis would least want to see…wasn’t Sebastian but someone Ennis thought was connected with whatever plot he had word of and was, presumably, planning to betray.

Ennis would never like Sebastian, but he wouldn’t care that much about a long-ago affair.

But Ennis cared, deeply, about whatever was going on, or he would never have contacted Drake.

Ennis thought Drake’s messenger was one of his Anglo-Irish compatriots. He thought Drake had a man buried in the group—and given Drake’s reputation, that wasn’t any great stretch of the imagination—so Ennis was waiting for that man to give him a sign. But Drake didn’t have a contact among this lot—he’d sent Sebastian instead.

Sebastian felt like hanging his head. In the next instant, he was visited by an urge to put down his cue, march across, and put Ennis out of his misery by simply telling him that he—Sebastian—was Drake’s surrogate.

But if Ennis was nervous, presumably he had reason to be—presumably at least one of the men there, and more likely more than one, might, at least in Ennis’s eyes, have some connection to the plot. Or was Ennis’s nervousness due to something else entirely?

Sebastian finished the game, playing largely by rote; he’d been playing billiards since he was tall enough to see over the table. He smiled, laughed, and accepted the congratulations of the others, then handed his cue to the next would-be player.

He glanced around, but Ennis was still circulating; as host, he was unlikely to retire until at least Parrish and McGibbin did, and neither looked ready to call it a night.

Even when they did, Ennis would still avoid Sebastian, and even if he didn’t retire with his friends but remained, too many others would still be present for Sebastian to force a confrontation.

“I’m for bed.” Hadley Featherstonehaugh halted beside Sebastian. “We have another four days and nights in which to knock balls around.”

Sebastian nodded. “I’ll go up with you.”

They called a general farewell and left the others still playing and talking.

As Sebastian and Hadley climbed the stairs, Sebastian asked, “Have you heard anything of the plans for tomorrow?”

“No. But I’m sure Georgia will know—it always seems it’s the ladies who make the plans at this sort of thing.”

“Speaking of the ladies”—Sebastian glanced back at the front hall and the now-open door of the drawing room—“it appears they’ve already retired.”

“Ah, well, no excitement for them given we all hid in the billiards room.” Hadley grinned.

The clocks struck twelve as they reached the gallery.

Sebastian walked with Hadley into the corridor running down the east wing. Hadley halted at his door, and they exchanged quiet goodnights, then Sebastian ambled on to his room. He opened the door and walked in.

One step—and his gaze fixed on the shadowy figure sitting on his bed, and he froze.

Lust roared through him.

Powerful enough—violent enough—to rock him.

He clamped his fingers on the doorknob, gripping hard as he fought to regain his mental feet—to keep his expression utterly closed and not allow any of his searing desire to seep through.

He finally managed to draw in a tight, too shallow breath.

Draped in shadows, she sat on the far side of the bed and watched him, but she made no move, made no sound.

Almost as if she understood the unwisdom of even shifting.

Carefully, he eased his fingers from the doorknob. He forced himself to draw in another breath, step fully inside, and shut the door.

Slowly, he turned and faced her.

Antonia.

His first impulse was to trap the surging compulsions and feelings and push them deep, lock them away.

Deny them.

But even as his gaze passed over her veiled features, he accepted that this—all he felt, all she made him feel—was real.

He’d seen her anew—or perhaps for the first time—in Green Street three days ago. The sight had riveted his mind and his senses.