He understood perfectly, as if he’d heard the words she hadn’t said. His lips thinned again, but then he nodded. Curtly. Once. “If you agree to our necessary charade, I will give you my word that the only time I might step in is if you are in some degree of imminent danger.”
She wasn’t going to get better than that. After a second of further consideration, she graciously inclined her head. “Very well.”
Sebastian almost sighed with relief. For an instant there, he’d had the feeling he was standing on thin ice—because of what, exactly, he had no real notion—but she’d agreed, and that was enough. Once she’d given her word, she wouldn’t renege. “I gather the party starts on Saturday. I’ll drive us down. What time should I pick you up?”
“That depends on your horses. How long will it take us to reach Deal? Pressingstoke Hall is on the coast a little south of there.”
“Going via the Dover Road will be fastest—we can turn north along the coast road from there.” Sebastian rapidly calculated. “It’ll take just over six hours.”
“We’re expected at three in the afternoon.”
“Then I’ll call here at eight in the morning. We can stop at Faversham for lunch.”
“I’ve been thinking.” Francesca addressed her daughter. “You must let the Ennises know that Sebastian will be attending as your escort. I suggest a letter to Lady Ennis, throwing yourself on her mercy and saying that although you had previously gained my permission, when your father heard of your proposed stay, he insisted you have a suitable escort.” The countess waved. “No one will be surprised at that—Gyles’s overprotectiveness is legendary. And as for the reason Julius isn’t with you, as your brother is younger than you, your father refused to accept him as an escort capable of swaying you—which, heaven knows, is true. Consequently, we appealed to Sebastian, and he kindly agreed to act as your escort.” Francesca beamed. “There!” Eyes bright, she looked at Sebastian. “And as there is no hostess in England, Scotland, Ireland, or Wales who wouldn’t give her eyeteeth to have you attend her house party, Lady Ennis will excuse the late notice—indeed, she’ll be in alt.”
Lady Ennis, Sebastian feared, would, indeed, be imagining a paradise—a far from innocent and distinctly illicit one. But Francesca’s ruse would clear the way for him to attend the house party, and that was his principal aim. He could avoid Cecilia, Lady Ennis, and stick with Antonia on the pretext of taking his escort duties seriously.
If he had, in truth, given the Earl of Chillingworth his word that he would guard the virtue of the earl’s precious eldest daughter, then his sticking to her side would be entirely expected.
Slowly, he nodded, then glanced at Antonia. “I second your mother’s suggestion. Such a tale will adequately excuse my presence and silence any questions over my turning up more or less unheralded.”
Antonia met his eyes. Although nothing showed in her expression, he sensed a certain mutinous reaction. But then she nodded, rather tersely, and he breathed again.
Deciding to quit while he was ahead, he rose. “Thank you both. I must get on, and I daresay you have morning calls to make.”
Antonia rose, as did Francesca.
He bowed over Francesca’s hand, then turned to Antonia.
She offered her hand, and he grasped her slender fingers. Rather than bow, he pressed her fingers gently and smiled at her. “Thank you for agreeing. I promise you won’t regret it.”
She stood looking up at him; her face was near expressionless, and he was visited by the odd notion that shutters suddenly screened her eyes. Then her lashes fell, and she looked down. “We’ll see.”
Cynical skepticism colored the words.
He didn’t approve of her lack of faith in him. He’d eased his grip, and she started to draw her fingers from his—he had to clamp down on a sudden urge to tighten his hold again.
He quashed the silly reaction. “Don’t bother Withers,” he said to Francesca. “I’ll see myself out.” With a last polite nod and a general smile, he made for the door.
Antonia stood transfixed and watched him go. Even after the door closed on his broad-shouldered figure, she continued to stare, unseeing, at the panel.
She’d always known she reacted to Sebastian in an odd way—in a way somehow different to how she responded to, for instance, his brother, Michael, or his cousins Marcus and Christopher, all of whom were of a similar age. Or indeed, to any other gentleman. She’d put it down to Sebastian being…well, Sebastian—his dominant, not to say domineering, personality, his innate command, his assumption of leadership, and his performance in that role. Or perhaps it was simply because women like her were drawn to strong men. There’d been a plethora of reasonable, conventional excuses, and she hadn’t thought more of it—of that shiver of awareness that being close to him provoked—not for years.