Chapter Thirteen
By eleven o’clock a dozen of Sebastian’s neighbors crowded the saloon off the Great Hall. Mrs. Leveret and her husband, Mr. Cage and his daughter, among others, gathered for the experience of eating him out of house and home. Footmen and parlor maids came in and out, bringing food and drink and carrying out the empty plates. One of the Leveret daughters sat at the piano-forte, butchering Hayden. Price appeared in the doorway. After a pause to sweep the room with doleful eyes, he made his way to Sebastian. “Mr. Hew Willow is calling, my lord.”
The announcement caused a sudden hush. He looked away from Price because Olivia Willow’s unspeakably red head lifted from her game of Patience. Their eyes locked. His heart thudded, just the once before he mastered himself, but the arousal nearly flattened him. She sat at the edge of the gathering, near a corner where shifting light cast shadows behind her. He reached for the card on Price’s salver.
Bone-chilling cold shot up his arm the moment he touched the card, as if he’d plunged his hand into a river of ice. Clouds passing over the sun made the light and dark behind Olivia shift and interchange, taking on the shape of a man. Not Andrew, but another man with familiar blue eyes. The hilt of a sword rose above his back, held in place by leather strap that crossed his torso. The rectangle of paper slipped from Sebastian’s fingers and fluttered to the ground. Price bent to retrieve the card, and over the top of his stooped-over butler’s back, Sebastian saw Olivia’s eyes fix on the tray. Behind her, the figure advanced until it stood beside her. Indeed a man, dressed like someone who’d just stepped from the court of Edward II. Black hair fell to his shoulders. He wore a tunic with the Tiern-Cope crest on his chest. Cobalt and red.
Card in hand, Price stood, blocking Sebastian’s view of Olivia. “My lord?”
He stood up, but when he looked at Olivia, he saw—Only Olivia. He searched the shadows behind her. Nothing. No movement, not even the suggestion of a man. “What shall I tell him, Miss Willow?” Sebastian said.
“I’ve no idea.” With one of the empty smiles she was so expert at giving, and which he despised, she returned to her card game. The bend of her head exposed the nape of her neck and one copper curl free of her pins.
“Mr. Hew Willow, you say?” Diana asked.
The butler inclined his head. “Yes, Miss Royce.” The man sounded as if he’d just confirmed that, indeed, his entire family had perished by shipwreck.
“Is he young and handsome?”
“I cannot say, Miss Royce.”
Miss Cage clapped her hands. “Oh, yes, Miss Royce. Indeed, he is handsome. I’d heard he was home.”
“Miss Willow,” Diana asked, “is Mr. Hew Willow your relative?”
“He is.”
James came to attention, none too pleased, from his expression. “My lord Tiern-Cope,” said Diana, “if Miss Willow won’t tell you so, I shall. Invite him up. Do, please.”
Olivia’s glance inevitably lit on him, since he controlled at least the immediate future. She wasn’t expecting to find him watching her, for when their eyes met a faint color crept into her cheeks. Jealousy twisted in him when he remembered the heat of Hew Willow’s stare, how worried he’d seemed that Miss Willow might be spoken for and under another man’s authority. Why the devil was he back and interested in the cousin he’d neglected for so long?
Sebastian nodded at Price, and his grey-headed butler gave a sorrowful bow. Not much later, the sound of bootsteps in the hallway floated through the open door. Olivia hesitated in the laying down of a card, and then her neck bent lower, hiding her face. Odd, he thought, one wouldn’t think a woman with hair like that could hide from anyone, but she managed to make herself nearly invisible. Outside the door, a man laughed. The young ladies turned, a few patted their hair or smoothed a wrinkle from a skirt.
“This way, Mr. Willow.”
Sebastian straightened. The hair on the back of his neck stood straight. He rose, his hand dropping to his hip. Every fiber of his being, every nerve in his body screamed of approaching danger. If he’d had a weapon, he’d have drawn it. And been prepared to use it. James, too, faced the door. The anticipation could have been served up like a goose on a platter.
“Thank you,” someone said from the hallway.
The infamous duelist, Mr. Hew Willow, walked in. The heir so bloody relieved to know that Miss Willow remained Miss Willow, who must know she ought to have been an heiress and was not.
Hew went directly to Sebastian and bowed, heels clicking. He wore a different set of riding clothes, tight fitting, held a hat under one arm and his riding whip in the other. A lock of snuff-colored hair fell over his forehead. “My lord. Good afternoon.”
“Mr. Willow.” Sebastian kept his hands clasped behind him and forced himself to smile. He did not like Hew Willow any better now than when they met in Far Caister.
“Thank you, my lord, for seeing me.” Hew surveyed the room with eyes the color of day-old coffee, stopped on Diana and registered a male appreciation of her and Miss Cage. Quite natural for the man to admire a pretty woman when he saw one. Eventually, though, Hew’s attention settled on his cousin. “I’ve intruded.” He spoke to Sebastian, but he meant the words for Olivia. While Hew stared, James examined him head to toe, assessing his rival.
“Allow me to present my guests, Mr. Willow.”
Willow’s expression went from grave to delighted. When he was introduced to Diana, he took her hand in both of his. “An exquisitely lovely girl.” He gazed into Diana’s tilted eyes. “Charmed, Miss Royce, charmed indeed to make your acquaintance.”
Diana gazed at Hew from beneath her thick lashes. “How wonderful to meet you, Mr. Willow.” Those tilted eyes did their work; Hew held her eyes a moment too long. “Did we meet in London?”
“I had not that pleasure.” He swept the floor with his hat. “I look forward to our acquaintance.” A grin leapt to his mouth. “With your permission, that is, my lord Fitzalan.”
“I believe you know Miss Willow,” Sebastian said when he came to presenting Olivia. He acknowledged his treacherous state and took care to keep any hint of it from his voice. “Of Far Caister.”
“Yes. Of course.” He put his hat on the mantel before going to her. “Dear cousin Olivia.” His voice softened. “I am so very pleased to see you again.”
“Hew.” She stood, clutching a book in her hands as if it were a shield.
He took it from her. “I have been away too long.” He looked at James, but settled on Sebastian. “Do not tell me I am too late.”