Chapter Six
While Strathairn talked to Viscount Montsimon and Guy, he was constantly aware of Sibella’s slim figure in her green dress moving through the room. Earlier in the evening, her brother Edward had told him Sibella refused Coombe’s offer of marriage. The family hoped she would change her mind. With Chaloner present tonight, it was best Strathairn keep his distance.
Horatia came to claim her husband. She gave Strathairn a shrewd glance before they strolled away. Guy would need the angels on his side to convince her to return to the country without him.
Strathairn’s plan to avoid Sibella had failed, for she stood before him. He tensed and caught his breath. She was very beautiful tonight. The fine material of her dress clung to her curves, making him dwell on what lay beneath.
“My lord.” Sibella curtsied. “How agreeable to find you back in society.” She fluttered her painted fan in a manner that emphasized her eyes. He drew his gaze away from her tempting mouth.
“Lady Sibella.”
She smiled coquettishly and tapped him on the arm with her fan. “So many ladies here tonight will be glad you have come.”
“Most focus on Viscount Montsimon,” he said with a grin, taken aback by her flirtatiousness which was out of character.
“We had hoped you would call on us at Brandreth Court.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Not your mother surely?”
“Mama enjoys good company as much as I.”
“Lord Coombe’s company, perhaps?”
“Yes, he has been attentive of late.” She frowned at him and nibbled her bottom lip, something he wished to do to her himself. “Don’t you want to talk to me?”
He caught a thunderous expression on Chaloner’s face where he stood within a small group and sighed. “Of course, but your brother seems to seek your attention.”
Sibella arched her slender eyebrows. “One might suspect you are avoiding me.”
“Not at all. How well you look. Your few days in the country have brought color to your cheeks.”
“Thank you, but my health is a poor topic for conversation.”
“Then shall we change it? Are you not on the verge of announcing your engagement to Lord Coombe?”
“I never expected you to listen to the gossipmongers.”
“Is your brother Edward a gossip?”
The music swelled to a deafening crescendo. The prince liked music to dominate a room. Sibella narrowed her eyes. “Might we go somewhere where we can talk without raising our voices?”
“Would that please your brother?”
“I don’t care what Chaloner thinks or does. I am a grown woman with a mind of my own.”
“You’ll get no argument from me,” he said.
He’d never seen Sibella like this. Her vivacious beauty made his pulse race. How her mother was known to be in her youth, perhaps. He fought the strong pull of attraction, the desire to take her in his arms, to whisk her away. To thumb their noses at society and be damned. But a dangerous man dogged him, and he would never risk Sibella. She was far too precious. Wives could be held to ransom. They would weaken a man. He would not break her heart nor leave her a widow. He glanced casually around the room. “Where is the elegant Lord Coombe?”
She nodded toward the far corner. “In conversation with Lord Southern.”
“Ah, I see.” He must stop this now. “I’m afraid I must leave you, the Regent—”
“Is it because of what happened in York, John? Are you in danger?” Her wide green eyes, made greener by the large aquamarine decorating her deep décolletage, assessed him, making him feel like glass.
Her use of his first name here was reckless. Afraid for her reputation, and aware that merely conversing with him in this manner could shatter her life and remove her from all she held dear, he took her arm and led her to a quiet spot behind a pillar. Fortunately, most of the guests had ventured into an anteroom to partake of the lobster patties, thinly sliced ham, and exotic foods they’d come to expect from the prince’s table.
He gazed down at her imploringly. “Sibella, have a care…”
“Are you in danger?” she asked again.
“You must not concern yourself with me.” He was caught by the emotion behind her words. She deserved an explanation if only he was able to give it. He braced himself and lowered his voice. “You will please not repeat any of what your brother told you. Not to anyone, do you understand?”
“Do you really believe I would?” A high color flooded her delicate cheekbones.
He struggled with his feelings, suddenly helpless. His breath exploded out of his lungs. “Not even to Coombe, Sibella.”
The fervor in her eyes faded, and they became shadowed, inaccessible to him. Desperate to reach out to her, he put out his hand. Over her head, he spied her brother Chaloner still watching, and fell silent.
He couldn’t go after her without causing a scene. Frustrated and angry at the clumsy way he’d handled her, he watched as she turned and was swallowed up by the throng gathered around the prime minister. Jealousy tightened his belly. Coombe had better measure up.
*
Sibella fumbled for her handkerchief as she hurried to the ladies’ retiring room. Tears blinded her. She was hopeless at acting the femme fatale. What a cake she’d made of herself. Edward had been wrong about Strathairn’s susceptibility. He appeared as unmoved as a marble statue. Under that smoky blue gaze, the idea of flirting with him had become embarrassing. Questioning him about his work was stupid. As if he’d tell her. She should feel ashamed of wearing her heart on her sleeve. She didn’t, because she feared for him, although it had been humiliating.
She should have taken him at his word. His work meant too much to him. She gasped. Somehow, she must draw strength from somewhere to forget him. She’d been distracted by a man she would never have and was blinded to the possibilities of happiness with another man. Was it Coombe?
She blundered into a strong body. Edward.
“Whatever is the matter?” With a concerned expression, Edward stopped her from passing, his hand on her arm.
“I have something in my eye.”
“Let me see.” He bent his knees to peer into her eyes. “Both of them?”
“I suspect it’s those urns of delphiniums. They always affect me this way.”
“It wasn’t the conversation you just had with Strathairn behind the pillar?”
She glowered at him. “I declare you have nothing better to do than watch me, Edward.”
Edward tapped her lightly on the back. “That’s better—the old Sibella, showing some spirit.”
“You may tell Chaloner I have decided to marry Lord Coombe.”
“You have?” Edward gave a slow disbelieving shake of his head. “Are you sure, Sib? It’s not a rash decision? Made on the rebound as it were?”
Sibella dabbed at her eyes. “Made with a good deal of common sense I would have thought.”
“Perhaps you need more time. Sleep on it. You may think differently tomorrow.”
“I thought you wanted me to marry him,” she said in an angry tone.
“I want to see you happily married. Not necessarily the same thing.”
Sibella shook her head. “Tell Chaloner, please Edward.”
She sniffed. How tired she was of vetting possible husbands. But she did want her own home and a nursery full of children. The years were passing her by. She sagged with a sudden fatigue. Now that she’d made up her mind, it offered her little comfort, and she doubted she would sleep tonight.
Out of a corner of her eye, the dependable Lord Coombe approached.
*
While Strathairn tried to convince himself Sibella would be happy with Coombe, Montsimon appeared at his side. “We are expected in Parnham’s office tomorrow at eleven,” he said in his pleasant Irish tenor voice.
“You bring news from Paris?”
Montsimon inclined his head toward a deserted alcove where they wouldn’t be overheard. Strathairn followed him. Blessed with considerable charm, Montsimon hid a serious, thoughtful personality. His mother–an Irish beauty–ran away to Europe with her husband’s best friend when he was a child and left him with his father. Perhaps it resonated with John because at ten years old, he’d become a motherless lad after his mother passed away.
The viscount was forced to pause several times when ladies drew his attention. To his credit, Strathairn had never heard him boast of his conquests as some were wont to do, nor had a lady been known to openly disapprove of him.
Montsimon altered his direction and attempted to speak to the blonde widow, Althea Brookwood. She had rejected the advances of several men who hoped to take her husband’s place, either in marriage or in a discreet arrangement after he died. Not a happy marriage by all accounts. Brookwood was a nasty piece of work who was killed in a duel after cheating at cards.
After a brief curtsy, Lady Brookwood turned away to greet a lady at her elbow, treating Montsimon with appalling casualness bordering on rudeness. Strathairn noted the almost imperceptible stiffening of Montsimon’s shoulders. He doubted it would end there. The viscount would rise to a challenge, and the lady was worth fighting for.
As he and Montsimon reached the alcove, two more ladies advanced on them, seeking Montsimon’s promise to attend a poetry reading.
“Tomorrow,” Montsimon said to Strathairn. With a smile, he strolled away with the two ladies.
A few yards away, Coombe talked to Sibella. Coombe took her hands in his. Strathairn’s chest tightened at the sight. Fool that he was, he had wished her safely tucked away with this man. He hadn’t bargained on the conviction that Sibella was his and that no other man had a right to her.
After Lord Coombe left Sibella to engage someone in conversation, Strathairn made his way to her side. “Lady Sibella…” he began, not sure what he would say. The words ‘marry me’ rushed into his mind. He longed to kiss away the uncertainty in her eyes.
She stopped him, a glove on his arm. “You may be the first to offer your felicitations, Lord Strathairn. Lord Coombe and I are engaged.”
He forced a smile on his lips. He would not object, for what reason could he give? The man would give her the life she deserved. “You have it,” he said, his throat dry. “I must offer Lord Coombe my congratulations. He is a very lucky fellow.” He lowered his head to hers. “Please remember, if you ever need me for any reason, Sibella,” he said in an undertone. “Come to me or send word.”
“Thank you, my lord. I shall not forget.” Sibella’s dark lashes veiled her expression. Dear lord, may she be happy. Had he driven her to it?