He placed her bonnet and gloves on the table then removed his own hat and gloves. “Would you like something to drink?”
“Please.”
Pushing to his feet, he smiled at her once more, then left her alone. She barely had time to miss him before he was back. “Fergus will bring a glassof lemonade.”
“And one for you, too?”
He fingered the fichu clinging to her. “May I?”
She nodded and he unwound the damp lace from her neck. His fingers brushed her skin, making her light-headed again. “Thank you.”
His ring caught the light, a white star appearing in the dark jewel. She reached out to skim her fingers over the stone. “It is beautiful.”
“It was my father’s.” A muscle in his jaw twitched.
She wanted to ask him about his father—the report of the former Lord Thorne knocking his wife to the ground during a ball or the claim he’d shouted obscenities during a meeting of the House of Lords and threatened a fellow peer—but she didn’t dare.
Sebastian frowned. “Are you well enough to attend the musicale with Eve? I could step in if you are under the weather. Did you eat anything this morning?”
“Not as much as I should have. That is likely the trouble.” Heat singed her cheeks. She would die if he learned the real reason for her near-swoon, although the heat likely played some role. “I’m well, really. I will see your sister this evening as planned.”
“Send a messenger if you change your mind.”
She wouldn’t. Eve was counting on her to play chaperone, especially with Lady Thorne’s rheumatoid acting up the last few days.
Lord Thorne raised her hand to his lips. They were warm and soft against her bare skin. She wanted to feel them on her lips. Her breath caught in her throat as she leaned slightly toward him.
A sharp knock broke the spell and Lord Thorne released her hand with an exasperated sigh. He stood and turned toward the door where Fergus was just inside the threshold. His eyes narrowed at the baron. He had only one glass of lemonade.
“You aren’t staying, my lord?” she asked.
He smiled. “I have much demanding my attention this afternoon, madam. Perhaps another day.”
She managed to eke out a farewell and experienced a pierce of disappointment when he was gone.
Twelve
Sebastian adjusted his cravat in the foyer looking glass and tipped his head to inspect his jaw for wayward whiskers. As usual, his valet had done an impeccable job with Sebastian’s shave, but one could never be too fastidious. People were judged on appearances, and he took pains to set himself apart from the disheveled mess his father had become in his last years.
Nodding with approval, he fleetingly wondered what Helena would think of his new waistcoat.
Lady Prestwick.
He really must remember to address her appropriately, even though her name created the loveliest sound. “Helena,” he said softly. The name rolled off his tongue.
A rustle on the stairs snapped him out of his reverie and he spun around. Heat inched up his neck as he spotted his sister. If she’d heard him murmuring Helena’s name, she gave no indication.
Eve reached the landing, flung her arms to her sides, and twirled. Her daffodil skirts flared, revealing her new slippers. “How do I look?”
She looked amazing, as usual. “Ladies don’t ask for compliments, poppet.”
“If gentlemen offered them freely, a lady wouldn’t have to resort to asking,” she said with a lift to her chin. “Besides, I want to know if I am dressed appropriately for Lady Norwick’s salon.”
“How am I to know? I’ve never attended the ladies’ circles.”
Even if he had, he wouldn’t know what to expect from Lady Norwick. The countess was known for her outlandish gatherings.
Eve huffed and wrapped her shawl around her shoulders before marching toward the door. “You are no help at all, Sebastian.”
“You look lovely,” he called after her. “Is that better?”
“Only marginally. Next time employ a touchof sincerity.”
He chuckled as he followed her to the carriage. His sister’s surly mood didn’t last beyond the next corner. “Helena and I have been having a wonderful time getting to know one another. I do wish you would stay and become better acquainted with her.”