Page 44 of The Earl’s Forbidden Temptation

She met his gaze, her eyes wide and searching. “You speak as though you know it well.”

Sebastian’s steps faltered. “I have known it,” he said. Bloody hell. He had not intended to give her even that much.

“When?” she pressed softly.

“As a child,” he said after a moment, “I was not permitted the indulgences others took for granted. Play was a distraction and attachment a weakness. I was trained for duty, nothing more. It was difficult to watch others form bonds I was discouraged from pursuing.”

His gaze drifted, unfocused for a moment. “I learned some measure of ease as I grew older and formed friendships of my own. Yet there are moments when I stand amid a room filled with laughter and revelry and feel that same emptiness, as though I remain apart from it all.” He exhaled slowly. “Loneliness does not always yield.”

She stared at him, her gaze so direct and unflinching that Sebastian felt, for a fleeting moment, as though he had been stripped bare. What the devil was this feeling, this sense that she had reached beneath his practiced indifference? Even as the thought unsettled him, part of Sebastian did not wish Darcy to harden into the cynicism he carried.

“My father’s death was sudden,” he added, more gruffly than intended. “It is possible he intended to make further provision and believed there was time.”

“Seventeen years was not time enough?” Her tone steadied, though the hurt remained. “I have no expectations for myself. He acted as my father in many respects. He guided me more than once, and for that, I shall always be grateful to the earl. But I cannot reconcile that he would leave my mother with nothing.”

Sebastian exhaled slowly. “Then I shall settle something upon you myself.”

“I do not require your pity,” she said softly, though there was no mistaking the firmness beneath it. “Nor your charity. I have managed thus far, and I shall continue to do so, my lord.”

He understood that refusing his money was a matter of pride and dignity. She would sooner go without than accept charity from him, and he found himself admiring her all the more. “And by what means do you intend to accomplish that?” he asked.

Her chin lifted. “That is my concern, my lord. Not yours.”

“In some regard, as the brother to your sisters, I am also your brother. It is only natural that I should care for you.”

And utterly forbidden are the decidedly unbrotherly thoughts I entertain about you, he added silently.

“I am not your sister,” she blurted, aghast, one gloved hand flying to her chest. “I... I do not think of you as my brother. Please erase the notion from your mind.”

The words had scarcely left her lips before a rosy blush swept across her cheeks, climbing inexorably to the tips of her ears. As though realizing what her vehement denial had betrayed, she lowered her gaze, but not before he caught the unmistakable flicker of mortification in her eyes.

A slow smile threatened at the corner of Sebastian’s mouth.

Fascination unfurled within him. That blush was no mere maidenly embarrassment. It was the blush of a woman who had ventured, if only for the briefest instant, into decidedly improper territory. The very notion of him as her brother had horrified her, and she had rejected it with a fervor that betrayed a far more dangerous possibility.

Miss Whitley, for all her propriety, might possess an imagination every bit as illicit as his own. And that realization was infinitely more enticing than it had any right to be.

“Interesting,” he drawled. “One would almost think the notion offended you for reasons altogether unrelated to brotherly affection.”

“You are outrageous,” she breathed.

A more vivid blush stole over her cheeks, deepening until they rivaled the blush of a summer apple. She looked so adorably flustered that Sebastian’s heart gave an unexpected, traitorous lurch. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “You needn’t look so alarmed,” he said. “I assure you, Miss Whitley, I have never once mistaken you for a sister.”

She glanced at him, then, quite unexpectedly, laughed. “You are a shameless flirt, my lord.”

“I have always been appreciative of those who possess the good sense to find humor in a situation,” he replied.

For a moment, neither spoke. Then, as though the exchange had not passed between them, she turned and walked ahead, rejoining her sisters. Sebastian followed more slowly. His gaze lingered upon her, drawn despite himself to the quiet strength in her bearing. There was nothing fragile in Miss Whitley. Her strength did not invite rescue; it demanded only the freedom to endure. She had adapted and carried burdens that would have broken many, doing so with a dignity that unsettled him more than any display of weakness ever could.

He admired her, and the inconvenient realization refused to leave him. The remainder of the afternoon passed in a gentler manner. The girls moved from exhibit to exhibit with growing delight, setting aside their earlier reflections in favor of discovery. Sarah lingered over every curiosity, Jane read each placard with earnest attention, and Emelia studied the displays with quiet fascination. Miss Whitley smiled when required, but Sebastian saw the strain beneath it: the careful composure and the quiet effort it cost her. To his growing disquiet, he could not dismiss it.

Who are you, Miss Darcy Whitley, and why am I so compelled to know you?

CHAPTER 16

Darcy lay in the darkness of her bedchamber, the events of the last few days turning restlessly through her mind. To the girls’ delight, the earl had called upon them twice more, first to take them through Hyde Park, and again earlier today, when he had taken them on a picnic upon Hampstead Heath. Her sisters were enchanted. Darcy, however, remained wary. She did not understand Lord Raine. The earl spoke of no permanence, gave no indication that he intended to claim them fully as part of his life, and yet he continued to appear—thoughtful, attentive, and generous with both his time and the pleasures he arranged for them.

It was a double-edged kindness. Already her sisters spoke as though he would remain, as though this new happiness might endure. And yet, Darcy often glimpsed the cool detachment in his eyes, the quiet indifference that lingered beneath his polite civility.