Page 93 of The Earl’s Forbidden Temptation

Darcy offered a small, grateful smile and pressed her fingers briefly to her temples. The mantel clock chimed, and she glanced toward it in alarm. “It is nearly nine.”

She rose and smoothed her gown, gathering the remnants of her composure. “I must take my leave.”

“I shall have the carriage brought round,” Rebecca said, though her thoughtful gaze lingered upon Darcy.

After offering each woman a quiet curtsy, Darcy turned toward the door. Her heart felt lighter for having been heard, yet the question that had haunted her remained. Why had Sebastian been so abrupt and so unfeeling? She descended one flight from the private chambers to the second-floor corridor, her pulse still unsteady from everything she had revealed above. Soft light gilded the passage, where discreet laughter and murmured conversation drifted from ladies and gentlemen moving between rooms.

If she lowered her gaze and maintained an unhurried pace, she might pass unnoticed. She turned toward the staircase leading to the first floor, her fingers grazing the wall, and saw him. Her heart struck violently against her ribs, the force of it stealing the breath from her lungs. Sebastian stood only a few paces away, his tall, dark form unmistakable among the shifting figures. For one wild instant she considered retreating, but it was already too late.

Do not see me, she silently pleaded. Not now, when she had only just pieced herself together. Not while tears still burned behind her eyes and sherry left a betraying warmth in her blood. Surely the people passing between them might spare her his notice.

His gaze met hers. The moment held, sharp and merciless. Then he inclined his head with impeccable politeness, acknowledging her as he might any passing acquaintance of no particular consequence. The polite gesture struck harder than a deliberate insult. Her composure, so carefully reconstructed, faltered at once, cracking beneath the weight of that cool indifference.

Darcy could not summon even the ghost of a smile, but she forced herself forward, each step sustained by will alone. As she passed him, she kept her gaze fixed ahead. Then she saw his expression alter from the corner of her eye, his eyes widening as he finally passed closely enough to see her. His hand closed around her arm. Before she could protest, Sebastian drew her into the shadow of a column, beyond the easy notice of those moving through the corridor.

“Who has hurt you?” His voice was low and controlled, with a dangerous stillness beneath it.

Darcy stared at him. “What?”

Sebastian lifted both hands to her face and cupped her cheeks, tilting her toward the light. His nearness was devastating. She felt the warmth of his breath and remembered with brutal clarity the pleasure of his mouth upon hers.

“You have been crying.” His gaze searched every inch of her face, his restraint tightening rather than concealing the violence of his concern. “Your eyes are red. Tell me who caused it.”

He brushed his thumb slowly across her cheek, as though tenderness remained his right.

The gentle caress ignited fury through Darcy’s grief. “You truly do not know?” she whispered.

Sebastian’s sudden stillness told her that he understood. He watched her with his disconcertingly steady gaze.

“You have no right to inquire into my affairs, my lord. Stop touching me. You surrendered that right.”

“Darcy...” He did not release her quickly enough.

She turned her head and sank her teeth into the firm muscle of his wrist. A muffled sound escaped him, but he made no attempt to pull away or defend himself. He stood rigid beneath the force of her hurt and accepted every painful second of it as though he understood that he had earned far worse. When Darcy released him, her breath came unevenly.

Sebastian lowered his hands and stepped back, his face stripped of its former composure. She lifted her chin, turned from him, and walked away with measured steps while her heart thundered. She did not look back. She did not need to. Though she felt, with absolute certainty, that his gaze followed her—and perhaps the man himself—until she exited Aphrodite and entered the waiting carriage.

CHAPTER 30

Afew days after seeing Darcy at Aphrodite, Sebastian stood in the large chamber he used for fencing and boxing. Bare-chested and slick with sweat, he moved lightly upon the balls of his feet before driving his fist into the suspended sandbag with punishing force. The impact jarred through his arm. Pain flared across his bruised knuckles, several of which were already split, but it did nothing to loosen the relentless tension coiled within him. He struck again, then again, each blow accompanied by the harsh sound of his breath.

“This is the third consecutive day your butler has informed callers that you are not at home,” a dry voice observed behind him. “Yet here you are.”

Sebastian landed one more blow before answering. “And yet you found your way inside.”

He turned and lowered his arms. Viscount Templeton stood near the door looking decidedly unlike his customary immaculate self. His cravat was askew, his coat wrinkled, and a certain disordered satisfaction clung to him with all the subtlety of perfume.

“Has some calamity befallen you?” Sebastian asked, his tone edged with a strain he had yet to master. “You appear unusually disheveled.”

Templeton’s mouth curved into a languid smile. “I enjoyed delightful company in my carriage not half an hour ago. Judging by the lady’s enthusiastic expressions of pleasure, my coachman is now burdened with knowledge he will never entirely forget.”

“Did you come here merely to recount your latest conquest?”

“No, though I had hoped it might cheer you. I came to ask whether you intend to attend Countess Radbourne’s card party this evening.”

“I do not.”

Sebastian turned back to the bag and struck it with enough force to send it swinging violently upon its chain. Fresh pain lanced through his hand. He welcomed it, then stepped away and crossed to the chaise for the towel carelessly thrown across it. He dragged the linen over his face and chest, wiping away the sweat that stung his eyes.