Had Antonia’s uncharacteristic clumsiness throughout the day been entirely genuine? Or had she, with full intent, elected to play with fire?
Chapter 9
Sebastian entered the drawing room and paused on the threshold to sweep the company with an outwardly languid gaze. He located Antonia standing with her female friends before the long windows. Worthington, Wilson, and Filbury had joined the younger ladies’ circle. Unhurriedly, Sebastian crossed the room, pausing to exchange greetings with Parrish and McGibbin before fetching up by Antonia’s side.
She’d seen him approaching and shifted to make space for him beside her—much to Wilson’s poorly concealed annoyance.
Sebastian smiled genially at the ladies and exchanged nods with the men, then asked Wilson whether he’d had any luck with his gun that afternoon, effectively distracting the man from his sulk.
He didn’t do anything so gauche as to claim Antonia’s hand, but under cover of the conversation, he ran his fingertips down the inside of her forearm, bared beneath the elbow-length sleeve of her gray silk gown.
She didn’t start, but he sensed the jolt she fought to suppress; she stiffened, and from the corner of his eye, he saw her eyes widen fractionally.
His easy smile deepened just a touch. This was a game at which he excelled.
He focused on Melissa Wainwright, currently holding center stage in the group.
“It’s such a strange situation—I confess I’m not at all sure how we should behave.” With one hand, Melissa waved at their clothes. “We’ve all managed some degree of mourning, but we didn’t know Lord Ennis, we’re not connected to the family, and overdoing things seems hypocritical and rather disrespectful.”
Filbury nodded. “Ennis was our host, but we really didn’t know him. It’s Connell we know, so it’s mourning at one remove, so to speak.”
Georgia and Hadley Featherstonehaugh walked up and joined the circle. On being informed by Claire Savage of the topic under discussion, Georgia said, “Hadley and I were just talking about the very same issue with Mrs. Parrish and Cecilia. Consider—if one is at a house party at which the host dies, we all know what we would do.”
“We’d pay our respects and leave the next morning,” Hadley put in.
“Exactly,” Georgia said. “But Ennis didn’t just die, he was murdered, and although we all feel as if we should leave, I gather Sir Humphrey and the inspector are adamant we must remain until the murderer is caught, or at least until the day the house party was supposed to end.”
“Cecilia, Mrs. McGibbin, and Mrs. Parrish have been discussing what’s best to be done,” Hadley revealed. “I gather Cecilia is thinking of making an announcement at dinner.”
“Good,” Claire said. “It’s the uncertainty of not knowing if one is doing the right thing that’s so discombobulating.”
The conversation swung to what sort of group outings, if any, might be acceptable, both socially and to the inspector.
Sebastian bent his head toward Antonia’s and murmured, “Stroll with me. We need to discuss strategy.”
She glanced at him, curious but wary. He made sure no hint of any predatory smile showed as he ignored her wariness and offered his arm. She hesitated for a second, then with a tiny inclination of her head, she set her hand on his sleeve. Glancing at the others, she murmured an excuse, and together, they stepped away from the circle.
Slowly strolling across the room, he said, “Before we get to strategy, apropos of the Featherstonehaughs’ recent remarks, earlier, you told me Cecilia had wanted to invite you and your friends to this event. I assumed that some friendship with Cecilia was involved, but that doesn’t appear to be the case.”
“No.” Antonia paused, then went on, “As I understand it, Cecilia and Ennis were expecting the Parrishes and the McGibbins and had arranged for their visit to coincide with Connell’s stay and Cecilia’s annual house party. From what I’ve now gathered, I suspect Cecilia wanted to…underscore her and Ennis’s position in English society for their visitors. Cecilia and Georgia are connected, albeit distantly, and it’s well known the four of us—me, Claire, Melissa, and Georgia—are old friends and often pay visits together. And as our group consists of the daughter of an earl, the daughters of two viscounts, and the granddaughter of a duke now married to the grandson of an earl, we’re seen as highly desirable guests. Precisely the sort of guests Cecilia wished to flaunt.”
He’d steered her to a spot sufficiently distant from the other guests to be able to converse without being overheard. As he drew Antonia to a halt and shifted to face her, she lightly shrugged. “So Cecilia invited us, and Georgia’s mother urged Georgia to help Cecilia out, and as the rest of us had nothing else on, we all accepted and here we are.” She raised her eyes to his and cynically arched a brow. “So what about our strategy?”
He met her gaze. “There’s nothing more we can do to advance our search for the gunpowder tonight. I suggest that instead, we should concentrate on seeing if we can narrow the candidates for the role of murderer.”
She agreed with a dip of her lashes and a graceful inclination of her head. Calmly, she surveyed the gentlemen scattered about the room. “The generally accepted avenue to learning more about a gentleman than he intends to reveal is to encourage him to talk about himself, about his life.”
He felt his brows rise. “It is?”
She nodded. “Flattery will get you even further with men than it will with women. Given the right encouragement, men will prattle away quite happily.”
“I feel as if I’m seeing the ladies of the ton from an entirely new angle.”
Her lips curved cynically. “With whom would you suggest we start?”
He glanced around. “Parrish and McGibbin. I don’t see either as the murderer, but I’m unclear as to what their relationships with Ennis were based on—how closely were their business dealings intertwined?”
She nodded. “Very well. Let’s see what we can learn.”
Intrigued, and interested in observing her approach in action, as he led her to where the two older gentlemen were standing before the fireplace, he refrained from distracting her.
Antonia was relieved that Sebastian’s focus on identifying the murderer had trumped his rakish inclinations. She’d never been the target of his roving eye—never been his prey—for which she gave thanks. At least that was what she told herself.
She knew his reputation and could imagine that, if he put his mind to it, he would be utterly diabolical in driving a lady to distraction. She was quite sure he knew all the ways. That earlier, thoroughly unnerving caress of his had proved that.
What she wasn’t sure about was what that sudden, unprecedented action of his presaged. Did it signal intent on his part, or had it been more instinctive?
Or had he done it in revenge for all the jolts she’d given him over the long afternoon?
She wasn’t sure what answer or answers she hoped were correct, which was another level of distraction altogether.
Regardless, she’d spent the last decade in the far more demanding circles of the haut ton. With easy assurance, she chatted with Mr. McGibbin and Mr. Parrish, both of whom she judged to be in their early forties, and by dint of subtle flattery and understated encouragement, soon had them both vying to tell her—and Sebastian, who stood quietly absorbing all by her side—everything about their recent successes in their various endeavors. Along the way, both imparted a large amount of information about their lives. Nevertheless, it took more than twenty minutes before she managed to winkle from them the basis of their friendship with Ennis.
“We formed a landowners’ association, you see. Way back…” McGibbin looked at Parrish. “Well, must be nearly twenty years ago, now.”
Parrish nodded. “Although McGibbin here and I now live elsewhere in Ireland, we still retain our holdings north of Limerick. Our origins, so to speak.”
“It’s those holdings and the landowners’ association that made Ennis and us friends and kept us in to
uch over the years.” McGibbin pulled a face. “Shared interests.” He glanced at Parrish. “I suppose Boyne over there will continue to run the Ennis estate—he has for the last eight or so years—but we should tell Cecilia that we’ll be happy to help out with teaching Ennis’s boys the ropes.”
“Early days, yet,” Parrish replied. “But when the boys reach an appropriate age, it’d be a blessing to be able to do that for Ennis. He was a good friend.”
Antonia exchanged a glance with Sebastian. McGibbin and Parrish were wearing black cravats and black armbands, and seemed to have sunk into their memories of Ennis.
Before Sebastian could respond, the dinner gong sounded, and Blanchard appeared in the doorway to summon them to the table.
Cecilia, tonight dressed in unrelieved black crepe, rose from the sofa. Pale and drawn, she pressed her hands together and said, “If you would, I suggest we keep the seating informal.” She gestured vaguely. “There seems little reason to impose unnecessary strictures on ourselves. Not in these circumstances.”
Sebastian, who, had they been adhering to formality, would have led Cecilia in, half bowed to her. “Whatever you wish, Cecilia. I’m sure all of us here are happy to do whatever we can to make this stressful time as easy as possible, for you especially.”
Smiling a touch wanly, Cecilia inclined her head. “Thank you, my lord.”
The company rose and, in twos and threes, made their way into the dining room.
Antonia rested her hand on Sebastian’s sleeve. As they joined Melissa and Wilson, and Claire and Filbury, Sebastian closed his free hand over hers—abruptly jerking her attention from everything and everyone else.
She managed to keep her expression relaxed and unconcerned, but that touch! It was overbearingly, domineeringly, ridiculously possessive—and set her nerves jangling.
Worse was to come. Releasing her to guide her to a chair, his hand settled at the small of her back, burning through three layers of silk. Scrambling to tamp down her reaction, feeling as if her until-then-easy smile was pasted on her lips, she managed to subside onto the chair he held for her with reasonable grace.
Finally free of his touch, while he claimed the seat beside her, she seized the moment to draw in a deep, calming breath. She didn’t immediately meet his eyes but instead engaged Hadley, opposite, with a smile.
Then Cecilia, about to take her seat at the foot of the table, waved her brother-in-law, who had escorted her in, to the empty carver at the head of the table. “Connell—if you wish…?”
Already pale and thoroughly overset in the wake of his brother’s unexpected death, Connell paled even further. He shook his head. “No. I can’t.” He glanced at Cecilia. “It wouldn’t be right. That’s…” Connell blinked, then drew in a tight breath and went on, “James’s place.”
Cecilia smiled weakly. “Of course. As you wish.”
Sebastian placed two fingertips on the back of Antonia’s wrist.
Although the touch sent sensation streaking through her, she tipped her head his way and murmured, “James is Ennis’s older son and heir.”
Sebastian nodded, and the disturbing touch vanished.
Contrarily, she immediately wanted it back.
Connell claimed the empty place between Georgia and Miss Bilhurst, both of whom murmured their support for his decision—an approval shared by all. The ladies endeavored to entertain Connell, and after drawing in another breath, he made an effort to respond.
Seeing nothing in Connell’s attitudes or behavior to raise anyone’s suspicions, Antonia shifted her attention to Filbury, intending to further her—and Sebastian’s—acquaintance with him and his background.
Somewhat to her surprise, while Sebastian did nothing to undermine her efforts directly, indirectly…every time an opportunity to discompose her, to capture her senses and derail her wits, presented itself, he was quick to seize it.
At first, she battled to keep her mental feet, but as his surreptitious actions continued, she discovered she could, indeed, successfully split her attention. She could continue to converse rationally with Filbury, and with Hadley and Melinda Boyne opposite, while simultaneously engaging with Sebastian and his game of sensual distraction.
She no longer harbored the slightest doubt that he was retaliating for her behavior of the afternoon. But having realized that his new direction played directly into—indeed, aligned perfectly with—her own plans, she was only too delighted to not just respond but encourage him.
In terms of touching, of artfully caressing without appearing to do so, he had the advantage; he could touch her by “accident” much more easily than she could innocently touch him. But this was a game she couldn’t lose.
She found herself smiling rather more delightedly than the conversation called for while inwardly thrilling to the way her nerves leapt and her senses sizzled at his covert caresses.
When he handed her a serving spoon for the trifle, she reciprocated by sliding her fingers over the back of his hand, and sensed him still—freezing in that way she now recognized as him jerking his own reins taut.
A minute later, under cover of shifting and reaching past her to hand a heavy cream bowl to Filbury, Sebastian skated his palm up her side, from her hip to the outer curve of her breast.
She nearly choked on the trifle.
Understanding that tit for tat was an unwritten rule in this game, she bided her time.
When Blanchard and the footmen started clearing the dessert plates, Cecilia tapped her glass with a spoon; the tinkling sound drew everyone’s attention to the foot of the table.
Cecilia directed a weak but commiserating smile around the company. “It seems we are trapped in one of those situations that our customary social prescriptions—the accepted patterns of behavior we normally adhere to—fail to cover. If Ennis had simply passed on, then you would have offered your condolences and departed this morning, leaving me and Connell to arrange the funeral. However, as Ennis was murdered, you are not free to leave, and today, I have learned that my husband’s body will not be released for burial for at least several more days.”
Cecilia clasped her hands tightly and glanced at Mrs. Parrish, who nodded encouragingly. After glancing at Mrs. McGibbin, on her other side, and receiving a similar nod, Cecilia looked down the table. “We—several of us”—she waved vaguely—“have discussed how best to go on. What will be acceptable and also most comfortable for us all. We are, in effect, in a social limbo. We are cut off from all other society. I doubt there are any of our number who feel we must eschew all form of entertainment in the name of being respectful to the dead—to Ennis. I can assure you he would not see us sitting around being mournful as being in any way desirable.” Cecilia paused and, down the table, met Connell Boyne’s eyes. She smiled faintly. “As Connell will testify, and the Parrishes and McGibbins as well, Ennis was, at his core, an Irishman, and the Irish have a tradition of celebrating a person’s life with a wake—with music, singing, and dancing.”
Cecilia glanced to right and left, meeting many gazes. “While a good half of us are English, I would ask you all to join with the Irish among us to celebrate Ennis’s life tonight. Not wildly, but with joy in our memories. As there is no one but us to view what might, in other circles, be taken as inappropriate levity, there is no barrier to us making of the evening what we choose.”
“Hear! Hear!” came from several male throats up and down the board.
“Excellent.” Cecilia managed a more convincing smile. “I’ve asked for the piano to be moved into the drawing room. Melinda and Miss Bilhurst have both agreed to play for the company. Might I suggest we adjourn there?”
With newfound alacrity, the company rose; Cecilia’s suggestion had breathed fresh life into the house party.
And Antonia seized the moment. In that instant before Sebastian pushed back his chair, she reached across beneath the table, laid her hand on his thigh, just above his knee, and squeezed lightly—not that her fingers made the slightest impression in t
aut muscles that, at her touch, had turned to iron—then easing her grip, she trailed her fingers upward in a blatant caress before drawing her hand away.
She’d kept her head turned away from him and her gaze fixed down the table.
For what felt like long moments, stillness seemed to have engulfed him, then from the corner of her eye, she saw him push to his feet.
He leaned over her—closer than necessary. “Allow me.” The dark whisper shivered over her senses.
Then he drew her chair out.
Clinging to wholly spurious serenity, she stood, then turned to follow the others as they filed out of the room.
Sebastian appeared beside her and offered his arm.
Drawing breath into lungs constricted and still tightening, she placed her hand on his sleeve and looked up, a smile on her lips.
Her eyes met his—and she caught her breath.
She’d never before seen his pale green eyes burn, not with that particular flame.
His face appeared graven, all hard edges and sharp angles, but those eyes…they were molten.
Feminine satisfaction of a quality she’d never felt before bubbled up inside her; she fought to keep it from infusing her smile, but in that, she knew she failed.
The slight narrowing of those gorgeously revealing eyes, the increasing intentness she sensed emanating from him, confirmed that.
Glancing forward and finding the other guests now ahead of them, she waved. “Shall we?”
He glanced at the departing backs and seemed to suddenly recall where they were. With a sound like a growling grunt, he steered her toward the door.
What am I doing?
After guiding her out of the dining room, Sebastian lowered his arm. Clasping his hands behind his back, thus ensuring he kept them to himself and wasn’t goaded into any further unwise reaction, he stalked beside Antonia at the rear of the crowd making for the drawing room. While he knew why he’d indulged his inner self by paying her back for her afternoon’s endeavors, he also recalled that he hadn’t intended to send them hurtling down this particular path—not yet.
The Lady By His Side Page 16