by Julia Quinn
“Still working on the Sarah Gorely novels?” he asked casually.
Olivia opened her mouth to speak, but before she could make a sound, the air was cracked by the sound of gunshot.
“What the hell was that?” Sebastian almost yelled. Good Lord, they were in the bloody park. He looked around him, aware that his head was jerking back and forth like some half-mad horizontal jack-in-the-box. But his heart was pounding, and the damned sound of the shot was still echoing in his head, and—
“Sebastian,” Olivia said gently. And then: “Sebastian.”
“What?”
“My arm,” she said.
He saw her swallow, then looked down. He was clutching her forearm with a ferocious grip. He let go immediately. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “I didn’t realize.”
She smiled weakly and rubbed the spot with her other hand. “It’s nothing.”
It wasn’t nothing, but he didn’t want to go into it. “Who is shooting in the park?” he asked irritably.
“I believe there is some sort of competition,” Olivia said. “Edward mentioned it to me this morning.”
Sebastian shook his head. A shooting competition in Hyde Park. Right during the busiest time of the day. The foolishness of his fellow man never ceased to amaze him.
“Are you all right?” Olivia asked.
He turned, wondering what she thought she was talking about.
“The noise,” she clarified.
“It’s nothing.”
“It’s not—”
“It’s nothing,” he said curtly. And then, because he felt like an ass for using such a tone of voice, he added, “I was taken by surprise.”
It was true. He could sit and listen to guns exploding all day as long as he knew it was coming. Hell, he could probably sleep through the cacophony, assuming he was able to fall asleep in the first place. It was just when he wasn’t expecting it. He hated being taken by surprise.
That, he thought dryly, had been his job. Señor Sniper. Death by surprise.
Señor Sniper. Hmmm. Maybe he should take up Spanish.
“Sebastian?”
He looked over at Olivia, who was still regarding him with some concern. He wondered if Harry had reactions like these, too; if his heart raced like a rabbit at unexpected noises. Harry hadn’t said anything, but then again, Seb hadn’t, either.
It was a stupid thing to talk about.
“I’m fine,” he said to Olivia, this time in a considerably more typical tone of voice. “As I said, it was just the surprise of it.”
Another gunshot cracked in the distance, and Seb didn’t even flinch. “See?” he said. “Nothing to it. Now then, what were we talking about?”
“I have no idea,” Olivia admitted.
Seb thought for a moment. He didn’t remember, either.
“Oh, the Gorely books,” Olivia exclaimed. “You had asked about Harry’s work on them.”
“Right.” Funny that he’d forget that. “How is it coming along?”
“Quite well, I think.” Olivia gave a little shrug. “He complains all the time, but I think he secretly adores them.”
Sebastian perked up. “Really?”
“Well, perhaps not adores. He still thinks they’re dreadful. But he adores translating them. It’s ever so much more fun than the War Office documents were.”
Not the most ringing of endorsements, but Seb could not take offense. “Perhaps Harry ought to turn them into French when he’s done.”
Olivia frowned thoughtfully. “Perhaps he will. I don’t know that he’s ever taken something and translated it into two separate languages. I imagine he’d enjoy the challenge.”
“He does have a ferociously mathematical brain,” Sebastian murmured.
“I know.” Olivia shook her head. “It’s a wonder we have anything to talk about. I—Oh! Don’t look now, but someone is pointing at you.”
“Female, I hope?”
Olivia rolled her eyes. “They’re always female, Sebastian. It’s”—she squinted—“Lady Louisa McCann, I think.”
“Who?”
“The Duke of Fenniwick’s daughter. She’s very sweet.”
Sebastian thought for a moment. “The thin one who doesn’t say much?”
“You have such a way with words.”
Seb smiled slowly. “I do, don’t I?”
“Don’t scare her, Sebastian,” Olivia admonished.
He turned to her with not entirely unfeigned indignation. “Scare her? Me?”
“Your charm can be terrifying.”
“I suppose if you put it that way I cannot help but be complimented.”
Olivia gave him a dry smile.
“May I look now?” he inquired. Because it was starting to grow tedious, this pretending not to know he was being pointed at.
“Hmm? Oh yes, I’ve already waved. I don’t know the other one, though.”
Sebastian hadn’t had his back to the approaching pair, so he only needed to do a quarter turn to face them. Still, he was extremely glad that this movement turned him away from Olivia, because when he saw who was walking toward him—
He liked to consider himself a master at maintaining his unflappable façade, but even he had his limits.
“Do you know her?” Olivia asked.
Sebastian shook his head as he watched her, his curly-haired goddess with the gorgeous pink mouth. “Not at all,” he murmured.
“She must be new,” Olivia said with a slight shrug. She waited patiently for the two ladies to finish crossing the distance, then smiled. “Ah, Lady Louisa, it is so good to see you again.”
Lady Louisa returned the greeting, but Sebastian wasn’t paying attention. He was far more interested in watching the other one studiously trying to avoid eye contact with him.
He kept his own gaze on her face, just to make it all that more difficult.
“Have you met my dear cousin, Mr. Grey?” Olivia said to Lady Louisa.
“Er, I believe we have been introduced,” Lady Louisa responded.
“It’s silly of me to even ask,” Olivia said. She turned to Sebastian with a hint of sly mischief in her eyes. “You’ve been introduced to everyone, haven’t you, Sebastian?”
“Almost,” he said dryly.
“Oh, do forgive me,” Lady Louisa said. “May I present my, er—” She coughed. “Excuse me. Sorry. It must have been dust in my throat.” She motioned to the woman at her side. “Lady Olivia, Mr. Grey, this is Miss Winslow.”
“Miss Winslow,” Olivia said. “How nice to meet you. Are you new to town?”
Miss Winslow bobbed a polite curtsy. “I am. Thank you for asking.”
Sebastian smiled and murmured her name, and then, because he knew it would befuddle her, took her hand and kissed it. It was at times like these he was rather grateful for his reputation. Olivia wouldn’t think twice about his flirtatiousness.
Miss Winslow, however, colored the most charming shade of pink. She was even more fetching by the light of day, he decided. Her eyes were a very nice shade of greenish gray. Combined with the rest of her coloring, it almost made her look a bit Spanish. And he rather liked the smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose. She would have looked far too sultry without them.
He also approved of her emerald-green walking costume. It suited her far better than whatever pastel she’d been wearing the night before.
But he could not allow his perusal to last overlong. She might read too much into it, and besides, he mustn’t ignore her friend. He turned away from Miss Winslow without even a pretense of lingering. “Lady Louisa,” he said with a polite bow of his head. “How lovely to see you again. I am bereft that our paths have not crossed thus far this season.”
“It does seem to be an uncommonly large crowd this year,” Olivia said. “Did no one decide to skip?” She turned to Lady Louisa. “I’ve been away for several weeks, so I’m hopelessly out of date.”
“Were you in the country?” Lady Louisa asked politely.
“Yes, in Hampshire. My husband had some important work, and he finds it difficult to concentrate in town.”
“My fault,” Sebastian chimed in.
“Note that I do not contradict,” Olivia said lightly. She motioned toward him with a tilt of her head. “He’s terribly distracting.”
Sebastian could not let that pass. “It’s one of my finest attributes.”
“Pay attention to nothing he says,” Olivia said with a shake of her head. She turned back to the young ladies and began to chatter on about something or another, and Sebastian was left with the most unfamiliar sense of irritation. He could not begin to count the number of times Olivia had made a comment like Pay attention to nothing he says.
This was, however, the first time that it bothered him.
“Are you enjoying your time in London, Miss Winslow?” Olivia asked.
Sebastian turned to Miss Winslow and regarded her with a bland smile. He was most interested in her answer.
“Er, yes,” Miss Winslow stammered. “It is most diverting.”
“Diverting,” Sebastian murmured. “What an interesting word.”
She looked up at him in alarm. He merely smiled.
“Will you remain in town for the rest of the season, Lady Olivia?” Lady Louisa asked.
“I think so. It depends upon whether my husband is able to concentrate with so many distractions.”
“What is Sir Harry working on?” Sebastian asked, since Olivia had never got around to telling him which novel Harry was translating. “I tried to pester him this morning, but he waved me off.” He looked over at Miss Winslow and Lady Louisa and said, “One would think he didn’t like me.”
Lady Louisa giggled. Miss Winslow maintained her stony expression.
“My husband is a translator,” Olivia told the ladies, dismissing Sebastian with a roll of her eyes. “Right now he is translating a novel into Russian.”
“Really?” Miss Winslow asked, and Sebastian had to admit, she sounded sincerely interested. “Which novel?”
“Miss Truesdale and the Silent Gentleman. The author is Sarah Gorely. Have you read it?”
Miss Winslow shook her head, but Lady Louisa practically jumped forward, exclaiming, “No!”
Olivia blinked. “Er…yes?”
“No, I meant to say I haven’t read it yet,” Lady Louisa explained. “I have read all of her others, of course. How could I have missed it?”
“You are a fan, then?” Sebastian asked. He loved when this happened.
“Oh yes,” she said. “I thought I had read them all. I cannot begin to tell you how excited I am to know there is one more.”
“I must confess, I’m having a difficult time getting through it,” Olivia said.
“Really?” Sebastian asked.
Olivia’s lips curved into an indulgent smile. “Sebastian is also a huge fan,” she said to the other young ladies.
“Of Mrs. Gorely?” Louisa asked. “She has the most fascinating plots.”
“If you don’t mind the occasionally implausible,” Olivia put in.
“But that’s what makes them so much fun,” Louisa said.
“Why are you having difficulty with Miss Truesdale?” Sebastian asked Olivia. He knew he shouldn’t press, but he couldn’t stop himself. He’d been trying to get her to like his books ever since she’d said that he’d used the word purview incorrectly.
Not that she knew that it was he.
And furthermore, purview was a ridiculous word. He was planning to ban it from his vocabulary.
Olivia gave one of her uncommonly pretty shrugs. “It’s very slow,” she said. “There seems to be an uncommon degree of description.”
Sebastian nodded thoughtfully. “I don’t think it’s Mrs. Gorely’s best myself.” He’d never been fully satisfied with the final version, although he certainly didn’t think it merited Olivia’s criticism.
Difficult to get through. Bah.
Olivia wouldn’t know a good book if it hit her on the head.
Chapter Eight
It took less than one second for Annabel to realize that Louisa had not been joking about Lady Olivia Valentine and the stunning beauty thereof. When she turned and smiled, Annabel actually had to blink at the brilliance of it. The young matron was breathtakingly gorgeous, all blond and milk-skinned, with high cheekbones and amazingly blue eyes.
It was all Annabel could do not to hate her on principle.
And then, as if the meeting could not get worse (and really, just the simple fact that she and Mr. Grey were meeting was bad enough), he had to go and kiss her hand.
Disaster.
Annabel had been utterly flustered, stammering something that might have passed for a greeting in a preverbal society. She did lift her eyes for a moment, because even she knew that one couldn’t spend an entire introduction staring at the ground. But it was a mistake. A huge mistake. Mr. Grey, who had been quite good-looking in the moonlight, was even more heartstoppingly handsome by the light of day.
Good heavens, he ought not to be allowed to promenade with Lady Olivia. The two of them were likely to blind the good people of London with their combined beauty.
Either that or send the rest of humanity sobbing to their beds, because really, who could compete with that?
Annabel tried to follow the conversation, but she was far too distracted by her own panic. And by Mr. Grey’s right hand, which was resting lightly against his leg. And by the sly curve of his mouth, which she was trying very hard not to look at, but somehow there it was, right in her peripheral vision. Not to mention the sound of his voice, when he said something about…well…something.
Books. They were talking about books.
Annabel held silent. She had not read the books in question, and besides, she thought it best to insert herself in the conversation as little as possible. Mr. Grey was still stealing the occasional glance in her direction and it seemed foolish to give him a reason to do so openly.
Of course that was when he turned right at her with those devilish gray eyes and asked, “And what of you, Miss Winslow? Have you read any of the Gorely books?”
“I am afraid not.”
“Oh, you must, Annabel,” Louisa said excitedly. “You will adore them. We shall go to the bookshop today. I would lend you mine, but they are all back at Fenniwick.”
“Do you possess the entire set, Lady Louisa?” Mr. Grey asked.
“Oh, yes. Except for Miss Truesdale and the Silent Gentleman, of course. But that shall be rectified immediately.” She turned back to Annabel. “What have we on the calendar for this evening? I do hope it is something we may skip. I want nothing more than a cup of tea and my new book.”
“I believe we are to attend the opera,” Annabel replied. Louisa’s family had one of the finest boxes in the theater, and Annabel had been looking forward to attending a performance for weeks.
“Really?” Louisa said, with an utter lack of enthusiasm.
“You’d rather stay home and read?” Mr. Grey asked.
“Oh, definitely. Wouldn’t you?”
Annabel regarded her cousin with something between surprise and disbelief. Louisa was normally so shy, and yet here she was, animatedly discussing novels with one of London’s most notorious bachelors.
“I suppose it depends on the opera,” Mr. Grey said thoughtfully. “And the book.”
“The Magic Flute,” Louisa informed him. “And Miss Truesdale.”
“The Magic Flute?” Lady Olivia exclaimed. “I missed that last year. I shall have to make plans to attend.”
“I would take Miss Truesdale over The Marriage of Figaro,” Mr. Grey said, “but perhaps not The Magic Flute. There is something so cheering about hell boilething in one’s heart.”
“Heartwarming, even,” Annabel muttered.
“What did you say, Miss Winslow?” he asked.
Annabel swallowed. He was smiling benignly, but she could hear the pointy little jab in his voice, and frankly, it terrified her. She could not enter
into a battle with this man and win. Of that she was certain.
“I have never seen The Magic Flute,” she announced.
“Never?” Lady Olivia said. “But how can that be?”
“Opera is rarely performed in Gloucestershire, I’m afraid.”
“You must go see it,” Lady Olivia said. “You simply must.”
“I was planning to attend this evening,” Annabel said. “Lady Louisa’s family had invited me.”
“But you can’t go if she’s home reading a book,” Lady Olivia finished shrewdly. She turned to Louisa. “You will have to put off Miss Truesdale and her silent gentleman until tomorrow. You cannot allow Miss Winslow to miss the opera.”
“Why don’t you join us?” Louisa asked.
Annabel thought she might kill her.
“You said you missed it last year,” Louisa continued. “We have a large box. It is never full.”
Lady Olivia’s face lit with delight. “That is most kind of you. I should love to attend.”
“And of course you are invited as well, Mr. Grey,” Louisa said.
Annabel was definitely going to kill her. By the most painful means imaginable.
“I would be delighted,” he said. “But you must allow me to give you a copy of Miss Truesdale and the Silent Gentleman in exchange for the honor.”
“Thank you,” Louisa said, but Annabel could have sworn she sounded disappointed. “That would be—”
“I will have it delivered to your house this afternoon,” he continued smoothly, “so that you may begin it right away.”
“You are quite beyond thoughtful, Mr. Grey,” Louisa murmured. And she blushed. She blushed!
Annabel was aghast.
And jealous, but she preferred not to dwell on that.
“Will there be room for my husband as well?” Lady Olivia asked. “He has turned into a bit of a hermit of late, but I think we may convince him to emerge for the opera. I know that the Queen of the Night’s aria is a particular favorite of his.”
“All that hell boilething,” Mr. Grey said. “Who could resist it?”
“Of course,” Louisa replied to Lady Olivia. “I would be honored to meet him. His work sounds fascinating.”