I wish he would stop avoiding them and let himself be caught!’ Juliet snapped. ‘I certainly have no interest in knowing Lord St Claire any better than I already do!’
Dolly gave a rueful shrug. ‘I fear, Juliet, that you will have to inform Sebastian of that yourself.’
Sebastian knew that she just had…
Juliet, reluctant as yet to go downstairs to breakfast and face any of the other guests, requested that the maid Dolly had sent to help her dress return downstairs once this task had been completed, and bring a tray up to her bedchamber.
She had not slept well, and a single glance in the mirror earlier had shown her that this was all too apparent in the dark shadows beneath her eyes and the pallor of her cheeks. Both those things seemed all the more noticeable once her hair was secured on her crown in loose curls.
Juliet had told herself that her restless night was because of her concern for Helena and her badly twisted ankle, but inwardly Juliet knew her insomnia had been for another reason entirely.
Because of another person entirely.
Lord Sebastian St Claire.
Juliet had half expected that he might still be on her balcony when she’d returned from visiting Helena’s room the previous evening. Or, worse, actually awaiting her in her bedchamber. But she had found both her bedchamber and the balcony empty, and a surreptitious glance onto the balcony adjoining hers had shown her that it was also empty, the doors firmly closed, and no lighted candle visible in the bedchamber itself. Indicating that Lord St Claire had either gone to bed or he had rejoined the men downstairs playing cards. Juliet strongly suspected the latter.
One thing she knew for certain: she would not be able to leave today as she had planned. Helena’s ankle was indeed very badly swollen, and Mr Hallowell had advised that she must stay in bed for the day, and perhaps tomorrow, too, to allow for the swelling to go down. More importantly, he’d stated that Helena should not travel any distance for at least the next few days, to aid her recovery. And Juliet could not—would not—depart Banford Park without her.
Another reason for her disturbed and sleepless night.
For if she could not leave Banford Park, then she could not escape seeing St Claire again, either…
‘Is there enough tea in that pot for two?’ A familiar voice interrupted her unwelcome thoughts.
It seemed that Juliet could not escape the persistence of Sebastian St Claire even in her own bedchamber!
Her eyes were wide with disbelief as she stood up to turn and find him standing in the doorway that opened onto her balcony. ‘My bedchamber is not a public thoroughfare, sir!’
‘I should hope not.’ He grinned unrepentantly as he stepped fully into the room.
Juliet supposed she should be grateful that he was at least more suitably dressed this morning, in a fitted superfine coat of dark green, with a paler green waistcoat neatly buttoned beneath, a white cravat meticulously tied at his throat, and black Hessians worn over buff-coloured pantaloons. But that was all she could be grateful for.
‘I meant, My Lord, that I do not recall giving you leave to just enter my bedchamber whenever you please!’ Her eyes flashed her indignation at the liberty he had just taken.
‘Not yet,’ he acknowledged ruefully. ‘I live in the hope that you will soon do so.’
Juliet watched somewhat incredulously as he bent to pick up her own teacup and sip the cooling liquid from the very same spot she had, only seconds ago, those beautiful whisky-coloured eyes deliberately meeting hers over the china cup’s delicate rim.
He was still trying to seduce her, Juliet recognised with an uncomfortable fluttering sensation in her chest.
Sebastian St Claire really was too handsome for his own good. Or for any woman’s good, either—including her own.
This would not do. It really would not do!
Sebastian recognised the signs of Juliet’s impending temper. The glitter of her eyes. The bright spots of colour that appeared in her cheeks. The tilting of her stubborn chin. The tightening of her determined jaw.
He placed the cup unhurriedly back in its saucer. ‘The other female guests are intending to stroll down to the village to look at the Norman church.’ His derisive expression showed exactly what he thought of that plan. ‘I thought perhaps you might prefer to go on a carriage ride with me?’
If anything, her jaw clenched even harder, until he could almost hear her teeth grinding together. ‘Then you were mistaken!’
‘You are looking pale this morning, my dear Juliet,’ Sebastian observed soothingly. ‘Hopefully a little fresh air will bring some of the colour back into your cheeks.’
She drew herself up to her full diminutive height.
‘Lord St Claire—’
‘Yes…?’ His expression was innocently enquiring.
This man was incorrigible, Juliet decided in total frustration. Absolutely impossible! ‘I have no wish to go on a carriage ride—or indeed anything else—with you!’
He raised dark brows. ‘You would rather that we spend the morning together here instead?’
Juliet blinked. By ‘here’ did he mean in her bedchamber? Or was he merely referring to Banford Park?
Whatever his meaning, Juliet was not agreeable to either suggestion. ‘I have no desire to spend the morning in your company at all, My Lord.’
‘Then it is your intention to depart today, as planned?’
‘You must know that it is not.’ She snapped her impatience, sure that he could not have helped overhearing her conversation with Dolly Bancroft the evening before. She’d certainly intended that he hear the remarks she’d meant for him!
‘Must I?’
‘My Lord—’
‘Could you not call me Sebastian when we are alone? I assure you I already think of you as simply Juliet,’ he murmured huskily.
‘I repeat, I have not given you permission—What are you doing?’ Juliet gasped as he took a step that brought him within touching distance, her eyes widening in alarm as she stared up at him.
Sebastian scowled as he once again saw that look of wariness in her face. The same emotion he had recognised in her yesterday evening. An emotion that had kept him awake for some time after he had retired to bed.
He knew that Juliet’s husband had been a much admired and respected member of the House, and an invaluable advisor to the War Cabinet during England’s years of war against Napoleon. He also knew the Earl of Crestwood had been a casual acquaintance of his eldest brother, Hawk. There had never, to Sebastian’s knowledge, been even a whisper of scandal attached to the Earl’s name.
Until after his death.
Even then it had been his
