“I—I don’t want to lose you, not after losing Michael.” His empty laugh said he found the notion absurd. “If you marry Helen, you’ll make a life for yourselves, and I shall be alone. I’m a selfish bastard and want you to myself.”
Astounded by his honesty, it took a moment to absorb the words.
“I’m not like you,” Sebastian continued. “I can’t open myself up to someone and risk feeling the crippling pain of loss, not again.”
“You could with the right person.”
He didn’t dare mention Miss De Luca.
Sebastian laughed like he’d heard a mystic’s prediction. “I have no intention of marrying, not yet at least.”
“I said a similar thing once. Fate had other plans.”
Sebastian ignored the comment and quickly changed the subject. “If I’m to save my sister’s reputation, I suppose I should help you find Charles Holland’s killer,” he said, sounding more like himself. “Tell me what you’ve learned so far.”
While he was glad to see the old Sebastian, he could not permit him to take control of matters.
“Lady Brompton hired Helen to solve the case. She is in charge and will explain everything. If you want to help, you must do exactly as she says.”
Sebastian muttered something incoherent. “You know what you’re asking?”
“Yes, for you to trust your sister.”
“No. You’re asking a man who controls every situation to let a woman tell him what to do?”
ChapterSeventeen
The hackney cab drew up outside Fortune’s Den in Aldgate Street. Sebastian paid the jarvey and handed Helen down to the pavement.
Sigmund was expecting them and ushered them inside. “Mr St Clair is in the dining room with Mr Chance. You know the way, ma’am.”
She had not seen Nicholas since they parted ways at dawn.
Not since Sebastian had persuaded her to return home to Grosvenor Street to sleep, bathe and change her clothes. If they were to travel to Windsor, she should look her best, and yet he had wanted to speak to her alone, to apologise and make certain her feelings for Nicholas were genuine.
She had not kissed Nicholas for almost a day.
Indeed, Sebastian hadn’t journeyed from Bedford in his unmarked carriage. He had squashed into the hired vehicle while the empty coach trundled behind.
Consequently, when she walked into Aaron Chance’s plush dining room and saw Nicholas relaxing in the chair, her body ached in places it had never ached before.
“I pray we’re not late,” she said, for the men were deep in conversation and hadn’t heard them enter.
Nicholas turned to face her, and her insides melted. “No, you’re not late.” He stood and she glimpsed the bruise on his cheek. “Come, take a seat.” He pulled out the chair next to him, his lips curling into a smile.
“Denton, you can sit here.” Mr Chance motioned to the chair on the opposite side of the table, and out of politeness, Sebastian obliged.
Nicholas held her chair while she sat. His fingers brushed her arm, a covert stroke no one noticed, then he bent his head and whispered, “I’ve missed you.”
A shiver rippled from her neck to her navel.
They had been robbed of a chance to make love a second time. Every muscle was strung as tight as a bow in anticipation of when they might be alone again.
“St Clair has told me what happened in Bedford,” Mr Chance said, looking rather serious in black attire, “and I believe you have been fully apprised of all events, Denton.”
Sebastian nodded. “Indeed.”
“Good.” He recited the list of tasks he’d been given, which was more for her brother’s benefit than theirs.