The Duke is Wicked (League of Lords #3) - Tracy Sumner Page 0,25

the staircase, and for one blinding instant, Sebastian’s heart stuttered, hoping against hope.

If she came back, their skirmish would move from mental to physical.

When he suspected neither of them was prepared for that battle.

Finn stepped into the room, his infamous cerulean gaze going directly to the violin. “Oh, it’s one of those nights.”

Sebastian crossed to replace his instrument in its case, tucking it behind the desk and out of sight. “Sod off, Alexander.”

“I imagined it easier to come tonight rather than arrive moments before what Victoria and I are calling the ‘ambush breakfast.’ When Miss Temple meets everyone in the League, without knowing she’s going to meet everyone in the League. I know our cottage is only fifteen minutes away, but my darling wife is easily fatigued with the pregnancy. I hope that’s fine. We took our regular suite of rooms.” He lifted his shoulder, gesturing to the floor above them. “She’s close enough to block and provide you the utmost privacy, should you be wondering. Your always-intriguing thoughts are your own.”

Sebastian grunted and settled his hip on the desk, running his bow’s horsehair string over his palm in a pattern he recognized as one of Bach’s concertos. “Your sudden arrival has nothing to do with worrying that a disagreement with the Americans will cause me to inadvertently start a blaze?” He tapped the bow’s tip against the wall. “The reason I inhabit a sandstone castle, my friend.”

Finn shrugged, his smile so impish Sebastian struggled to remain uncharmed. As all of London was, even though Finn stood on the bottom rung of society’s ladder. His exquisite good looks and Julian’s lie that they were half-brothers, the only things keeping his foot wedged in the ton’s door. A situation he cared nothing about, which made him even more irresistible to the masses. “My wife provides a soothing presence. And a chaperone for Miss Temple, should you be worried about her reputation, which is, lamentably, as frightful as yours. Victoria thought it best we come, so here we are.” He dusted nonexistent lint from his sleeve. “Happy wife, as the saying goes.”

“I know nothing about that.”

Finn shuffled from side to side, fidgeting like a branch twisting in the wind. “Will it greatly vex you to know we brought Honoria Hazelton with us? She insisted when she found out where we were going.”

Sebastian groaned and reached to pinch the bridge of his nose to hold back a headache.

“Don’t worry. She’s appropriately escorted. That miserly duenna of hers.”

Thinking of Honoria made his mind travel the dusky path to Delaney. The way her eyes had glowed as she’d crawled into what looked like a typical, admittedly ancient, hearth to him, but had seemed like a treasure to her. He could still smell her, peony and the slightest trace of lemon, if he tried very hard to, which he was trying very hard not to. “I have a question.” Sebastian wielded the bow like a wand and sent it in a wide loop that encompassed the room. “This is an oubliette, right?”

Finn circled the space, halting by the iron loops attached to the far wall. Giving one a yank, he threw a sardonic glance at the duke. “Christ, Ashcroft, your study is a dungeon. Why it’s your favorite room in this mausoleum, I can’t say. Although it does hold a certain barbaric charm.” He let the loop fall with a dull plink. “How did the trip from London go, by the way?”

“The heiress slept, or pretended to. Because I caught her the night before, sneaking out in gentleman’s clothing, looking like a woman dressed in gentleman’s clothing and nothing but, headed to a meeting at the Rose and Three Tuns. On Little Earl Street.”

Finn’s features congealed in a hard mask. With his elegant comportment and stylish panache, it was easy to forget that, until Julian had rescued him, he’d spent the first nine years of his life on those brutal streets. “She was headed to Seven Dials? Alone?”

Sebastian nodded, easing the bow across his palm, A minor.

Finn braced his forearm on the wall to hold himself up. “Why?”

“Apparently, in addition to the other enticements surrounding her, she has an extortionist. One interested in—oh, take time to absorb this, Alexander—the occult. No one else roaming around in the dreams you’ve had of her, I suppose? And you only got the one phrase, Soul Catcher, when you attempted to read her mind?”

“Just you,” Finn whispered, his eyes going dreamy as he considered. “During your illness, it was only