Maybe last week, maybe before Sebastian…

No, she thought, as lovely and magnificent as he was, as much as she adored him and hoped he adored her, he wasn’t the only reason she couldn’t marry Lord Newbury. He did, however, provide a splendid alternative.

“What the hell just happened?” Sebastian demanded, at her side in an instant.

“Nothing,” Annabel replied, and she almost smiled.

“Annabel—”

“No, really. It was nothing.Finally , it was nothing.”

“What do you mean?”

She shook her head. Everyone was heading in to supper. “I’ll tell you later.”

She was having far too much fun with her own thoughts to share them, even with him. Who would have thought that a pinch on the bottom would be what finally made it all come clear? It hadn’t even been the pinch, actually, but the look in his eyes.

Like he owned her.

In that moment she realized there were at least ten reasons why she could never, ever commit herself to that man in marriage.

Ten, but probably more like a hundred.

Chapter Twenty-two

One, Annabel thought happily as she took her seat at the table, Lord Newbury was simply too old. Not to mention thatTwo : he was so desperate for an heir that he’d probably injure her in the attempt, and certainly no woman with a broken hip could carry a baby for nine months. And of course there was—

“Why are you smiling?” Sebastian whispered.

He was standing behind her, supposedly on his way to his own seat, which was diagonal to hers, two seats closer to the head of the table. How anyone might think that her seat was on the way to his was beyond her, which brought her to a revision ofThree : she seemed to have attracted the attention of the most charming and lovable man in England, and who was she to turn such a treasure away?

“I’m just happy to be down at the far end of the table with the rest of the peons,” she whispered back. Lady Challis was nothing if not a stickler for propriety, and there would be no deviations from the order of rank when it came to her seating arrangements. Which meant that with nearly forty guests between

Annabel and the head of the table, Lord Newbury seemed miles away.

Even more delightful, she had been seated directly next to Sebastian’s cousin Edward, whose company she had so enjoyed at lunch. As it would be rude to remain lost in her own thoughts, she quickly decided to rename her brothers and sistersFour throughTen . Surely they loved her well enough not to want her to enter into such a hideous union on their behalf.

She turned to Mr. Valentine, beaming. Smiling so widely, in fact, that he actually seemed taken aback.

“Isn’t it a marvelous evening?” she asked, because itwas .

“Er, yes.” He blinked a few times, then shot a quick look over to Sebastian, almost as if checking for approval. Or maybe just to see if he was watching.

“I am so glad that you are attending,” she continued, gazing happily at the soup. She was hungry. Happiness always made her hungry. She looked back up at Mr. Valentine, lest he think she was pleased by the soup’s attendance (although she was; she really was), and added, “I had not realized that you would be here.” Her grandmother had obtained a guest list from Lady Challis, and Annabel was certain there had been no Valentines on it.

“I was a very recent addition.”

“I am sure Lady Challis was most pleased to have you.” She smiled again; she couldn’t seem to help herself. “Now then, Mr. Valentine, we must speak of far more important matters. I am sure you must know many terribly embarrassing stories about your cousin, Mr. Grey.”

She leaned forward a bit, eyes gleaming. “I want to hear themall .”

Sebastian could not decide if he was intrigued or enraged.

No, not true. He pondered rage for about two moments, then remembered he never got angry and decided he preferred intrigue.

He had almost interceded when Newbury had cornered Annabel in the drawing room, and in fact he’d had quite the most delicious urge to pinch his uncle on the eyelid after he’d pinched Annabel on the bum. But just as he stepped forward, Annabel had undergone the most remarkable transformation. For a few moments, it was almost as if she wasn’t there, as if her mind had lifted off and gone to some faraway, blissful spot.

She’d looked lifted. Weightless.

Sebastian could not fathom what his uncle might have said to make her so happy, but he recognized the futility of trying to question her while everyone was filing in to supper.

So he decided that if Annabel wasn’t going to be furious about Newbury’s pinch, then neither would he.

At supper she was positively incandescent, which, given the two-seats-down-and-across-the-tableness of their positions, was somewhat irksome. He could not enjoy her radiance, nor could he take credit for it. She did seem to be enjoying her conversation with Edward immensely, and Sebastian found that if he

leaned just a bit to his left he could hear almost half of what they were saying.

He might have heard more, except that also to his left was the elderly Lady Millicent Farnsworth. Who was quite nearly deaf.

As he would surely be by the end of the evening.

“IS THAT DUCK?” she yelled, pointing at a slice of fowl which was, indeed, duck.

Sebastian swallowed, as if the motion might somehow dislodge her voice from his ear, and said something about the duck (which he had not yet tasted) being delicious.

She shook her head. “I DON’T LIKE DUCK.” And then, in a blessed whisper, she added, “It gives me hives.”

Sebastian decided then and there that until he himself was old enough to have sired grandchildren, this was more than he wanted to know about any woman over the age of seventy.

While Lady Millicent was busy with the beef burgundy, Sebastian craned his neck only slightly farther than was subtle, trying to hear what Annabel and Edward were talking about.

“I was a very recent addition,” Edward said.

Sebastian presumed he was talking about the guest list.

Annabel gave him—Edward, that was; not Sebastian—another one of her brilliant smiles.

Sebastian heard himself growl.

“WHAT?”

He flinched. It was a natural reflex. He was fond of his left ear.

“Isn’t the beef marvelous?” he said to Lady Millicent, pointing at it for clarification.

She nodded, said something about Parliament, and speared a potato.

Sebastian looked back at Annabel, who was chatting animatedly with Edward.

Look at me, he willed.

She didn’t.

Look at me.

Nothing.

Look at—

“WHAT’RE YOU LOOKING AT?”

“Only admiring your fair skin, Lady Millicent,” Seb said smoothly. He’d always been good on his feet. “You must be quite diligent about staying out of the sun.”

She nodded and muttered, “I watch my money.”

Sebastian was stupefied. What on earth had she thought he’d said?

“EAT THE BEEF.” She took another bite. “IT’S THE BEST THING ON THE TABLE.”

He did. But it needed salt. Or rather,he needed the salt cellar, which happened to be located directly in front of Annabel.

“Edward,” he said, “would you please ask Miss Winslow for the salt?”

Edward turned to Annabel and repeated the request, although in Sebastian’s opinion, there had been no need for his eyes to travel anywhere below her face.

“Of course,” Annabel murmured, and she reached for the salt cellar.

Look at me.

She handed it to Edward.

Look at me.

And then…finally. He gave her his most melting smile, the kind that promised secrets and delight.

She flushed. From her cheeks, to her ears, to the skin on her chest, so delightfully displayed above the lacy trim of her bodice. Sebastian allowed himself a satisfied sigh.

“Miss Winslow?” Edward asked. “Are you unwell?”

“Perfectly well,” she said, fanning herself. “Is it hot in here?”

“Perhaps a little bit,” he said, obviously lying. He was wearing a shirt, cravat, waistcoat, and jacket, and he looked cool and comfortable as an ice chip. Whereas Annabel, whose dress was cut low enough so that half of her bosom was exposed to air, had just taken a long sip of wine.

“I think my soup was overly warm,” she said, shooting a quick glare at Sebastian. He returned the sentiment with a tiny lick of his lips.

“Miss Winslow?” Edward asked again, all concern.

“I’m fine,” she snapped.

Sebastian chuckled.

“TRY THE FISH.”

“I believe I will,” Seb said, smiling at Lady Millicent. He took a bite of the salmon, which really was excellent—Lady Millicent apparently knew her fish—then sneaked a glance over at Annabel, who still

looked as if she’d dearly love a tall glass of water. Edward, on the other hand, had got that glazed look in his eyes, the one that appeared every time he thought about Annabel’s—

Sebastian kicked him.

Edward snapped around to face him.

“Is something wrong, Mr. Valentine?” Annabel asked.

“My cousin,” he bit off, “has uncommonly long legs.”

“Did he kick you?” She turned quickly to Sebastian.Did you kick him ? she mouthed.

He took another bite of fish.

She turned back to Edward. “Why would he do such a thing?”

Edward flushed to the tips of his ears. Sebastian decided to let Annabel figure that one out on her own. She turned and scowled at him, which he returned with: “Why, Miss Winslow, whatever can be the matter?”