Romancing the Countess by Ashley March Page B

tie you to my horse and drag you through the streets to get here. It was a tempting thought.”
    Around them, conversations carried over the usual currencies: weather, politics, war on the Continent and, with greater enthusiasm—women. The chair at Sebastian’s back was too soft and cushioned; he longed for rigidity, for punishment. Hands curled over his knees, he watched James motion a server for drinks.
    His brother sat back across from him and smiled, one arm resting on the table in front of him, the other hanging lazily at his side. “God, you look like hell.”
    “I’m not sure why you insisted on a change of scenery if all you mean to do is insult me wherever we are.”
    “I enjoy insulting you. It’s one of my greatest pleasures in life.”
    Sebastian pressed his lips together as the server set the drinks before them. His gaze flicked to the scotch, a pale gold, then moved away. James sipped at his glass and stared at him in much the same way he’d been staring at him for months—with a patent expression of patience, only slightly marred by the frustrated slash of his mouth.
    To Sebastian’s left, Mr. Alfred Dunlop was speaking with the young Baron Cooper-Giles. “I must go. I don’t care if there’s a scandal. Walter told me that Miss Pettigrew would be there.”
    “The banker heiress?” he heard Cooper-Giles ask.
    “Yes,” Mr. Dunlop replied. The word held a grim note to it. “Lost the shipping investment a week ago when the Reynard sank. By the end of the week, I intend to have a marriage acceptance in hand.”
    Sebastian shifted his gaze over James’ other shoulder and listened to Lord Derryhow spew on about his new Thoroughbred, a dark roan hunter. James’ sigh swept across the table, and Sebastian met his gaze with a half smile. It seemed the more he practiced those, the easier they became.
    “Perhaps all I need is a woman,” he said.
    “A woman?”
    “Yes.”
    “To bed?”
    Sebastian nodded.
    “You want to bed a woman?” James’ voice increased in incredulity, and Sebastian scowled. Had his little brother always been able to see through him so easily?
    Yes, he wanted a mindless fuck, someone to erase Angela’s memory from his arms. Someone else’s skin and scent and hands. But at the thought, his body rebelled, his muscles tensing and his lungs seeming to cave in. His breath spasmed, caught on that ever-constant, silent whisper of her name. Angela.
    “Never mind.” He turned toward the large window facing the street, over the heads of Baron Cooper-Giles and Mr. Dunlop. They were talking about a house party now.
    But James continued to play along, his voice tinged with amusement. “Shall I send one to you tonight? Or perhaps we should leave now, and I’ll do my best to find Lady Carroway. You did fancy her a few years ago, didn’t you?”
    “Goddamn it, James, I said—” The rebuke died in his throat as he heard a name spoken at the other table. His gaze fixed on Mr. Dunlop.
    “Of course,” James said, “the widow Carroway is quite a bit older than she once was. I suppose some men would be put off by the gray hair. Myself, for example.”
    Sebastian cast him a speaking glance, then stood and stepped toward the other table.
    Mr. Dunlop halted in midsentence and looked up. “Lord Wriothesly.”
    “Good day.” He inclined his head to Dunlop, then Cooper-Giles. Civilities. Those also became easier when practiced. The impulse to rage and destroy was weaker now than it had been a few months ago. A broken chair, a shattered window, walls forever indented with the impression of his fists. The fire poker hurled across his bedchamber after he’d resisted burning Angela’s portrait. These days, his rage was more controlled. Only the mangled ruins of his cravats in the mornings bore evidence of the anger still lurking beneath the gentleman’s exterior.
    Sebastian looked at Dunlop. “I believe I heard mention of a house party?”
    Dunlop exchanged an uneasy glance with Baron