“That sour-tempered, cheese-paring harridan?” Sebastian strode away. “Not if I have any say in the matter!”
“You don’t have any say in the matter,” Claude called after him. “Why on earth should you?”
Why on earth, indeed? Sebastian’s reason demanded as he marched off to the stables. Rebecca’s future employment was none of his concern. Then why did he feel so desperately anxious about it, his heart countered, and about her well-being in general?
Perhaps it was the same reason that put him in good spirits when he was with her and made him restless when he was not. He had tried to ignore it and even now he could not bear to give that complicated jumble of feelings its true name.
The moment his horse was saddled Sebastian set off for Rose Grange at the break-neck pace his brother might have ridden. He tried to convince himself he was only going to take possession of the sketch he’d commissioned. But he knew better than to believe such a lame excuse. What he really wanted was to talk to Rebecca again to convince her he was not as heartless and vengeful as she’d implied.
Even that was only part of the truth, he conceded at last. He simply needed to see her again, to hear her voice. If he was very fortunate, he might catch a glimpse of her smile or hear the mellow rustle of her laughter.
Rebecca did not smile when she entered the sitting room where Sebastian had been asked to wait for her. Instead, she appeared surprised by his unexpected visit—even a bit wary. “If you have come looking for your brother, he left some time ago. The Leonards departed not long after. They have gone—”
“To visit her aunt.” A sense of peace stole over Sebastian the moment he laid eyes on Rebecca again. “Claude informed me when he returned home. It is you I have come to see... about my portrait.”
He hoped Rebecca would believe that excuse more than he had.
“Then why did you not accompany your brother when he collected the sketch of Hermione?” Her direct gaze demanded the truth.
“Because... I wasn’t certain I could face you, knowing what you think of me.” Sebastian could scarcely believe he had made such a frank admission of weakness.
Rebecca seemed taken aback as well. “I thought you did not give a fig for anyone’s opinion. You seem to take pride in being considered stubborn, arrogant and ruthless.”
“In a good cause,” he reminded her.
“Ah.” She began walking toward the easel. “And you realize that trying to break your brother’s engagement is not such a good cause after all?”
“No.” The denial rose to his lips instinctively, before he had an opportunity to give it much thought. “But I am certain meddling in his marriage would be. It grieves me that you believe I would do such a thing.”
“I do not wish to grieve you. Quite the contrary, in fact.” Rebecca caught her full lower lip between her teeth, as if to prevent herself from saying any more on the subject. After a long pause, she turned to a safer subject. “Since you are here and my sketch of you is finished, you might as well take it, if it meets with your approval.”
Sebastian moved toward the easel, as much because he welcomed any excuse to draw nearer to Rebecca as any eagerness to see his portrait. Indeed, now that the moment was at hand, he found himself a trifle nervous to see how she had depicted him.
Steeling himself, he glanced at the paper. A breath of relief gusted out of him.
“Do you like it?” The anxious tone of Rebecca’s question made it clear that, in this instance, she cared as much about his opinion as he did about hers.
He gave a slow nod. “It is very well done.”
The likeness was a flattering one, without softening his bold features too much. There was also a sense of vitality about it that he appreciated. One part of the sketch unsettled him, however—a glimpse of unexpected vulnerability in the eyes. It was obvious that Rebecca saw him far more clearly than most people. Perhaps too clearly for his comfort. Was it possible that after such a brief acquaintance she already knew him better than he knew himself? Considering the actions of which she believed him capable, Sebastian hoped not.
He nodded toward the sketch. “Perhaps we should have settled on your fee at the outset, but I believe this is worth whatever price you might ask.”
“Nonsense.” Rebecca rushed past him and removed his portrait from the easel. “I am not a professional artist and I would never think of charging you a fee. I agreed to sketch your portrait as a favor for a friend. Your appreciation is the only fee I require.”
“I do not mean to offend you.” Sebastian wished she would look at him but she kept her attention fixed on the task of rolling and tying the paper. “I merely wish to demonstrate the value I place upon the time and skill you have put into this sketch.”
“Do you only value what you pay for?” Rebecca slapped the rolled-up paper into his hand. “In that case you may burn it or throw it away or whatever you wish because I will not accept a penny for it. It was a labor of... that is, I will not cheapen my efforts by taking your money. Now, if you will excuse me, Lord Benedict, since my employers are not at home, I am sure you can have no further business with a mere servant.”
“Please don’t go!” Fumbling the sketch, he managed to catch her by the hand before she hurried away. “You must know I do not think of you in that way. If you insist on making me such a generous gift, then I will accept it and offer you only my gratitude in return.”
She did not turn back to face him, but neither did she pull away, as she might if she were determined to flee.
It was possible she might have stayed even if Sebastian released her hand, but he did not want to take any chances. “Please assure me you know I do not think of you as a mere servant.”
“What else should I presume to think?” she countered in a wistful murmur shaded with bitterness. “It is clear your chief objection to Hermione is that she lacks the proper rank and fortune to move in your circles. Compared to her, I am not of the slightest consequence to someone like you.”
Rebecca finally made an effort to extract her hand from his grip. Much as Sebastian longed to maintain that contact between them, he would not do it by force. He must find some other way to keep her there to hear him out.
“I do have my reservations about Miss Leonard’s suitability for my brother on account of their difference in rank and fortune.” His words tripped over one another in his haste to get them out. “But not for the reason you suppose.”
In the time it took him to blurt all that out, Rebecca had taken several steps toward the door. Now she stopped and turned back to face him again. Clearly he had succeeded in rousing her curiosity. “What other reason can there be but that you judge the worth of people based on titles and income?”
“I hope nothing in my manner toward you has given you reason to believe that.”