Once a Wallflower, At Last His Love (Scandalous Seasons Book 6) (15 page)

“Are you all right, Miss Rogers?” Sebastian doffed his elegant black hat then beat it against his thigh.

She jumped and a different fire flared, this one in the form of a mortified blush that climbed up her neck. “Er—uh—yes,” she lied and hated that he should be so unaffected when her body trembled with awareness of him. She yanked the door open and set a tiny bell ajingle.

The comforting smells of leather and dusty old books filled her senses. She inhaled deep and drew the familiar scent in, hoping for a steadying effect, one to overtake the hint of sandalwood and mint that clung to Sebastian. She sighed. Alas, sandalwood and mint lingered more potent than the headiest aphrodisiac. It was now in her soul, forever imprinted into her consciousness.

An older man with a shock of white hair came rushing forward. “Welcome, welcome, miss. May I be of any—?” He winced at a loud thump from the back of his shop, followed by a series of shouts and shrieks.

Hermione gave him a remorseful smile. “No, I don’t require help.” Rather, she could supply it. She glanced up at Sebastian as the responsibility that went with being the last dependable person in her siblings’ life reared its head once again. “If you’ll excuse me, Your Grace. Thank you for the escort. I imagine you have a good deal more important business to attend.” With a final curtsy she raced toward the familiar quarreling voices, selfishly wishing just once she could be the carefree miss accompanied by the charming duke.

She marched toward the raised voices and peered down one long row of towering books. Then continued walking. She peeked down another row.

Winifred, wedged between brother and sister, sent a desperate glance toward the end of the row in Hermione’s direction.

“It is not silly, Hugh Rogers! Give it back this instant!”

Hugh held a single book above his head, out of Addie’s reach. Hermione raced down the row. “Hugh,” she called out sharply. The book tumbled from his fingers and landed with at thump on the wood floor. Hermione drew to a stop beside the opened book, with a now bruised spine. She planted her hands on her hips.

“I’m so sorry, miss,” the maid, said on a rush. “I—”

“This is certainly not your fault,” she interrupted. “I’ll speak to them.”

Winifred bowed her head and hurried off and in fairness to the young maid, Hermione could certainly identify with that much needed reprieve from the constant quarreling between the youngest Rogers siblings. Hermione looked back and forth between the two, and then settled her gaze on Hugh. He stared sheepishly back at her.

Addie bent and retrieved the injured book then cradled it close to her chest like a pup she’d just rescued from the street. She jabbed a finger at Hugh. “He said I couldn’t have it.” Her lower lip quivered.

“I told her it was too costly and we certainly couldn’t be wasting funds on her silly—” He ducked his head at the matching frowns trained on him by his sisters. “On her book,” he wisely amended.

“I want it, Hermione, and I don’t believe I ask for much.”

Addie was correct—she didn’t ask for much. Neither did Hugh or Elizabeth, for that matter. Guilt tugged as Hermione wished their circumstances were different, wished she could spend the coin on the prized book.

“So may I have it?”

“Let me see it, poppet.”

Addie held out the book.

Hermione took the black leather volume. The desire to purchase the expensive gift and feed her sister’s love of the written word warred with practicality for their family’s circumstances. The cost of the book alone would be all of Partridge’s wages for an entire month.

“See?” Hugh exclaimed triumphantly. “I told her—”

“Quiet,” Hermione ordered her brother, her gaze on the costly, leather copy of
A Legend of Montrose.
How very wrong to dedicate your life to writing books and be unable to afford a single volume of another author’s great work. With pained reluctance she handed it back. “Not today, Addie.” Likely, never.

Stricken by Hermione’s frugality, Addie cried, “But…” Her words ended on a gasp. She widened her eyes. “What does he want?”

Hugh growled. “Yes. What does he want?” He trained an angry glare beyond her shoulder.

Hermione stiffened and a thrill of awareness raced along her back. As her body attuned to the nuances of his every movement, she knew Sebastian was there as surely as she knew her name was Hermione Rogers. Breath caught in anticipation, she turned slowly around.

Sebastian stood at the very end of the row. He leaned against the towering shelf, studying the tableau with Hermione’s siblings with a veiled expression. It would seem he had not left in order to see to his business at London Hospital. Why did he remain? Surely not for her fractious family?

She swallowed hard. “Your Grace.”

Sebastian took in the two wide-eyed children staring at him with varying degrees of mistrust and interest. What accounted for such wariness in such young children? He thought to his own childhood and back to when Emmaline had been a girl. They’d never borne a hint of the mistrust evident in this trio before him.

“Allow me to introduce you to my sister, Adeline Rogers,” Hermione said, clearing her throat. She touched her sister’s shoulder. “Addie, this is His Grace, the Duke of Mallen.”

The girl snorted. “You’re a duke.” She craned her head back and stared overly long at his hair and then her gaze did a slow, disapproving pass over his frame, landing at his toes. “You don’t look like much of a—”

“Addie!”

The girl fell into a curtsy. “Your Grace.” She mumbled a handful of unintelligible words that sounded a good deal like ‘not-much-of-a-duke.’

Sebastian shook his head, dispelling the foolish thought. “Miss Rogers, a pleasure.” He sketched a bow and then shifted his attention to the flushed elder sister. “Miss Rogers, I wondered if I might be of any assistance?”

She gave him a wry smile. “Unless you intend to take a birch rod to this one, then I imagine not.”

An indignant gasp escaped Hugh. A mottled flush stained the boy’s cheeks.

She settled her hand on his shoulder. “I’m merely kidding, Hugh,” Hermione said in a placating tone.

He shrugged it off. “It was not funny.”

“Hugh does not have a mature sense of humor,” the small girl with dark brown hair and sapphire-blue eyes explained.

The scowl thrown Sebastian’s way by that humorless little boy indicated no response was the safe response in this instance.

And when faced with the miserable bugger’s surly attitude, he did the only thing he knew in dealing with a child. “Allow me the pleasure of purchasing each of you a book, then?”

Addie clapped her hands. “Oh, splendid.” Excitement sparkled in her eyes.

Hermione shook her head once. “It wouldn’t be proper… I…we… couldn’t allow you to do that.”

Addie cried out. “Oh, Hermione you never allow us anything fun. You’re always so serious and…” Elder sister glared the girl into silence. Addie wrinkled her mouth. “Humph.”

For all the lessons drilled into him on responsibility, Sebastian had still been afforded great luxuries as the heir to a dukedom. Hermione’s family had not been so very fortunate. If she were his, he would fill a room with every book by her beloved Mr. Michael Michaelmas and not a single one of the classics if it would bring her to smile.

And because of the abject disappointment in the eyes of a girl who looked so very much like a miniature version of Hermione, Sebastian fished around the front of his jacket and pulled out a purse of coins. “I insist.” He tossed the small bag to Hugh who caught it with one hand.

Before Hermione could protest, the little girl let out a squeal, grabbed her brother by the arm and tugged him down the row and around the corner.

Hermione folded her arms across her chest. “You really shouldn’t have done that, Your Grace.” She tipped her chin back, her jaw set at a proud, mutinous angle. “I’ll not accept charity.”

Did she consider her family in need of help? Except, he recalled her family’s threadbare furnishings and the cracked paint. His gut tightened. He quite abhorred the idea of Hermione Rogers needing charity. He continued walking closer to her. “Am I to be ‘Your Grace’ now?”

She backed up a step. “It was always Your Grace.” She paused. “
Is
always, Your Grace,” she amended.

He took another step. She retreated. Her back thumped against the shelves. Sebastian continued walking. He stopped before her. With a veiled gaze, he took in her rapidly heaving chest, her slightly parted red lips, and a surge of desire coursed through him. Had he ever seen her as anything less than beautiful? “Do you know what I believe, Hermione?” He framed his elbows on either side of the shelf, effectively trapping her in the fold of his arms.

“Wh-what is th-that?” Her breathless stammer roused a primitive sense of male satisfaction as he reveled in her interest.

“You do seem very serious.”

“Do I?” she squeaked.

He touched a finger to the right corner of her lips. “You frown a good deal.” Too much. It was a travesty for the plump red flesh to ever be anything but turned up with a smile.

“Y-You shouldn’t touch… That is… Your actions are quite…
o-our
actions are rather…”

He lowered his lips close to hers so that a mere hairsbreadth separated them. “Improper?” he whispered. The sweet hint of honey filled his senses. He brushed his lips over hers in the faintest meeting. Her head fell back. “You waste a good deal of your words on proper, Hermione.”

She blinked several times. “I must,” she said softly. “Impropriety would mean my ruin.”

“And you imagine being ruined by a duke to be a singularly terrible fate?” he asked with a sardonic twist to his words. When any other lady would surely welcome the prospect of becoming his duchess, regardless of the circumstances landing her that enviable title, Hermione sought to avoid discovery. The lady rose further in his estimation.

She narrowed her cat-like eyes into little slits and then slipped down and under, escaping his hold. “Your words reek of arrogance, Your Grace. I’d not have a gentleman because he was forced to do right by me.”

“Then how would you have a gentleman?” Except, the unwitting question roused all manner of delicious images of the many ways in which he could have Hermione Rogers. In his bed. Legs spread. Astride him. Standing with her thighs anchored about him. He buried a groan.

“Well,” she trailed her fingers along the length of shelving, running them over the spines of several books. She plucked one from the shelf and fanned the pages. “I’d have a gentleman because he couldn’t live without me.”

Ah, of course, his Hermione Rogers, lover of Gothic novels, was a romantic. He schooled his expression. “And what else would you require of this esteemed gentleman?” He paused. “Other than stability.”

She frowned and ran a probing stare over him. “Would you mock me for my desire for some constancy in life?” Which suggested her life was unstable.

“No,” he said quietly. “I wish to know the gentleman you’d set your sights upon?” And then he’d spend the rest of his life hating the blighter for having the opportunity to have her in his bed. Legs spread. Astride him. Standing… He growled.

She closed the book and tucked it back onto the shelf. The peal of children’s laughter from somewhere within the store filled the quiet. “Well, he must have a love for not just his family, but my family as well.”

That was what she would require? Her second most concern about the man who’d take her to wife, was the gentleman’s devotion to her family? How many other women would desire baubles and trinkets and priceless gems? And every cynical thought he’d once carried of a woman’s grasping motives of an advantageous match, lifted when presented with this unique, selfless lady before him.

Addie and Hugh’s muted bickering from another row pierced his thoughts. He considered Hermione’s sense of responsibility, the almost motherly role she appeared to have assumed for her youngest siblings and felt a kindred connection to one whose responsibility was for the care of their family. He’d accepted that heavy mantle upon the passing of his father. Never so young though, as Hermione had been at the passing of her mother.

She deserved more.

Sebastian walked slowly toward her. “And what else, Hermione?” Part of him wanted her to be selfish and have a dream for more—for herself, because she, with the responsibility she’d taken on, deserved more.