Before he could change the subject, a man behind them said, “Who is about to be seduced?”
Stephen turned in surprise as Elysse’s brother spoke. He was friendly with Jack O’Neill, but he hadn’t seen him in two years—O’Neill had been in America. “Ariella has a vivid imagination, or have you forgotten?”
Jack grinned and winked. Like Elysse, he was golden in coloring, though with gray eyes, and now he was bronzed from being outdoors. “I could never forget that.”
Ariella huffed, “I am warning Mowbray off the woman he rescued from a swoon. I happen to know her, and she is not for him—not unless his intentions are honorable ones.”
About to sip his champagne, Stephen choked.
“Really?” Jack laughed.
“I merely prevented the woman from collapsing,” Stephen somehow said. “My God, I ask one innocent question and I am accused of the worst intentions.” He gave Ariella a cool glance. What was wrong with her? Alexandra Bolton was in her late twenties, and a woman with such striking looks could not possibly be lacking in experience.
“Well, I have no problem confessing that my intentions might not be honorable, not at all, if I was in your shoes,” Jack declared. “That brunette is quite pleasing to look at. Hello, Elysse. I am jealous. Are you happier to see Stephen, a mere friend, than me, your own brother?”
Elysse was wide-eyed—clearly, she hadn’t known that her brother had returned to the country. “I haven’t received a letter from you in a year, so we are not speaking,” she said tersely, then gave him a cold look and turned her back on him.
“It is rather hard to write letters when you are warding off hostile Indians from the homestead,” Jack said, amused. He kissed her cheek from behind. “I love you anyway, and I have a present for you.” He then pumped Alexi’s hand. “Congratulations.”
Alexi grinned. “The Stag at midnight,” he said.
“I wouldn’t miss it,” Jack returned.
Elysse faced Jack then. “Bribery will not get you forgiveness.”
“But I have the stab wounds to prove my words,” he said, eyes wide and innocent. “And an Apache warrior has a good hank of my hair.”
“Why did you have to go to the wilds of America?” Elysse asked in dismay, all anger forgotten.
“That was so easy,” Jack laughed, putting his arms around her.
For one moment, Stephen almost felt like the small boy he’d once been, standing on the edge of the crowded de Warenne salon, the only outsider in the room. St. Xavier had come up to join them, and he was aware of Sir Rex and Lady Blanche standing a few paces away, speaking to Tyrell de Warenne, the earl of Adare, who was standing with the duchess, his pretty, plump wife, Lizzie. Stephen was used to such feelings. It was impossible not to stand amid the great de Warenne family and not feel the sensation of not quite belonging, even though he shared their blood. But he would never share their name, and the blood connection was a family secret—society would never know. The fact of the matter was that he would always be on the fringes of the family and never truly a part of it.
Not that he minded, and not that it mattered. Every man of honor had a duty, and his was Clarewood.
Stephen turned away, certain Jack had meant every word as far as the Indians and his hair went, and just as certain that he had cleverly manipulated Elysse. The crowd in the hall had been reduced, most of the guests now in the great ballroom, for which Harrington Hall was famous. He scanned the room but did not see the most recent object of his interest. But across the room, he saw the Sinclairs arriving. Lord Sinclair had recently angled for Stephen’s marriage to his very beautiful daughter. Young Anne was wedged between her parents, and she was so stunning that heads turned as they entered. His own blood did not race; instead, he had the urge to loosen his necktie. He hadn’t dismissed Sinclair outright; Anne had all the proper prerequisites—on paper, anyway—and he had said he would consider such a union.
She was only eighteen. She would be meek and eager to please; she would not have independent opinions; and she would make a stunning duchess.
“Why are you scowling?” Alexi asked.
“Am I frowning?” He smiled perfunctorily. He knew he would be bored with her before they ever got to the altar, and that was the end of that.
“Who is that? Oh, wait, don’t bother—I know the answer.”
“Anne Sinclair. Her father suggested a marriage.”
“You will never get on.”
“Do not tell me how splendid constant bickering is.”
“I would die of boredom if Elysse obeyed my every command.”
“She disobeys your every command,” Stephen pointed out.
“And I am all the happier because of it.”
“And while I am thrilled you are so besotted, I should be incredibly unhappy if my wife disobeyed me.”
“Ah, yes, of course, Your Grace,” Alexi said. He shook his head in disgust and lowered his voice. “You can pretend you are like the old man, but you are not. And we both know you will never get on in a dull, arranged marriage—which is why you have avoided matrimony for almost fifteen years.”
Stephen was oddly annoyed, and they were once again at a stand-off. “I’ll see you at the Stag later. I pray we can discuss your affairs, not mine.”
“Coward.”
Only Alexi de Warenne could get away with such an insolent statement. Stephen decided to ignore him and strode off into the crowd. He had better things to do—and an acquaintance to pursue.
SARA HAD BEEN THRONGED with guests and admirers since she’d arrived. Stephen smiled, studying his half sister from a slight distance. She had never seemed so happy, and he was at once glad and proud. She was a very pretty girl, taking after her mother in both appearance and temperament; she was kind, shy and gentle. While he’d known her since she was an infant—she had been born shortly before he’d inherited the duchy—he hadn’t spent as much time with her or Marion as he would have liked, due to the constraints of the situation. While most of the sprawling de Warenne family knew the truth about him, his half sisters had been told the exact nature of their relationship only two years ago. After all, children did not keep secrets well. Until that time, they had thought him a dear family friend.
He was aware that she was shy with him, as if he were an older relative who did not visit all that often. He also knew she was in some awe of him, and he wished somewhat wistfully that he could have been a brother to her openly, but that was simply impossible.
She was shining tonight, as she should be on her sixteenth birthday. As he watched several young men flirting with her, he felt a stirring of pride and protectiveness. He would always be her protector, even if from a distance.
He quietly awaited his turn to greet her, but the men and women in front of him realized who was standing behind them and allowed him to cut to the head of the queue. She was blushing profusely as Lord Montclair, who was far too old for her, congratulated her, and Stephen paused to smile at Lady Harrington.
“How are you, Your Grace?” Blanche Harrington asked, clasping both his hands warmly.
Blanche had been warm and kind to him from the moment of their first meeting, when he was nine years old. He liked her greatly in return, and understood that she had embraced him so genuinely because of her deep love for Sir Rex. “I am enjoying the evening, and apparently so is Sara.”
“The truth is,” Blanche said softly, “Sara was dreading this evening. You know how modest she is. She was afraid she would fail her guests. But she has been having a fabulous time.”
He