Lightning snapped in her eyes, but she offered a smile, strained as it was. “I don’t understand. We have such a fun time together.”
“Perhaps my idea of fun has changed.”
Celeste’s face hardened, and she appeared on the verge of a tantrum, but she wouldn’t dare make a scene for fear of someone learning he had refused her.
“When you come to your senses,” she hissed, “you know where to find me.”
“I doubt I will ever return to my senses, or haven’t you heard? I’m as mad as a March hare.” His brows shot up as it dawned on him she was quite adept at employing the innocent act. “You were responsible for the piece about me arriving on your doorstep buck-naked, weren’t you?”
“No!” Her eyes flared. “I already said it was not me.”
He leaned closer and her breath hitched. “I don’t believe you, madam. Set your sights on some other poor sod. Our friendship has ended.”
She nailed him with an icy glare before going to join the other ladies for tea.
Good riddance. Sebastian lingered by the terrace door waiting for Helena to return. He wasn’t sure what to make of her sudden departure. Under normal circumstances, he might think she was jealous of Celeste, but Helena wasn’t like other women. Most ladies of his acquaintance were easy to read. They wanted him between their legs, and if they weren’t already spoken for, he was happy to be there.
Helena, on the other hand, was as difficult to decipher as hieroglyphics in a dark tomb. He had no doubt she found him attractive. He just didn’t know if she liked him. She certainly kept him at a distance.
He checked for Eve and discovered she was engaged in an animated discussion with Sir Jonathan and Lady Norwick several feet away. The man even allowed her to pound on one of the frame drums. With his sister occupied and content, he slipped outside to find Helena. If she asked why he had followed her, he could say he wanted to report on his search for Lavinia.
He didn’t find her on the terrace, so he descended the stone stairs to wander the gardens. Norwick Place had a small garden, but there were many cozy places to hide. He came upon her sitting on a marble bench beneath a pergola. Ivy weaved through the trellis and created a natural roof to block the sun.
She froze when she spotted him, her round eyes larger than normal. He held his arms out at his sides and moved slowly as if approaching a frightened animal.
“Don’t hurt me,” he said in a soothing voice.
Her nose wrinkled. “Don’t hurt you?”
“I saw how you handled that footpad, and I’d rather not wind up in a heap at your feet.”
She laughed, her wariness dissolving. “Unless you intend to rob me, I promise you are safe.”
He sat on the bench beside her. “And if I steal a kiss?”
“From me or Lady Lovelace?” The way she spat the other woman’s name gave him the answer he wanted and placed him on familiar ground. He knew how to relate to women who desired him.
“Why, Helena, I think you are jealous.”
Color drained from her already-pale complexion. “That’s—I am not jel—Who gave you leave to use my Christian name?”
He flashed a grin. “You gave permission to my sister.”
“And you are not your sister, Lord Thorne.”
“I am not.” He made it a practice never to argue with women, especially since he hated losing. “You may call me Sebastian if you like.”
“I don’t like, my lord.”
Damn, she tried his patience. Why couldn’t the lady admit she wanted him? There was nothing standing in the way of them having a very pleasant friendship of their own. Nothing except her stubbornness.
“Then you must forgive me for being too familiar, Lady Prestwick.” He took her hand and smiled when she allowed him to turn it palm up. His fingers moved to the tiny pearl button on her glove and pushed it through the small loop of fabric. Her breath escaped in a soft wheeze as he inched the satin free of her fingers.
She closed her eyes on a sigh. “Your apology seems less than sincere.”
With no barrier present, he turned her hand over and raised it to his lips. Each perfect knuckle received a kiss.