Page 17 of If the Duke Demands

He nodded, pleased by her acquiescence, although she was certain he didn’t realize that she only agreed with him because of the duchess. Certainly not because of him.

“But what does this have to do with last night?” She made a slow reach for her slipper, only for him to pull it away. Again. She rolled her eyes.

“Robert will be there. And you were right.” His gaze turned dark as midnight with silent sympathy as it held hers. “He plans on courting Diana Morgan.”

Her eyes stung, and she gave a jerking nod, unable to find her voice. She knew this was coming—had known since last fall, in fact. Someone as beautiful as Diana Morgan…of courseRobert would fall for her. And her for him. How could she not, as perfect as Robert was? But knowing it was coming didn’t do anything to lessen the pain. Miranda simply hadn’t expected this moment to feel so…empty. And dreadful. She pressed her clenched hand against her chest, as if she could physically fight back the gnawing ache.

“You’ll have to see them together,” he said gently, “attend the same events, sit next to them at dinners…Can you do that?”

Another jerking nod. Suddenly, her season didn’t seem so wonderful anymore.

“I’m sorry, Miranda. I know you care for him.”

And always would.

Nodding, she looked away and blinked to clear the blurring tears from her eyes. At that moment, she didn’t know what hurt worse—that Robert had chosen Miss Morgan, or that she’d never had the chance to make him notice her. When she’d finally gathered the courage to tell him how she felt and the resolve to show him the woman she’d become, it had all been wasted. On the wrong brother. She would have laughed if she didn’t hurt so much.

Then Sebastian said, almost carefully, “I’m going to London as well.”

She held out her hand again in hopes that he would be a gentleman and simply hand over the slipper. Then she could go back inside the orphanage, hide in her office, and cry without anyone seeing. “Of course you’re going. You have to attend the Lords and escort your mother.”

“And find a wife,” he added quietly.

Her gaze darted up to his. In stunned disbelief, she searched his face for any hint that he was teasing, but found nothing in his expression but somber sincerity.

A wife?Sebastian?She’d never known him to care anything for courting or the marriage market or…well, for that matter, to show matrimonial interest in any woman. Even before he inherited, he’d never seriously courted anyone, preferring the sort of trysts and assignations that were the fodder for gossipy old hens across England. But he had always drawn female attention wherever he went and unknowingly left a string of broken hearts in his wake. Hewasa Carlisle, after all. But a wife…

Her hand fell limp to her side. She didn’t know how she should feel about that. Or what to say…except, “Well, you are getting older, I suppose.”

With an exasperated grimace, he lowered the slipper. The time for games was apparently over.

“I need to find a duchess and produce an heir.” His eyes never left hers, but their brightness dulled. She knew how dedicated he was to the dukedom, but her chest tightened with unexpected sympathy that he should find marriage to be just another expectation to be fulfilled. Simply one more responsibility resting on his shoulders. “This season presents the perfect opportunity. I can be married by August.”

August.Standing there in the pale January sunlight, the heat of summer seemed so far away. Until she looked into his eyes, when it suddenly felt as close as next week. Why was she so struck by his decision? It was to be expected, after all. He was a duke, and he would need a son to inherit and carry on in his footsteps.

But Sebastian with a wife…Miranda simply couldn’t fathom it.

Of all the questions swirling through her confused mind, the first one that popped out before she could stop it—“But what if you don’t find one by August?”

He chuckled, the deep sound rumbling across the small distance between them and seeping into her chest, where it pulsed warm all the way out to the ends of her fingers and toes. Ruefully, she remembered once again the heat of his mouth on her body and of his soft compliments falling through her, and her heart thumped hard against her ribs.

“Don’t worry, I’ll find one,” he assured her. Then his laughter died away, and he muttered with a self-deprecating grin, “It’s amazing what inheriting a dukedom can do for a man’s popularity.”

Which should have made him happy to know that his pursuit of a wife would be easier, she considered sadly, but obviously it didn’t. He’d been so much more relaxed when he was younger, more spontaneous and convivial…more free.Alive.But that handsome young man she remembered who always had a charming smile for everyone and so easily laughed his way through the day had disappeared. And in his place now stood a duke.

For a moment, she forgot her embarrassment over last night and her frustration with him, and her heart ached for him.

He smiled at her, but the forced expression never reached his eyes. “I’ll have to beat them away with a stick.”

She held out the wooden sword. “Then you can borrow mine.”

He laughed as he took it from her and made a show of examining it, his eyes crinkling. And she couldn’t help but smile back.

“I wish you luck, Sebastian,” she offered awkwardly, “if marriage is what you truly want.”

“It is.”

But his smile faded, the momentary lightness she’d seen in him gone. Immediately, she missed it. How much happier would he be if he would simply let himself be the carefree young man he once was? If he let himself laugh more often? If he could let himself forget for a few hours each day that he was the Duke of Trent and could simply be Sebastian again?