Sebastian decided he didn‘t care. ―Since when have you become Miss Winslow‘s champion?"
he asked.
―I‘m not," she said, shrugging her elegant shoulders. ―But it is obvious she is new to town and in need of guidance. I applaud Lady Louisa for taking her home."
―How do you know Lady Louisa took her home?"
―Oh, Sebastian," she said, giving him an impatient look. ―How can you even ask?"
And that was the end of it. Until he arrived at the club.
Which was when all hell broke loose.
Chapter Eleven
You bastard!"
Sebastian was normally an observant fellow, blessed with quick reflexes and a healthy sense of self-preservation, but his mind had been uncharacteristically stuck on a single topic—the curve of Miss Winslow‘s lips—and he had not been paying much attention to his surroundings as he entered the club.
Thus he had not seen his uncle.
Or his uncle‘s fist.
―What the hell?"
The force of the blow slammed Sebastian into a wall, which led his shoulder to be only slightly less painful than his eye, which was probably already turning black.
―Since the moment you were born," his uncle seethed, ―I have known you to be without morals or discipline, but this —"
This? What this ?
―This," his uncle continued, his voice shaking with fury, ―is beneath even you."
Since the moment I was born, Seb thought with something that was almost exasperation.Since the moment I was born . Well, his uncle was right about that, at least. Back to his earliest memories, his uncle had been angry and hard, always insulting, always finding new ways to make a boy feel small. Sebastian had later realized that the rancor was inevitable. Newbury had never liked Sebastian‘s father, who had been but eleven months his junior. Adolphus Grey had been taller, more athletic, and better-looking than his older brother. Probably smarter, too, although Sebastian had to admit, his father had never been one for books.
As for Seb‘s mother, Lord Newbury had thought her appallingly beneath the family.
Sebastian, he considered the spawn of the devil.
Seb had learned to live with it. And occasionally live up to it. Really, he hadn‘t much cared. His uncle was a nuisance, rather like a pesky, albeit large, insect. The strategy was the same: avoid, and if that proved impossible, swat.
But he didn‘t say this. Because really, what would be the point? Instead he staggered to his feet, dimly aware that an audience was gathering. ―What the devil are you talking about?"
―Miss Vickers," Newbury hissed.
―Who?" Seb asked distractedly. He should probably pay more attention to whatever his uncle was blathering on about, but damn, his eye really hurt. The bloody bruise would probably show for a week. Who knew the old bag had it in him?
―Her name ain‘t Vickers," someone said.
Sebastian removed his hand from his eye, blinking carefully. Bloody hell. His vision was still blurry. What his uncle lacked in muscle he made up for in heft, and he‘d apparently put all of it behind his punch.
Several gentlemen were standing near, presumably hoping that a fight would break out, which of course it would not. Sebastian would never hit his uncle, no matter how roundly he deserved it. If he hit Newbury, it would surely prove too lovely a sensation to resist, and then Seb would have to beat him to a pulp. Which would be very bad form.
Besides, he did not lose his temper. Ever. Everyone knew that, and if they didn‘t, they should.
―Who, pray tell, is Miss Vickers?" Sebastian asked, molding his body into an insolent slouch.
―She‘s not a Vickers," someone said. ―Her mother was a Vickers. Her father was someone else."
―Winslow," the earl bit off. ―Her name is Winslow."
Seb felt his fingers begin to tingle. His right hand might have formed a fist. ―What about Miss Winslow?"
―Do you pretend not to know?"
Seb shrugged, though the casual motion took all of his concentration. ―I pretend nothing."
His uncle‘s eyes glittered nastily. ―She will soon be your aunt, dear nephew."
The breath whooshed from Sebastian‘s body, and he thanked whatever god or architect had made sure there was a wall nearby for him to lean a shoulder against.
Annabel Winslow was Lord Vickers‘s granddaughter. She was that lush, voluptuous creature Newbury was panting after, the one so fertile she sent birds into fits of song.
It all made sense now. He‘d been wondering how a country miss should become such close friends with a duke‘s daughter. She and Lady Louisa were first cousins. Of course they would be friends.
He thought back to his conversation with his cousin, the bit about the fertile hips and singing birds. Miss Winslow‘s figure was every bit as spectacular as Edward had described. When Sebastian thought about the way Edward‘s eyes had glazed over when he‘d described her breasts…
Seb tasted acid. He might have to hit Edward. His uncle was off-limits due to age, but Edward was fair game.
Miss Annabel Winslow was indeed a ripe piece of fruit. And his uncle was planning to marry her.
―You will stay away from her," his uncle said in a low voice.
Sebastian did not speak. He had no ready quip or retort, so he said nothing. It was better that way.
―Although God knows if I still want her, given her dubious lapse in judgment."
Sebastian focused on his breathing, which was quickening dangerously.
―You may have looks and youth," Newbury continued, ―but I have the title. And I will be damned before you get your grasping hands on it."
Seb shrugged. ―I don‘t want it."