She stepped forward, saw the smile fade from Sebastian’s face as the light reached hers. “How dare you send me this?” She thrust the hand holding the note at him. Her voice quavered with sheer fury. “You think to entertain yourself by pursuing me, yet I have told you from the first that I will not be yours, my lord.” She let her eyes flash, let her tone lash, let her polite mask fall entirely. She stalked forward. “As you find it so difficult to accept my decision, my steadfast rejection of you, let me tell you why I am here in London, and why you will never advance your cause with me.”
With every word she felt stronger; her temper coalesced, hardened, infused her tone as she stopped two yards from him.
“I was sent to England to seek a husband—that you know. The reason I agreed to do so was to escape the clutches of my guardian, a powerful man of wealth, breeding, inflexible will, and unceasing ambition. Tell me, Your Grace, does that description sound familiar?”
She arched a brow at him, her expression contemptuous, coldly furious. “I am determined to use this opportunity to escape men such as my guardian, men such as yourself, men who think nothing—nothing!—of using a woman’s emotions to manipulate her into doing as they wish.”
His expression had lost all hint of animation. “Mignonne—”
“Do not call me that!” She flung the injunction at him, flung her hands in the air. “I am not yours! Not yours to command, not yours to play with like a pawn on some chessboard!” She flourished his note again. “Without thinking, without in any way considering my feelings, on discovering yourself thwarted you reached for a pen and invoked guilt and fear so I would do as you wished. So that you would triumph.”
Sebastian tried to speak, but she cut him off with a violent slash of her hand.
“No! This time you will hear me out—and this time you will listen. Men like you—you are elegant, wealthy, powerful, and the reason you are so is because you are so adept at bending all around you to your will. And how do you accomplish that? By manipulation! It is second nature to you. You turn to manipulation with the same degree of thought you give to breathing. You cannot help yourself. Just look at how you ‘manage’ your sister—and I’m quite sure you tell yourself it’s for her own good, just as my guardian doubtless tells himself that all his machinations are indeed ultimately for my good, too.”
Sebastian held his tongue. Her anger burned, an almost visible flame. She reined it in, drew herself up. Her gaze remained steady on his.
“I have had half a lifetime of such managing, such manipulation—I will not suffer more. In your case, like my guardian, manipulating others—especially women—is part of your nature. It is part of who you are. You are helpless to change it. And the last man on earth I would consider as my consort is a man so steeped in the very characteristic I wish to flee.”
She flung his note at him; reflexively, he caught it.
“Never dare send me such a summons again.”
Her voice vibrated with fury and contempt; her eyes blazed with the same emotions.
“I do not wish to hear from you nor see you ever again, Your Grace.”
She swung on her heel and swept to the door. Sebastian watched as she opened it, went out; the door shut behind her.
He looked down at the note in his hand. With two fingers, he opened it, smoothed it. Reread it.
Then he crumpled it. With one flick, he sent it flying into the fire. The flames flared for an instant, then subsided.
Sebastian considered them, then turned and strode for the door.
Chapter Five
IT started raining during the night and continued through the dawn, a steady, relentless downpour that left the streets awash and the skies a leaden gray.
Sebastian spent the morning at home attending to estate business, then essayed forth to White’s for lunch—for distraction. But the conversation was as desultory as the weather; he returned to Grosvenor Square in midafternoon.
“Do you wish for anything, my lord?” Webster, his butler, shook water from his cloak, then handed it to a waiting footman.
“No.” Sebastian considered the library door; he started toward it. “If anyone should call, I don’t wish to be disturbed.”
“Indeed, Your Grace.”
A footman opened the door; Sebastian crossed the threshold, then paused. The door closed behind him. He grimaced, and headed for the sideboard.
Two minutes later, a brandy balloon liberally supplied with amber liquid in one hand, he sank into the leather armchair before the fire and stretched his damp shoes toward the blaze. He sipped, let the brandy and the fire warm him and chase away the chill that was only partly due to the weather.
Helena—what was he to do about her?
He’d understood very well all she’d accused him of; the unfortunate fact was that all she’d said was true. He couldn’t deny it. There seemed little point in pretending that skillful manipulation wasn’t, at base, a large part of his power, a large part of the arsenal men such as he—ex-warrior conquerors—used in these more civilized times. If given a choice, most people would rather accept his manipulation than face him over a battlefield.
“Most people,” most unfortunately, did not include females reared to be the wives and queens of warrior conquerors.
She, in fact, was too much like him.