it.”
Amusement flashed across Darius’s expression. “Does Pater know you still come here?”
“No. He’s occupied with his own work these days.” Sebastian realized only then the truth of the remark. “For the first time since his wife left, the old bird is out and about again. Has a new position with the Home Office. Spends time at his club, the theater, balls. And he seems to have earned himself a bit of attention from the ladies.”
“Good.” Darius swallowed some ale and leaned back, his gaze narrowing on Sebastian. “And you?”
“Me?”
“You’re not quite well, are you?”
Dammit. Sebastian curled his right hand into a fist. Of course he shouldn’t have expected to hide anything from Darius. For all of his brother’s impassivity, Darius was like a hawk who, with one sweep of his keen eyes, missed nothing. Not unlike Rushton.
“I’m fine,” Sebastian said. Ridiculous word. Fine . Thin and watery, ashen blue.
His brother’s attention remained steady, unwavering. “Why did you resign the Weimar position?”
“Didn’t you hear?” Sebastian flexed his fingers. “They wanted to amend one of my compositions.”
“You would not dishonor your patrons or Monsieur Liszt by resigning over such a trivial matter. Especially after the debacle of our parents’ divorce.”
Wary, Sebastian reached for his ale. He knew his brothers. Knew their temperaments, their idiosyncrasies. Darius was the practical, level-headed twin who could sense both deception and danger like a bloodhound following a scent to ground. And when he came upon it, he would stare the threat down, his calculating brain assessing risks and tactics with military precision before he made his move.
A reluctant smile tugged at Sebastian’s mouth. Their brother Nicholas would react in the opposite manner, plunging headlong into the fray with neither evaluation nor decorum. Even as boys, the twins had complemented each other with an accuracy that mimicked the riposte and parry action of a fencing match.
“You’ve not spoken with Rushton recently?” he asked.
Darius shook his head. “Last time I did, I asked about the countess. A mistake, obviously. Rushton ordered me never to speak of her again and left the room.” He paused, then rerouted the conversation neatly back to Sebastian. “I heard that the grand duchess still wishes to fund a tour of the Continent for you.”
Sharp longing twisted through Sebastian. He shook his head.
“Appears as if it would do you some good,” Darius remarked. “And the payment is substantial.”
“No.” Not long ago he’d have grabbed the opportunity and not looked back.
“Then what?” Impatience wove through Darius’s usually placid tone. “You’ve no intention of reviving your career? You’re not even teaching anymore. What do you intend to do?”
“I’m helping you, aren’t I?”
“Why?”
Rushton’s ultimatum crashed through Sebastian’s mind—marry or risk his allowance and possibly even his inheritance. Rushton didn’t know about Sebastian’s medical debts, or his attempt to restore his funds by helping Darius.
Yet Darius’s promise of compensation for the cipher machine specifications hinged on one uncertain premise—Sebastian had to actually find the plans. If he failed, and without the income from concerts and investors, he was destined for that clerk position with the Patent Office. And if he succeeded, if Clara succeeded, he would be bound to accept her proposal.
An outcome that became more tempting every time Sebastian thought about it. Marrying Clara would solve his troubles, but beyond that he would gain a lovely, intelligent wife with violet-colored eyes that seared him with each glance, whose full lips laced him with arousal. A woman who reminded him of the power of unflinching determination.
And certainly no one would expect him to marry someone like her, especially not his father, which made the notion even more appealing. He might have done such a
Amusement flashed across Darius’s expression. “Does Pater know you still come here?”
“No. He’s occupied with his own work these days.” Sebastian realized only then the truth of the remark. “For the first time since his wife left, the old bird is out and about again. Has a new position with the Home Office. Spends time at his club, the theater, balls. And he seems to have earned himself a bit of attention from the ladies.”
“Good.” Darius swallowed some ale and leaned back, his gaze narrowing on Sebastian. “And you?”
“Me?”
“You’re not quite well, are you?”
Dammit. Sebastian curled his right hand into a fist. Of course he shouldn’t have expected to hide anything from Darius. For all of his brother’s impassivity, Darius was like a hawk who, with one sweep of his keen eyes, missed nothing. Not unlike Rushton.
“I’m fine,” Sebastian said. Ridiculous word. Fine . Thin and watery, ashen blue.
His brother’s attention remained steady, unwavering. “Why did you resign the Weimar position?”
“Didn’t you hear?” Sebastian flexed his fingers. “They wanted to amend one of my compositions.”
“You would not dishonor your patrons or Monsieur Liszt by resigning over such a trivial matter. Especially after the debacle of our parents’ divorce.”
Wary, Sebastian reached for his ale. He knew his brothers. Knew their temperaments, their idiosyncrasies. Darius was the practical, level-headed twin who could sense both deception and danger like a bloodhound following a scent to ground. And when he came upon it, he would stare the threat down, his calculating brain assessing risks and tactics with military precision before he made his move.
A reluctant smile tugged at Sebastian’s mouth. Their brother Nicholas would react in the opposite manner, plunging headlong into the fray with neither evaluation nor decorum. Even as boys, the twins had complemented each other with an accuracy that mimicked the riposte and parry action of a fencing match.
“You’ve not spoken with Rushton recently?” he asked.
Darius shook his head. “Last time I did, I asked about the countess. A mistake, obviously. Rushton ordered me never to speak of her again and left the room.” He paused, then rerouted the conversation neatly back to Sebastian. “I heard that the grand duchess still wishes to fund a tour of the Continent for you.”
Sharp longing twisted through Sebastian. He shook his head.
“Appears as if it would do you some good,” Darius remarked. “And the payment is substantial.”
“No.” Not long ago he’d have grabbed the opportunity and not looked back.
“Then what?” Impatience wove through Darius’s usually placid tone. “You’ve no intention of reviving your career? You’re not even teaching anymore. What do you intend to do?”
“I’m helping you, aren’t I?”
“Why?”
Rushton’s ultimatum crashed through Sebastian’s mind—marry or risk his allowance and possibly even his inheritance. Rushton didn’t know about Sebastian’s medical debts, or his attempt to restore his funds by helping Darius.
Yet Darius’s promise of compensation for the cipher machine specifications hinged on one uncertain premise—Sebastian had to actually find the plans. If he failed, and without the income from concerts and investors, he was destined for that clerk position with the Patent Office. And if he succeeded, if Clara succeeded, he would be bound to accept her proposal.
An outcome that became more tempting every time Sebastian thought about it. Marrying Clara would solve his troubles, but beyond that he would gain a lovely, intelligent wife with violet-colored eyes that seared him with each glance, whose full lips laced him with arousal. A woman who reminded him of the power of unflinching determination.
And certainly no one would expect him to marry someone like her, especially not his father, which made the notion even more appealing. He might have done such a
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