Romancing the Countess by Ashley March

how did you convince him to marry you?”
    “I . . . I—” Leah looked ahead. Thank God. The picnic area was only a short distance away. “Honestly, I married him because it’s what my parents desired. And I believe his family wanted the match, also.”
    “Oh.” Miss Pettigrew nodded glumly at her flowers. “I beg your pardon, Mrs. George, for being so forward. I’m afraid Mrs. Thompson would be quite embarrassed for me.”
    “But I did love him,” Leah added. It felt like a hundred years ago . . . another time. Another Leah. But she had. She couldn’t deny it. He’d been the fulfillment of her girlhood dreams, her golden knight come to rescue her from her mother, from herself and her own fears that she’d never be enough. And she’d loved him for that, for making her enough. Just as much as she’d hated him for revealing her dreams to be nothing but lies.
    “And he loved you,” Miss Pettigrew said, sighing wistfully.
    It was a statement, not a question, for which Leah was thankful. Although she’d become rather adept at falsehoods of late, she couldn’t have attempted to answer that one . . . especially when even she didn’t know the truth.
    As they climbed the hill back to the pavilion, Miss Pettigrew handed her one of the flowers she’d picked—a dainty pink cerise bud. “You won’t tell anyone of my secret, will you, Mrs. George?”
    “No, I promise.”
    “Thank you.”
    Miss Pettigrew returned to Mrs. Thompson’s side, where Mr. Dunlop and Lord Cooper-Giles soon found her again. Clutching the flower in her hand, Leah headed toward the bucket of iced champagne for another glass. She smiled at the guests as she passed. They each smiled back, all except for Lord Wriothesly.
    He stared at her until she looked away.
     
    Sebastian lifted the heavy glass globe, shifted it from hand to hand, then replaced the paperweight on Ian’s desk.
    No matter how many times he’d visited Linley Park, he’d never seen Ian in this study. He couldn’t even imagine him sitting behind the desk, his head bent to the estate accounts or some other paperwork. He knew Ian must have maintained his responsibilities at his father’s request, but he hadn’t enjoyed them. Instead, Ian had preferred to lend his mind and his charm toward other things, such as—
    Sebastian pivoted away from the desk. Not tonight. He’d done enough dwelling on the subject; tonight, at least, he wouldn’t think of them together.
    Besides, it was thoughts of Henry which had kept him awake. This in itself surprised him. He hadn’t expected the longing to see his son’s face, to discover which new words Henry had learned while he was gone. He’d been away from Henry before, of course, for weeks at a time. But not since Angela’s death. And somehow although it had seemed fine before for a little boy to spend all day with his nurse, now Sebastian was jealous of those moments. He wanted to see his son, to play with him . . . to be reassured when he threw his arms around Sebastian’s neck that yes, Henry did belong to him. But instead of being able to return to Henry now, Sebastian was forced to watch over Ian’s widow.
    A faint light flickered in the corridor outside the study. Sebastian moved to pull the door completely shut; it was well past midnight, and he didn’t want anyone to enter and ask questions about his intrusion into Ian’s private office. Even he wasn’t sure why he’d chosen to come here. There was nothing to find, no papers or clue to indicate why Ian had betrayed him. Everything was neat and orderly. Clean. Unused.
    He paused before the door could latch. Perhaps it was intuition, or he’d somehow smelled her particular scent, but he opened the door again and quietly slipped out, certain he would find Leah doing something she shouldn’t.
    As he crept down the corridor, the light fled before him, until he was no longer chasing the light but the shadows it cast on the wall in its wake. Footsteps sounded on the