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They had never actually spoken directly—a circumstance that had appeared to suit both of them quite well.
her eyes filled with the kind of innocence that never failed to arouse his disdain. Sebastian had never valued or admired innocence.
what kind of upbringing had inured her so thoroughly to insult, when any other girl would have flushed or burst into tears.
As the silence drew out, Sebastian watched her in the gamboling firelight, and realized with some surprise that she was attractive.
He found it odd that he had never noticed her, when there was a great deal worth noticing.
St. Vincent would be a terrible husband, of course. But as long as Evie harbored no illusions about him, she would be all right. Since she cared nothing about him, she could easily turn a blind eye to his indiscretions and a deaf ear to his insults.
They stared at each other, Evie’s eyes accusing, Sebastian’s opaque, and she understood that to expect any decency from him was to invite recurring disappointment. His ruined soul could not be repaired by her kindness and understanding. He would never become one of the reformed rakes that were featured in Daisy Bowman’s trove of scandalous novels.
“How do you know it isn’t a love match?” Evie parried. He gave her a wry glance. “The only love match is between St. Vincent and himself.”
“It’s a mistake, you know. You have no idea of what you’ll be exposed to…the obscenities and lewd comments, the lecherous gazes, the groping and pinching…and that’s just at my house. Imagine what it would be like here.”
Erm?
“I deceived my father the same way in my depraved youth, when he paid my monthly upkeep and I had need of more ready coin than he was willing to provide.”
“Morality is only for the middle classes, sweet. The lower class can’t afford it, and the upper classes have entirely too much leisure time to fill.”
Cam had never seen anything like the mute longing that St. Vincent felt for his own wife. No one could fail to observe that whenever Evie entered the room, St.Vincent practically vibrated like a tuning fork.
“A man’s vanity is more fragile than you might think. It’s easy for us to mistake shyness for coldness, and silence for indifference.
“You fault me for having standards?” Sebastian countered icily. “Not at all. I fault you for having two sets of them.
St. Vincent had, against all odds, learned to care more for someone else than he did for himself.
Sometimes the fractures in two separate souls became the very hinges that held them together.
“Yes,” came Lillian’s dry voice, “I’d weep too, if he were my husband—though for entirely different reasons.”
He couldn’t look any of them in the eyes, and so his only recourse was to take refuge in surly arrogance.
Sounds true to character
The worst moments were when he was alone with Evie. Every time she entered the room, he experienced a frightening connection, a surge of unfamiliar emotion, and he fought it until the internal battle left him drained.
