Ten pulled out an envelope with bank notes and handed it over to their friend.
Jameson exhaled slowly. “I don’t even know what to say.”
“Say thank you, arsehole,” Spencer said.
“Thank you, arsehole,” Jameson repeated.
Sebastian listened while his friends continued to discuss the safety lift that Jameson had been designing. The man had a mother who could no longer walk on her own. Moving her up and down the stairs of her home had become impossible so she was either confined to her bedroom upstairs, or could have reign of the downstairs with the aid of her wheeled chair. A lift that could carry her and her chair up and down the stairs would solve any number of problems. It was a worthwhile investment to be certain.
His thoughts wandered back to the night before and Agatha laid out on the bed, positively glowing with pleasure. Her pale skin had taken on a rosy hue and he’d never seen anything so beautiful in his life. He was hungry for her again. And he was thankful that his brother hadn’t mentioned her name or the would-be connection with their father.
13
The previous evening, he’d persuaded her to give him a single night. Now he was back for more, intending to convince her she had more lessons to learn.
Sebastian knocked on the front door and waited for entrance. It was early enough in the evening that Agatha should be home even if she had plans to attend and parties. He didn’t know if she did that sort of thing, but considering she was the widow of an earl that did put her as a member of proper society.
Presumably that was where his father was courting her. If what she’d said at their initial meeting had been true. That her parents wanted her to marry the Duke of Lancaster. The thought of that arrogant prig putting his hands anywhere on Agatha made Sebastian’s hands clench at his sides.
The door opened and the butler’s brows rose, but he seemed to catch herself and nod.
“I’d like to see Lady Tolley, please,” he said.
The butler nodded. “Follow me.” He led Sebastian down the corridor and up the stairs to the left. Opposite the direction to Agatha’s bedchamber.
Finally they stopped outside a pair of wooden doors. Once opened, they revealed a sizable room lined, floor-to-ceiling with bookshelves. Agatha and the other woman—Violet, he believed—sat at a table, heads together peering over a small book.
“Lady Tolley,” the butler said. The sound of his voice started both of the women and they jumped nearly simultaneously.
Agatha’s eyes found his and hers widened in surprise. Quickly, she pulled off the spectacles perched on her nose, then dropped them onto the tabletop. She came to her feet. “Sebastian.”
The way she breathed his name felt so intimate, so necessary, that his own breath caught.
The woman next to Agatha stood and came around the table. “Woodsey, would you be so kind as to have a tray of refreshments brought up?” she asked the butler.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Violet Weatherford,” she held her hand out to Sebastian. “Very nice to meet you, Mr. St. Claire, is it?”
He smiled, liking Violet immediately. She was no doubt an excellent friend for Agatha. “Sebastian is fine. No need for formalities with me. I’m a mere bastard owner of a den of debauchery and sin.”
Violet tilted her head back and laughed heartily. “Indeed? Do you allow women to patronage this establishment?”
“Not in the manner in which would interest you, I’m afraid.”
She clicked her tongue. “Pity. Very well, then, I shall leave you two to it.”
Agatha frowned. “You’re leaving?” she asked her friend.
“I do believe Sebastian here would be a much more useful source of information for your current project, my dear.” She winked at Sebastian, then left the room.
He didn’t wait for Agatha to invite him to help, he merely made his way to the table and sat in the chair that Violet had abandoned.
“What is your current project?” he asked. He craned his neck to look at the open book with the slanted and feminine penmanship scrawled across it.
Agatha fell into her chair and put her hands on top of the book, covering his view. “Violet overstepped by suggesting you could assist.”
A maid entered the room, rolling in a tea cart that had one wobbly, creaking wheel. The sound seemed to echo through the substantial room making him all too aware of the woman next to him. And that momentarily they would be alone again. It was an unusual feeling, wanting a woman this intensely. He’d been inside her a mere twelve hours before, still he craved her as he had no other.