Page 231 of Ten Lords for the Holidays

“As do I.”

Mustering up a smile that felt merely painted on, Eliana left the parlor. She must believe that somewhere in the world was a gentleman who would love her. Not a wolf in disguise, or a deceitful prince, but a man of honor and integrity. Such a man she could give her whole heart to.

If he even existed.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Sebastian leanedtoward the mirror in his dressing room and turned his head side to side, examining his hair. The fair strands were overlaid with an ashen cast, the residue of the dye that his valet had assured him would wash out without a problem.

“My hair still looks odd,” he said to Reece. “I’m not certain I should go out.”

“You can’t hide in your rooms forever,” his valet said. “Look at the volume of correspondence you’ve received in the last three days.”

“Mostly from my mother,” Sebastian said dryly. “And you know very well I haven’t been hiding in my rooms.”

The day after young Theo’s rescue, he’d visited the boy’s family to make sure all was well. To be honest, he’d hoped to cross paths with Eliana, too, but she had already come and gone.

It wasn’t breaking his word, he reasoned with himself, if he were to encounter her in the course of making social calls.

Nor was it breaking his word to stop at the finest jeweler on Bond Street and commission a pendant shaped like a delicate silver snowflake, set with a dusting of diamonds.

Don’t be an idiot, the wiser part of him insisted.She doesn’t want to see you.

He could not help but seeher, however. She was constantly in his mind, waking and sleeping. His dreams ranged from heated recollections of their kiss to frigid nightmares where she plunged through the ice and he was helpless to save her.

“Perhaps another rinse with lemon juice will help, your highness,” Reece said.

“If we must.” Sebastian was due at the weekly family dinner soon, and if he did not make an appearance, his mother would be convinced he was on his deathbed. “I’ll tell Mother the color is a lingering effect of the illness.”

“I’ll send down to the kitchens for more lemon juice and hot water,” Reece said. “All in the name of your cure.”

“Remind me not to trust you in matters of disguise again,” Sebastian said.

With an inward sigh, he braced himself for yet another rinsing of his hair. He was beginning to despise the smell of warm citrus.

* * *

As expected, Sebastian’s mother noticed his hair the moment he stepped into the foyer of her mansion and doffed his hat. He was not sure she believed his assertion that it was due to his supposed illness, but she did not dispute his claim, only narrowed her eyes and scolded him for being late.

At least he had the consolation of an excellent dinner—better than his own cook produced from the admittedly small kitchen of his bachelor’s lodgings.

Sebastian might be a prince, but he did not see the need to occupy an entire three-story town house and keep a large staff—despite his mother’s disapproval.

“Have you given more thought to taking other lodgings?” she asked as he escorted her into the dining room. “You must properly represent the monarchy of Sayn-Wittgenstein. There is a certain style royalty is expected to maintain.”

“You do that well enough.” He glanced up at the massive chandelier over the table, then at the rest of the gilt-encrusted dining room. “No one will think our family lacking in ostentation.”

His sister Margret, already standing at her chair, sent him a sympathetic smile, but said nothing. Mother’s opinions were impossible to sway.

As soon as they were settled at the table, the servants brought out the soup course; an excellent lobster bisque.

“What have you been up to this week?” Sebastian asked his sister—mostly to deflect the conversation away from his mother’s constant critique of his life, but also because he realized he almost never asked her anything. Eliana would not approve of how distantly he treated Margret, of that he was certain.

His sister launched into a detailed report of the various balls and parties she’d attended, complete with impersonations that were quite good. Even Mother softened a bit when Margret did a fair impression of Lady Antwerp’s rapid-fire monologues on the state of England.

“And did you go to the Midwinter Masque?” Sebastian asked.

“Goodness, no,” their mother answered. “Not only is the company there too fast for Margret, that dreadful woman tried to entrap you there last year. No one in our family shall ever set foot at that event again.”

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