Her heart rate slowed. She tracked his arm that dangled off the side of the bed, as it often did in normal slumber, finding a torn, rolled-up sleeve adorned with cufflinks—a gift from her parents on their honeymoon. They were of a kestrel, mid-flight, for her mother had spotted a kestrel on the grounds of the Kerrington country estate.
She sensed someone behind her, strong and warm, and that was the only thing that stopped her from falling to the floor. She couldn’t sense anything else.
Anything beyond that kestrel and the bottles scattered on the floor, and?—
Heavens.
Edmund Lynden was dead. Her husband was dead.
The world began to spin.
Chapter Three
“Lady Kerrington.” The Duke stood in front of her, and it took every ounce of her will to focus, to be present, to clear the fog from her mind.
Kerrington House formed around her, piecing together as she came back to herself, only having been vaguely aware of the Duke walking her out of the Finchwood, into the carriage, and taking her home.
How much longer does my daughter have a bed to sleep in? How much longer do I have the means to put food on my table? How much longer am I safe?
Her mother’s face flashed through her mind, making her feel ill with unease. Lady Wickleby’s warning to her on her wedding day rang in her ears.
“The other two let me down for the longest time, Sibyl, but you will be good, will you not? You will be a stunning countess. Let those little books you love so much guide you.”
But her books had not taught her what to do after finding her husband dead and realizing that her future was in peril.
“Lady Kerrington, you should contact the authorities at this point, if Miss Tremaine has not already done so.” The Duke’s eyes bore into hers, and the rocky storm that had started days ago finally stilled.
Did Edmund do it because of his debts?Was it accidental? Did he know that the Duke of Stonehelm had bought his debts?
It was not grief in her heart, but shock. And shock finally made her nod, albeit numbly.
“Lady Kerrington.”
Hermia had lost a fiancé at sea, but she had never seen his body, had never smelt death the way Sibyl had.
“Sibyl.”
The sound of her Christian name on the Duke’s tongue snapped her out of her thoughts. She gasped.
“I apologize,” he said quickly. “Just… Lady Kerrington, you cannot afford to lose yourself, not right now.”
“I am not.”
He raised an eyebrow at her, unconvinced.
She nodded, smoothing down her plain dress. “I am well. I am here, and I am going to alert the authorities.” After another pause, she added, “Thank you, Your Grace, for your assistance. I could not… I could not have done any of this without you.”
“I am sorry for your loss,” he muttered, if he would even consider it as such. “And for your daughter.”
“She wouldn’t even recognize him if he stepped into her nursery,” Sibyl said. “But she knows me, and that is more than enough.”
The Duke gave a sharp nod. There was something about the way he looked at her again, as though she was more than a ghost, more than theneglected wife, or the too-young Countess. She was simply Sibyl.
For a moment, she was back in her library, dreaming of theeyes of love, a common phrase she had found in her romance books.
The Duke didn’t break their stare, and neither did she. Her hands stayed at her sides, but her eyes dropped to his mouth.For a man who was so hardened in the eyes of the ton, his lips looked so soft.
What would it be like to kiss him? What would it be like to simply fall into him?
