Sibyl hesitated. She was reminded of Lord Averby calling the DukeGabrielso casually, and she tried to look at her husbandand think of that name. It suited him. Strong and darkly angelic, a combination that somehow made sense.
“For now,” she muttered.
And yet her mind flashed even further back to when he had spoken her name in the entrance hall at Kerrington House, grounding her with the one thing he could think of. It made her hands tremble as she reached for her empty wine glass.
The Duke’s eyes flicked to it, and he snapped his fingers. “Please fill Her Grace’s glass,” he instructed one of the footmen nearby, all the while never looking away from her.
Again, Sibyl felt both pinned and exhilarated that she was worthy of being stared at so intently.
But she looked away and cleared her throat. “Thank you for inviting me to dinner,” she said. “I did not expect it.”
The Duke didn’t answer; he only studied her. It was not the way her mother used to study her, as though every wrong move would be criticized and picked apart.
No, the Duke seemed…intrigued.Which seemed odd,considering how miserable her first marriage had been.
Intimidation spread through her, sinking into her bones. It made her feel both incredibly heavy and trapped. She wanted to flee.
In a bid to distract herself from that feeling, she found the nearest thing to fix her eyes on—the footman filling her wine glass.
“What type of wine is it?” she asked, just for the sake of it.
She was not expecting the Duke to answer.
“How did you meet Edmund?”
Sibyl paused with her glass halfway to her mouth, turning her gaze to him. “What?”
“I believe you heard me. I am curious.”
Sibyl tipped the glass to her lips, letting the deep, velvety wine roll over her tongue. Its warmth spread through her chest, bold and fragrant, a sharp contrast to the thin, insipid vintages she had endured at Kerrington House. She closed her eyes, savoring the rich taste, reveling in the indulgence she had long been denied.
“You like the wine,” the Duke noted.
“I do,” she affirmed. “It is much richer than what I am used to.”
He gave her a bemused smile. “I imagine so.” He cocked his head. “You have avoided answering my question.”
“You were the one who mentioned the wine.”
He paused, raising his glass to her. “Will you answer me, then? I want to know how you met him, what he was like, and why you even agreed to marry him.”
Sibyl frowned, lifting her cutlery. “I think I would feel more like your wife if I were not interrogated.”
The Duke scoffed, looking at his wine glass and then at her. “You are my wife in name only, Duchess. Do not forget that.”
Sibyl stiffened, a bite of meat halfway to her mouth. “Of course. I know well enough about white marriages. After all, both of my sisters went through them.”
She didn’t mention that both Hermia and Isabella’s marriages turned into real, happy ones.
“Good,” the Duke uttered.
Sibyl frowned at him, offended. “Then why did you invite me to dinner?”
“Why not?”
“Why?” she countered, frustrated. “If this is only transactional, why would you give me—” She stopped herself from sayinghope.
“Give you what, Duchess?” His eyes burned into hers, intimidating and unrelenting, and she fought not to squirm.
