He pressed his body against hers, and she froze. Her mouth stopped moving against his, and she pulled back. He could feel her trembling, so he released her.
“I am sorry,” he breathed, needing to fix the mistake he had made. “Duchess, I am?—”
“I…”
She was already moving away from him, trembling as she clapped a hand over her mouth. Her eyes bored into his for a moment, fear and panic pooling in them.
“I must check on Rosie.”
Before he could say anything, she was gone, leaving him full of heated need and confusion, standing alone in the kitchen with the cooling chamomile tea.
Chapter Ten
Sibyl made a point the following morning to go down for breakfast.
She didn’t want to stay holed up in her chamber, avoiding the Duke as though she had done something wrong.
Throughout the night, her dreams had been filled with the Duke. Sometimes she dreamed they had never kissed at all, and other times she dreamed of what might have happened had the kiss gone further.
Had she not panicked and run.
Had she not told herself that she wasn’t allowed such indulgences, that they couldn’t cross that boundary even if she had wanted to keep kissing him more than anything.
Her thoughts were a jumbled mess, and she had still not arranged them into some sort of order by the time he walked into the breakfast room.
He paused the moment he saw her. He glanced twice at her, as if he had not expected to find her sitting there, buttering her toast.
“Morning,” he greeted, his voice low and gruff.
“Good morning.”
He kept regarding her for a few more moments, while she tried desperately to act as though everything was normal. Yet, if he looked too closely, he would have noticed that the hand holding the butter knife trembled at his presence.
The Duke took his place opposite her, reaching for the teapot.
Sibyl hoped her blush wasn’t as deep as it felt, remembering how she had knocked aside her teacup in the kitchen the night before, how the simple task of brewing tea for her back pain had led to their kiss. Now, she couldn’t think of anything other than that tea as he poured himself a cup.
She tried not to focus on his clothes. He wore a dark waistcoat that morning, and his cravat was not quite black, but still dark enough to match his usual attire.
She briefly thought of scooting closer to him to discern the exact shade, then flushed at her folly.
“You have not turned up for breakfast recently,” he noted. “So I went to your chamber to ask you to join me.”
“After…” Her face burned. “After hearing the gossip, I felt it appropriate to do as you initially requested,” she muttered, keeping her eyes down. “Why did you want to ask me today of all days?”
“Because we are returning to London today.”
Finally, Sibyl looked up at him, her eyes widening. “No. No, we cannot.”
He just stared back at her, an eyebrow cocked.
Sibyl’s palms grew clammy. “We cannot. Our—our marriage is too recent, and people are still speculating. Heavens, the scandal sheet proved exactly that! Was that not enough to endure? I am certain that when we are back in London, the gossip will grow tenfold.Worse, the ton will not hold back?—”
“So let them speculate.” The Duke’s simple remark came too easily. But he was a duke, and his rank had always given him authority above others. “I will not let anybody look down on you, Duchess. Nobody will touch you, not with their hands nor words.”
“Except they will,” she protested. “You cannot silence everybody.”
“I will not stop protecting you either way.”
