Sibyl was fascinated to see the man cower before the Duke.
Quickly, he nodded, already hurrying out of the kitchen. One of his men tried to snatch up the block of cheese.
“Leave it,” the Duke barked. “Nothing that is not yours will leave these doors.”
The men fled, leaving only the wreckage in their wake.
“Thank you,” Sibyl gasped, trying to compose herself. She rubbed her chest as she had often seen Isabella do, wondering if it indeed helped. “Thank you, Your Grace. And forgive me for… for walking away.”
She hadn’t realized that her feet took her back to the raided parlor. That in her shock and fear, she had walked away from the Duke of Stonehelm without so much as a thank you for chasing the men out of her home.
Once alone, she had leaned against the mantelpiece, trying and failing to steady her breathing.
The Duke looked away from her, not caring for her gratitude, it seemed.
Sibyl looked around, unsure of what to do. Her fingers toyed with the folds of her skirt, feeling too out of her depth.
Soon enough, the housekeeper and a maid began to fix the frames and right the furniture. The brush of fabric and drag of wooden legs on the furniture distracted Sibyl for a moment, letting her focus not remain on the Duke.
But soon, the noise became grating rather than mercifully distracting, and Sibyl’s word came out more snappish than she had ever used before.
“Your duties are complete enough,” she said. “You may go.”
“My lady, we have not finished?—”
She cut Mrs. Collier off. “I am dismissing you for the evening.” Softening her voice, she added, “I believe we all need some rest soon.” Although the maids and the housekeeper nodded and left on her command, Sibyl had left herself standing alone with the Duke. That was unnerving in itself.
“Where is your husband, Lady Kerrington?” His voice was sharp, a hammer that jolted her back to the present.
Her fists clenched. “Like I told Mr. Vance, I do not know, Your Grace.”
She had misjudged him. The Duke was not her savior at all. Perhaps he was just another person in line, chasing away competitors for the money he was owed. Perhaps he might not even be a duke or claim her husband’s debts, as he had told Mr. Vance.
Sibyl’s eyes narrowed. She had always been too trusting when she was younger, but recent years had taught her otherwise.
“Where is Edmund Lynden?” he pressed, ignoring her accusation.
“I do not know,” Sibyl snapped, fraying at the seams as the night’s events finally sank in. “I do notknow! I will tell you the same thing as I told those wretched, foul men—I have not seen my husband for four days.”
The Duke was assessing a broken vase that hadn’t yet been swept up. Ever so casually, he asked, “Are you covering for him?”
“What?” Sibyl laughed incredulously. “No! I truly have not seen him in days. There is nothing more I can tell you.”
The Duke moved closer to her, sidestepping an overturned side table. “It is not noble to protect a man who has left you at the mercy of vultures, Lady Kerrington.”
“Oh, that is rich,” she scoffed. “I do not have a desire to protect my husband, but aren’t you also a vulture?”
He cocked his head slowly, but not in a predatory way, not in the way Mr. Vance had made her feel. Instead, he looked more… smug. Expectant. As if he was used to being marveled at.
Sibyl decided not to give him the satisfaction and looked away. But then he stepped into her space.
“Look at me, Lady Kerrington,” he said, his voice dropping.
She did, and her stomach fluttered. Her breath caught at his proximity.
“I need to know where your husband has gone, and I am not sure whether I believe that you have not seen him in four days. You are a good liar, if you are.”
“I am not a liar,” she said, her voice trembling slightly. “My husband disappears often enough that I no longer care to wonder. Sometimes the empty rooms are preferable to his presence, anyway.”
