She forced herself to stop. She could not trust this stranger, this man with hard brown eyes who made her think she could confess something so soon.
“For at least I do not have to pretend to tolerate him,”was what she did not say.
The Duke only stared at her, and she wondered what he saw on her face.
Did he see the coldness that had burrowed in her bones for the entirety of her marriage? The resignation to what her life had become when she had once dreamed of floral wedding arches and love that bloomed day and night, a fountain of affection and adoration?
That she had waited for the man of her dreams, one to step right out of those beloved books she had coveted, only to be wed to a stoic man who never saw her? A man who would not notice if she streaked through the entire city with scarcely a thread on her, or if she wore the most expensive, beautiful gown?
She was a background piece to her husband, and she had long bid goodbye to the dreams of being adored and wanted.
Yet, as the Duke looked at her, she had the strangest feeling that she wasseen.
He stepped closer, and she took a step back. They moved past the fireplace, only for her back to hit the far wall. Her breath caught, before a gasp fell past her lips. The Duke only moved further into her space.
“Is your tongue sweetened with lies, Lady Kerrington?” he asked, the question peeling back something she had long since put into place to protect her foolish, soft heart.
His eyes dropped to her mouth, as if he was tempted to check for himself, but she was too focused on the thrill running through her. Finally, something was cracking through the coldness of her empty life, a match that had been struck, and shewantedit.
Heavens, her desires had not been stirred for alongtime, but they were now, and she did not want the Duke to know that. Still, he gazed at her as though he knew. As though he might also?—
No.Do not be foolish.
Her lips parted, ready to assert her innocence once again, when a loud cry came from upstairs.
Her heart, as it always did when she heard that cry, kicked into a frantic beat, protective at once.
The Duke froze, his eyebrows knitting together. “That’s your child?”
Sibyl nodded. “My daughter, Rosie. She is four months old.”
The Duke took another moment before stepping back. “I will wait here. Go tend to her.” His voice was sharp and formal, as if he were used to giving such instructions.
Sibyl frowned. “Wait here? Why…” she trailed off, confused. “What do you mean?”
“I am not leaving, Lady Kerrington,” he told her. “I am now your husband’s sole creditor, and that means I own your house, and I will remain here until Lord Kerrington returns.”
“You will remain here?” she sputtered, shaking her head. “No.No, Your Grace. This is my home, and you cannot simply barge into it, no matter your title. I thank you for chasing out those men, but you may take whatever qualms you have with my husband and leave them outside the house.”
The Duke lifted his chin, his eyes hardening. “What I have with your husband is no mere qualm, My Lady.”
There was something terribly dangerous in his voice, something that warned her to stay far, far away.
Fear coiled in her stomach, and once again, her breathing quickened.
The Duke stiffened, then moved back further to put distance between them, as if he had sensed her distress.
“No harm will come to you or your daughter,” he muttered. “Not by my hand.”
The promise seemed much softer than his warnings.
Sibyl only nodded, scared. But Rosie continued crying, and she didn’t have the time to linger and dissect his words for the truth.
Is yourtongue sweetened with lies,Your Grace? she wondered to herself as she fled the parlor, leaving the peculiar Duke behind.
Rosie was only four months old, with wisps of hair the color of butter. She was the pride of Sibyl’s life. Cradled in her mother’s arms, she blinked up at her with wet eyes that were quickly drying.
Sibyl smiled down at her. “There, there,” she crooned. “That is all better now, is it not?”
