And maybe, finally, we can start to heal.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Lamplight flickered through the drawing room windows as Sybil pushed through the front door, her mind still reeling from everything that had happened with her parents. The house should’ve been quiet—servants gone to bed, Hugo probably asleep hours ago.
Except he wasn’t.
There he sat in that big leather chair of his, book propped open but obviously forgotten. His hair looked like he’d been dragging his fingers through it all evening. Cravat hanging loose, sleeves shoved up past his elbows. It made him look… younger somehow. Less like the intimidating Duke everyone feared.
He’s been sitting here. Waiting. Worrying about me.
Something twisted in her chest at that thought. All that gruff exterior, all the barked orders and protective anger—underneathit beat the heart of a man who actually cared what happened to her.
“You’re back,” he said, setting his book aside. Those amber eyes of his swept over her face like he was searching for clues. “How’d it go?”
How’d it go? Christ, where do I even start?
Instead of trying to explain with words, she crossed the room and kissed his cheek. Just a soft press of her lips against his skin, but she felt him relax under her touch.
“It went well,” she murmured, breathing in that familiar scent—cologne and something purely him that always made her stomach flutter.
“Well.” He let out a long breath, hands settling on her shoulders for just a moment before dropping away. “You look different. Lighter, maybe.”
“I feel it. They… they told me things I didn’t know. About what really happened after Emmie left.” She stepped back, already missing the warmth of his hands. “About why everyone believes what they do.”
Hugo was already moving toward the sideboard, pouring drinks. “Whiskey?”
“Please.”
Their fingers brushed when he handed her the glass. Such a small thing, but it sent heat shooting straight up her arm.
“Want to talk about it?” his voice was careful, giving her room to say no if she wasn’t ready.
Sybil took a sip, letting the burn settle her nerves. “Father killed Lord Hartwell in a duel two days after Emmie ran. That’s why everyone thinks she eloped.”
Hugo’s eyebrows shot up. “Well. That explains a few things.”
“They’ve been trying to make up for it in their way. Cut ties with all the friends who pushed them to be so harsh. Been giving money to places that help women like… like Emmie was.” Another sip. “I’ve been so angry for so long, but it’s more complicated than I thought.”
“And now?”
“Now, I think… I think she would’ve wanted forgiveness. Not me carrying this poison around forever.” The words came easier than expected. “We’re going to try to be a family again.”
“Good.” Simple word but the warmth in it made her chest tight. “Family’s worth fighting for when you can get it back.”
“Thank you. For bringing me the letter, for letting me go alone when I needed to.” She settled into the chair across from him. “It mattered.”
Hugo made that dismissive gesture men do when they’re uncomfortable with gratitude.
“How’s Rosalie handling all this London nonsense?”
Safe topic. Something that won’t make either of us squirm.
“Better than I expected, actually. She seems… settled. Maybe your approach is working, or maybe she just needed to get some of that wildness out of her system.” Hugo dropped back into his chair, cradling his glass. “Either way, she’s not trying to swim in freezing lakes anymore.”
“Thank God for small mercies.”
“Exactly.” His mouth twitched—might’ve been a smile. “Though knowing her, she’ll find new ways to terrify me soon enough.”
