“Am I?” And with that, he turned on his heel and strode from the library, leaving her alone among the books with her heart hammering against her ribs.What do I really want?
But even as she asked herself the question, she knew the answer terrified her.
Because what she wanted was him—his strength, his passion, his fierce protectiveness and maddening arrogance. She wanted to believe his pretty words and trust his heated looks and let herself fall into whatever this was between them.
And that way lies disaster.
Because wanting him meant trusting him. And trusting him meant risking everything—her heart, her future, the carefully constructed walls that had kept her safe for eight long years.
But what if he’s different? What if this time, the risk is worth taking?
As Sybil stood in the silent library, surrounded by centuries of human knowledge and wisdom, she couldn’t shake the feeling that perhaps some lessons were worth the heartbreak of learning.
Even if they destroyed her in the process.
Chapter Eleven
The silk whispered against Sybil’s skin like a lover’s promise she had no right to believe.
She stood frozen before the three-way mirror in Madame Dubois’s exclusive Bond Street establishment, staring at a woman she barely recognized.
And this woman was what she had to be here in London.
Sybil almost could not believe she really was back in a society as judgmental as the ton of London, but here she was in one of the biggest French stores well known for their luxurious fashion in London.
The ivory gown transformed her from sensible spinster to radiant bride with ruthless efficiency—the fitted bodice emphasizing curves she’d forgotten she possessed, the elegant drape of the skirt making her appear taller, more graceful, almost… beautiful.
This is not who I am.
“Mon Dieu,” breathed Madame Dubois, her French accent thickening with professional satisfaction. “C’est magnifique!His Grace, he has exquisite taste, non?”
His Gracehadexquisite taste.Because, of course, he had selected this particular gown from Madame Dubois’s collection, just as he’d arranged for this appointment, just as he’d somehow intuited that her “best dress”—a serviceable brown wool she’d worn to every important occasion for the past five years—would not suffice for a ducal wedding.
The man was insufferably thorough in his arrangements.
“Sybil?” Miss Anthea Croft’s voice cut through her reverie, cool and measured as always. “You look as though you’ve seen a ghost.”
Sybil blinked, focusing on her friend’s reflection in the mirror. Miss Anthea Croft sat with perfect posture in her chair, her dark hair pulled back in a severe chignon, her expression carefully controlled.
To most of society, Anthea appeared coldly reserved—untouchable—but Sybil caught the flicker of concern in her gray eyes, the slight tension in her jaw that spoke of deeper worries.
She’s thinking about men who make grand gestures and pretty promises.
They had known each other since they were debutants and had been friends since then, together with Lady Cassandra Burrow. It had been so long since she had seen her friends, and it almost felt like the only good reason for her return to London.
“I’m perfectly fine,” Sybil said, smoothing her hands over the sumptuous fabric. “Simply overwhelmed by… all of this.”
“All of what, darling?” Lady Cassandra Burrow looked up from the fashion plates she’d been examining with obvious delight, her blonde curls bouncing as she moved.
Unlike Anthea’s rigid composure, Cassandra seemed to glow with genuine pleasure at being surrounded by silks and laces—one of the few unmarried ladies who still found joy in society’s rituals despite her spinsterhood. “The dress is absolutely divine. His Grace has impeccable taste.”
If only you knew how he’d looked at me when he chose it. Like he wanted to peel it off me himself.
Heat flooded Sybil’s cheeks at the unbidden thought.
“It’s rather… grand,” she managed. “I had expected something simpler.”
“Simpler?” Cassandra laughed, the sound bright and infectious. “Darling, you’re marrying a duke. Did you expect him to wed you in a morning dress?”
