I do not touch my lips.But even as she thought it, Sybil realized her fingers were pressed against her mouth, as if she could still feel the phantom brush of Hugo’s thumb.
She snatched her hand away, mortified.
“I see,” Cassandra said with obvious satisfaction. “How wonderfully… dispassionate of you both.”
“It is dispassionate,” Sybil insisted. “Physical attraction has no bearing on a marriage based on mutual benefit.”
“Doesn’t it?” Anthea’s voice held genuine curiosity. “I rather thought physical harmony was essential to any successful union.”
Physical harmony.The words sent heat spiraling through her as she remembered Hugo’s hands on her face, the way his body had caged her against the bookshelf, the ill-defined emotion in his amber eyes.
“That’s not… we’re not… it’s not that sort of marriage,” she stammered.
Her friends exchanged another one of those loaded looks.
“I see,” Anthea said carefully. “And His Grace is content with this… arrangement?”
Is he? Or is he simply waiting for me to stop being such a coward?
“The Duke understands our agreement,” Sybil said though she couldn’t quite meet her friends’ eyes.
“What agreement, exactly?” Cassandra asked with deceptive lightness.
“That our marriage will be one of convenience only. No romantic complications, no physical… entanglements. A partnership based on mutual respect and shared goals.”
The words sounded hollow even to her own ears.
“How very… progressive,” Anthea murmured.
“It’s reasonable,” Sybil said defensively.
“Absolutely,” Cassandra agreed though her eyes danced with barely suppressed laughter. “I’m certain a man of the Duke’s… experience will be perfectly content with such a platonic arrangement.”
His experience.There it was again—that hint of something in Hugo’s past that made women look knowing and men step carefully around him.
“What experience?” she asked before she could stop herself.
“Oh, my dear,” Cassandra’s smile was wicked. “Surely, you’ve heard the whispers? Before his first marriage, the Duke wasconsidered quite the… accomplished gentleman. Very intense, very passionate. Quite devastating to the ladies who caught his attention.”
Accomplished. Intense. Passionate.
Heat flooded Sybil’s entire body as she remembered the way Hugo had looked at her in the library, the barely leashed hunger in his voice when he’d said her name.
“That’s… that’s ancient history,” she said weakly.
“Is it?” Anthea’s voice was quiet but penetrating. “Because passion doesn’t simply vanish, Sybil. It merely finds new directions.”
And what if he chooses to direct it at me?
The thought should have terrified her. Instead, it sent a thrill of anticipation through her that she absolutely refused to acknowledge.
“His personal inclinations are his own concern,” she said stiffly.
“Are they?” Cassandra leaned forward, her expression suddenly serious. “Because if you’re marrying him, darling, they become your concern as well. Whether you want them to or not.”
Whether I want them to or not.
But the truth was, she did want them. God help her, she wanted Hugo’s passion, his intensity, his devastating attention focused entirely on her.
