“Hugo?”
He paused, his hand on the doorknob. “Yes?”
“Thank you. For offering to stand with me.”
His smile was sharp, predatory. “Don’t thank me yet.”
And with that, he was gone, leaving her alone with the uncomfortable realization that she was looking forward to finding out exactly what her formidable husband had in mind.
Chapter Fourteen
The afternoon sunlight streamed through the tall windows of Hugo’s library as Sybil ran her finger along the leather spines, searching for the botanical reference she needed. The scent of old parchment and leather bindings surrounded her like a familiar embrace.
“Looking for something specific?” Hugo’s voice came from behind her, warm with genuine curiosity rather than the teasing tone she’d grown accustomed to.
“Actually, yes.” She turned, noting how he’d rolled up his sleeves and loosened his cravat—clearly, he’d been working in his study. The casual disarray made him look younger somehow, less ducal and more simply… male. “I wanted to research companion planting for the herb garden. Some combinations can enhance medicinal properties.”
“Ah.” Hugo moved to a section she hadn’t yet explored, and she caught a hint of his cologne as he passed—something clean andmasculine that made her pulse quicken. “Botanical partnerships. Rather fitting, wouldn’t you say?”
The gentle humor in his tone made her smile. “I suppose it is. Though plants are generally more cooperative than people.”
“Are they? I find people can be quite cooperative when they share common goals.” He pulled down a thick volume bound in green leather, his movements graceful despite his height. “This might help—Whitmore’s ‘Medicinal Gardens of England.’ Rather comprehensive.”
Their fingers brushed as he handed her the book, and Sybil felt that now-familiar flutter in her chest intensify into something warmer. The simple contact sent awareness racing up her arm, making her acutely conscious of how close he stood.
“Thank you.” She opened to the index though her concentration wavered with his proximity. “Hugo, may I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“Why did you agree to estblish a herb garden for me? I mean, beyond the practical benefits.”
Hugo was quiet for a moment, settling into the chair across from where she’d perched on the window seat. The movement drew her attention to the way his shirt stretched across his broad shoulders, and she had to force herself to focus on his words.
“Honestly? I wanted to see you light up the way you did when you talked about healing. You become someone different when you discuss your work—more animated, more yourself.”
More myself. As if he sees something in me that I don’t even recognize.
The way he looked at her as he spoke—with genuine interest and something that might have been admiration—made her heart race in ways that had nothing to do with the afternoon warmth.
“I’ve noticed you do the same thing when you talk about estate improvements,” she said softly, her voice slightly breathless. “Your whole demeanor changes. You’re not the intimidating Duke of Vestiaire anymore—you’re just a man who cares deeply about his responsibilities.”
“Is that how you see me? Intimidating?”
Sybil considered the question seriously, studying his face in the golden light. The strong line of his jaw, the way his dark hair fell across his forehead—everything about him spoke of controlled power.
“At first, yes. But now… now, I see someone who uses that intimidation to protect the people he loves. It’s rather like armor, isn’t it?”
Hugo’s amber eyes held hers with surprising vulnerability, and she felt her breath catch at the intensity of his gaze.
“You see too much, Sybil Gillies.”
“Sybil Rothburn,” she corrected gently then blushed at how the name sounded on her lips—like a claim she was finally ready to make. “And I think I see exactly what you allow me to see.”
The moment stretched between them, charged with something deeper than understanding. When Hugo leaned forward slightly, Sybil became acutely aware of everything—the way the afternoon light caught the gold flecks in his eyes, the warmth radiating from his body, the way her pulse hammered against her throat.
“We should prepare for this evening,” Hugo said finally though his voice had gone rough around the edges. “Our wedding celebration dinner.”
“Yes, about that—who exactly will be attending?” Her own voice came out higher than usual, and she saw his eyes darken in response.
