“The Pembertons, of course. Lord and Lady Worthington. Your friends Miss Croft and Lady Cassandra. A few others.” Hugo’s mouth curved slightly, and she found herself staring at his lips. “I thought it important that London society see us as a united front.”
A united front. Not just a convenient arrangement.
“Hugo, are you nervous about tonight?”
“Nervous? No. Curious, perhaps.”
“Curious about what?”
“About how we’ll fare as partners in public. Whether this—” He gestured between them, and she felt heat spiral through her at the acknowledgment of whatever was building between them. “—will translate beyond private conversations.”
This. Whatever this growing attraction might be.
“I suppose we’ll find out,” she said, closing the botanical reference with trembling fingers. “Though I should warn you, I have strong opinions about several topics that aren’t considered appropriate for ladies to discuss.”
“Such as?”
“Women’s education. Prison reform. The working conditions in factories.”
Hugo’s smile was genuine, transforming his entire face in a way that made her stomach flutter dangerously. “How delightfully scandalous. I look forward to watching you horrify the dinner guests.”
He looks forward to it. The way he says it—like he finds my outspokenness appealing rather than troublesome.
“You might regret saying that when Lady Worthington faints into her soup.”
“Lady Worthington is made of sterner stuff than that. Besides, I rather suspect our guests will find you far more interesting than they expect.”
The clock on the mantel chimed four, and Sybil rose reluctantly, intensely aware of how his gaze followed her movement.
“I should begin preparing for the evening.”
“As should I.” Hugo stood as well, moving closer with that fluid grace she was learning to appreciate. Close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from his body, could see the way his shirt clung to his chest.
“Sybil?”
“Yes?” The word came out breathless.
“Thank you. For agreeing to this dinner, for being willing to let society see us together. I know it can’t be easy, returning to the world that once… disappointed you.”
Disappointed. Such a gentle way to describe the scandal that drove me into exile.
“It’s easier with you,” she admitted quietly, her heart hammering as he stepped closer still. “Knowing you’ll be there.”
Something shifted in Hugo’s expression—surprise, perhaps, or gratification. He reached out, fingers brushing her cheek with devastating gentleness, and she felt her knees go weak at the simple contact.
“We make a good team, don’t we?”
“We do,” she whispered, leaning unconsciously into his touch.
For a moment, they simply looked at each other in the golden afternoon light, the air between them crackling with possibility. Sybil became aware of her own breathing, shallow and quick, of the way Hugo’s thumb traced her cheekbone with maddening softness.
Then footsteps in the corridor broke the spell, and they stepped apart with visible effort.
“Until tonight, then,” Hugo said formally, though his eyes held promises that made her pulse race.
“Until tonight.”
The dining room at Vestiaire House gleamed with crystal and candlelight as guests began arriving for the wedding celebrationdinner. Sybil stood beside Hugo in the drawing room, accepting congratulations and well-wishes with what she hoped appeared to be gracious composure.
