“An interesting perspective,” Lord Worthington said stiffly. “Though I hardly think?—”
“I think my wife raises an excellent point,” Hugo interrupted smoothly, his thumb brushing across her knuckles in a gesture that sent fire racing up her arm. “Worker productivity depends largely on worker health, does it not? And worker health depends on safe, reasonable conditions.”
My wife. Said with such quiet pride while his touch burns through my gloves.
The evening continued with Hugo’s subtle touches—his hand at her back when she rose, his fingers briefly covering hers when she reached for her wine glass, the way his knee pressed against hers beneath the table. Each contact was proper, unnoticed by their guests, but they left her breathless with awareness.
As the ladies withdrew to the drawing room, Hugo caught her hand, his lips brushing her knuckles in what appeared to be a courtly gesture but felt like something far more intimate.
“Magnificent,” he murmured against her gloves, his breath warm and devastating.
Later, as the last guests departed, Sybil found herself alone with Hugo in the drawing room, her skin still humming from hours of his subtle touches.
“That went well, I think,” she said, settling into her chair with relief—and disappointment that the evening’s delicious tension was ending.
“Better than well. You were magnificent tonight.” Hugo moved to the sideboard, and she watched the way his shoulders moved beneath his evening coat, remembering how those shoulders had looked in his rolled-up shirtsleeves that afternoon.
Magnificent. The second time he’s used that word, and the way he says it…
“I was myself. You made it safe for me to be myself.”
Hugo moved to settle beside her, closer than propriety strictly allowed, close enough that she could smell his cologne and feel the warmth radiating from his body. “Is that unusual for you? Being yourself in company?”
“More unusual than it should be.” She accepted the brandy gratefully, her fingers trembling slightly when they brushed his. “For years, I felt like I had to hide my opinions, apologize for my interests. Tonight… tonight, I felt like they might actually be valuable.”
“They are valuable. More than valuable—they’re necessary.” Hugo’s free hand came up to trace her jaw, and she leaned into the touch despite every rational thought. “Sybil, I need you to understand something.”
“What?” The word came out breathless.
“I didn’t marry you for your compliance. I married you for your strength, your intelligence, and your refusal to be intimidated by conventions that make no sense.” His amber eyes held hers intently while his thumb traced maddening circles against her cheek. “What I saw tonight—the way you engaged with complex issues, the way you held your own in political discussions—that’s exactly why I knew you were perfect for this family.”
Perfect for this family. Not convenient, not adequate—perfect. And the way he touches me like he can’t help himself…
“Hugo…” she started then stopped, unsure how to voice the hope blooming in her chest—or acknowledge the desire pooling low in her belly at his continued caresses.
“Yes?”
“Are we… that is, do you think we might be building something more than we originally planned?”
His hand found hers, fingers intertwining with gentle certainty while his other hand continued its devastating assault on her senses, tracing from her cheek to her throat where her pulse hammered visibly.
“I think we’re building exactly what we were meant to build. We just didn’t know it at the time.”
What we were meant to build. Not a business arrangement, but something that makes me tremble at his touch.
“I should retire,” she said softly though every nerve ending screamed at her to stay, to lean closer, to discover what would happen if she surrendered to this growing attraction.
“Should you?” His voice had gone rough, and she felt rather than saw him lean closer. “Because you look like you might have other ideas.”
Her breath caught at the accuracy of his observation. “Hugo…”
“Yes, Sybil?”
But before she could find words for the want building inside her, before she could voice the dangerous thoughts his touches had inspired, the clock chimed midnight and broke the spell between them.
Hugo pulled back with visible effort, his breathing slightly unsteady. “You’re right. It’s late.”
Late. But not too late for the way you make me feel.
