“Oh, Sybil! You look absolutely magnificent!”
Hugo turned at his daughter’s exclamation, and Sybil felt the exact moment his gaze found her. His amber eyes widened slightly then went dark with something that made her pulse quicken. She watched his attention travel from her face down the length of her figure and back up again, noting how his jaw tightened and his hands clenched at his sides.
“You look…” Hugo stopped, cleared his throat, and tried again. “Exquisite.”
Exquisite.The word sent heat spiraling through her despite her determination to remain unaffected.
“Thank you,” she said coolly though she was pleased by the roughness in his voice. “The gown is beautiful. I must thank whoever selected it.”
“Yes,” Hugo said, his eyes never leaving her face. “Whoever selected it has excellent taste.”
He moved toward her with that predatory grace she was learning to recognize, stopping just close enough to be proper while still making her acutely aware of his height and presence.
“May I?” he asked, offering his arm.
“Of course.”
But when she placed her gloved hand on his sleeve, he caught her fingers in his free hand, lifting them to his lips in what should have been a perfunctory gesture of courtesy.
Instead, he lingered.
His mouth pressed against her knuckles through the thin silk of her gloves, warm and firm and entirely too intimate for a simple social gesture. His amber eyes held hers captive as his lips moved slightly against her hand, and she had to bite back a gasp at the unexpected sensation.
This is not appropriate. Not in front of Rosalie, not when we’re barely speaking to each other.
But she couldn’t bring herself to pull away, couldn’t break the connection when he was looking at her like she was the most fascinating woman in the world.
“Ready for the evening’s entertainment?” he asked quietly though his hand still held hers captive.
“Quite ready,” she managed though her voice came out breathier than she’d intended.
“Wonderful!” Rosalie exclaimed, apparently oblivious to the charged atmosphere between her parents. “I can hardly wait to see Lady Pemberton’s ballroom. I’ve heard it’s spectacular.”
Lady Pemberton’s ballroom. Where half the ton will be watching our every interaction.
Hugo released her hand with obvious reluctance, his thumb brushing across her knuckles one final time before he stepped back.
“Shall we?” he asked, though his voice had gone slightly hoarse.
Shall we pretend to be a happily married couple for the sake of appearances? Shall we dance around this attraction that’s obviously affecting us both?
“By all means,” Sybil replied, proud of how steady she sounded.
But as they made their way toward the waiting carriage, she couldn’t resist stealing glances at Hugo’s profile. She couldn’t help but notice the way his jaw clenched when he caught her looking, the way his amber eyes kept drifting back to her despite his obvious efforts at self-control.
The realization was intoxicating, filling her with a sense of feminine power she hadn’t felt in years.
And perhaps it’s time I reminded him exactly what he stands to lose if he keeps trying to control me.
When Hugo caught her looking again, instead of glancing away like a proper wife should, she held his gaze deliberately. Let him see the challenge in her eyes and the awareness that she knew exactly how she was affecting him.
Then, because she couldn’t resist and because the burgundy gown made her feel bold and beautiful and dangerous, she winked.
Hugo’s step faltered almost imperceptibly, and she saw his pupils dilate before he looked away with what might have been a muttered curse.
Excellent. Let him spend the evening thinking about that.
The game was far from over, but tonight—tonight she held all the cards.
