“The children needed many things,” he interrupted smoothly. “Safety, security, education, medical care. All of which I could have provided without marriage.”
“I don’t understand what you’re suggesting.”
“I’m suggesting,” Hugo said with deliberate precision, “that perhaps you didn’t marry me entirely for altruistic reasons.”
Heat flooded her cheeks at the implication. “That’s absurd.”
“Is it? Because standing in your bedchamber, watching you look at me like you wanted to forget every rational objection you have to this marriage, I couldn’t help but wonder if perhaps convenience was never the real issue.”
“You’re being ridiculous.”
“Am I?” he stood suddenly, moving around the table with that fluid grace that made her pulse race. “Then prove it.”
“Prove what?”
“That spending time with me is such a hardship. Come for a drive with me this afternoon.” He stopped beside her chair, close enough that she could smell his cologne. “If you can manage to look miserable for an entire hour in my company, I’ll never suggest such a thing again.”
It’s a trap. It has to be a trap.
“And if I don’t look miserable?”
“Then we’ll have to reassess this marriage of convenience, won’t we?”
Reassess. What does that mean?
“Hugo—”
“One hour, Sybil. Surely you can spare one hour to humor your husband’s whim.”
Whim. As if anything about this man could be called a whim.
“Very well,” she heard herself saying. “One hour.”
“Excellent.” His smile was sharp, predatory. “I’ll call for you at three.”
And then he was gone, leaving her alone with her cold toast and the uncomfortable realization that she was actually looking forward to it.
Dangerous thinking. Extremely dangerous thinking.
But as she finally took a bite of breakfast, she couldn’t quite suppress the flutter of anticipation in her chest.
One hour. What could possibly happen in one hour?
The curricle was a sleek, elegant vehicle built for speed rather than comfort, and Sybil found herself pressed against Hugo’s side as they navigated the crowded streets of Mayfair.
This was a mistake. A massive, catastrophic mistake.
“Comfortable?” Hugo asked though something in his tone suggested he knew perfectly well she was anything but.
“Perfectly,” she lied, acutely aware of the way his thigh pressed against hers with every turn of the wheels.
“Good. Because we have a bit of a drive ahead of us.”
“A drive? Where exactly are we going?”
“You’ll see.” His mouth curved in that infuriating way that meant he was enjoying her discomfort far too much.
“That’s not an answer.”
