CHAPTER 1
Sybil tipped the pitcher toward her sleeping husband’s head. A stream of cold, clear water poured forth, landing directly on the thick mahogany locks that were a great source of pride and vanity for him, splashing over his unfairly handsome face.
It wasn’t the confrontational moment she had initially envisioned when she had decided to attend the wicked house party he and his chums were presently holding at Wingfield Hall, but it was satisfying, nonetheless.
He sputtered and jolted awake, sitting up as water sluiced down, his bedclothes falling in his lap.
His chest was bare.
Sybil intentionally averted her gaze. Because whilst the Duke of Riverdale was a terrible, faithless husband, his body, like his face, was as perfectly proportioned as any marble from antiquity. At least he was the only one currently occupying his bed, and given the indecent nature of the present gathering, she hadn’t been certain what to expect. Otherwise, she might have broken the pitcher on his head instead of merely pouring water to wake him.
“What the devil?” he sputtered, shaking like a dog to dash the water from his eyes.
Sybil had imagined a reunion with her husband on many occasions. Never quite like this, however.
“Good morning, Riverdale,” she said coldly.
“Sybil?” He glared at her, his lip curling. “What are you doing here at Wingfield Hall? In my bloody bedroom, of all places? And why the hell did you pour water on me?”
She settled the pitcher in its basin. “Is that any way to greet your wife?”
“Is dumping a pitcher of water on my damned head any way to greet your husband?” he snarled.
Water was streaking down his throat and rolling south in droplets over his chest now. Sybil told herself not to look, and yet her foolish eyes had a will of their own.
“Perhaps you should tell me the proper means of greeting a husband one hasn’t seen in more than three months,” she suggested. “A husband who abandoned one in the country and refuses to reply to any correspondence.”
He gathered up the counterpane and began using it to dry himself, continuing to glower as he did so. “I have nothing to say to you, madam.”
His words, like his ire, shouldn’t matter. Shouldn’t have the power to wound her. And yet, they did. He had made his disregard for her feelings known, just as he had made his lack of concern for her more than clear when he had abandoned her on their wedding day.
“Indeed, butIhave something to say toyou.” She kept her eyes pinned to his, intentionally not glancing down at his damp chest.
Or his muscled arms, flexing as he moved.
Curse the man. She was looking again.
“How nice for you.” His voice was cold, just like his wintry blue eyes. “I don’t give a damn.”
She hadn’t expected a pleasant reunion. But his icy aloofness still somehow stung.
“Mayhap youshouldcare,” she suggested.
All her meticulous arranging had come to this. Admittedly, she hadn’t planned to fail so abysmally when she had managed to obtain an invitation to the secret house party he presided over every few months along with his fellow hosts of the Wicked Dukes Society. Thank heavens for the aid of her dear friend Alice, Countess of Blackwell, who had secured one on her behalf through a friend who was a member of the secret society.
Sybil had intended to cause a public spectacle that would force his hand. To take a lover at his own den of iniquity and humiliate him as he had her these last few months. Instead, she’d found she hadn’t the stomach for betrayal. She remained as much a virgin as she had been on the day they married.
“Too late for that.” He dropped the bedclothes and ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back from his high forehead. “Get out of my bedroom.”
She didn’t budge, her feet rooted to the Axminster. “Not until you hear what I’ve come to say.”
“I have neither the time nor the inclination to listen to a word you say,” he snapped. “Can you not see I’m busy?”
“Yes, I suppose you are eager to return to your carousing. No doubt you have some skirts to chase this morning. Do forgive me for keeping you from them.” Sybil couldn’t conceal the bitterness in her voice, though she had tried her utmost.
“Is that why you’ve come?” he asked, smirking. “Are you jealous, darling?”
Yes, but she would leap out the nearest window before admitting it to him.
