“Don’t you have to spend the next three hours dressing for dinner?” he asked his friend, an edge to his voice that wouldn’t be softened.
“Dressing can wait. For the moment, I’d dearly love to trounce you again.”
He glared at Kingham. “It’s entirely possible I am the one who shall trounce you, you know.”
Kingham’s lips twitched in amusement. “Ah, but we both know you won’t.”
“Challenge accepted,” he said grimly. “But don’t weep and gnash your teeth when you’re pummeled by my superior skill.”
Kingham grinned. “Carry on, old chap. I cannot wait to prove you wrong. Take the first turn.”
Everett took his time lining up his cue for the initial play.
“Who do you reckon he was?” his friend asked just as Everett hit the ball.
His shot went wide, and he cursed, pinning King with a glare. “Who do I reckonwhowas?”
“Her lover. Do you know him?”
“No. He was a footman at Eastlake Hall. Still is, likely. I prefer not to speak of that particular ignominy, if you don’t mind.”
Nor did Everett like to think about the bastard or relive that day in any way. Seeing her with him, watching Sybil embrace him, had been a blow for which he hadn’t been prepared. The footman’s hold had been familiar. It hadn’t been the first.
“Then why do you presume he was her lover?” King asked, taking his turn and aiming with the same easy elegance he performed every task, no matter how small.
“She was embracing him, and she bloody well told him she loved him.”
“Did you confront her?”
“No,” he admitted, frowning. “Why should I have done? She only would have lied.”
“Perhaps.”
“Whose bloody friendareyou?” he grumbled.
Kingham gave him a pointed look. “Yours, old chap. That’s why I’m asking.”
“Don’t trouble yourself with my problems,” he said coolly. “I can manage my wife.”
But as he lined up his cue for his next shot, Everett couldn’t deny that his assertion felt like an abysmal lie all its own. Because his Sybil was headstrong and stubborn, bold and demanding. She had a mind all her own, and she wasn’t afraid to seize what she wanted and make it hers.
Including him.
Curse it, he never should have married the woman.
She never should have beenfoolish and naïve enough to accept the Duke of Riverdale’s proposal of marriage, Sybil thought grimly as she awaited her husband’s visitation that evening. She was wearing another night rail and dressing gown. Her hair was still plaited into a Grecian braid that had been part of her coiffure earlier.
And she was every bit as nervous this evening preparing to receive him as she’d been the night before.
This bargain of theirs was a mistake. How could she possibly carry on, sharing her body and bed with him, night after night, when it was more than apparent he held her in such low regard? When he considered her nothing more than a duty?
Escape, she reminded herself firmly.
It had been one of the tantalizing reasons she had wed Riverdale in the first place. She’d wanted to flee her father’s rule. To have a household of her own. And yes, to have childrenas well. A family to love. Babes to hold in her arms, to cherish and raise whilst Mother was still well enough to fawn over her grandchildren. Simple desires, none of which should have landed her in such unhappiness.
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath before opening them again and studying her reflection, reminding herself of why she was standing here. All the reasons that didn’t involve her foolish feelings for him, that was. He had made a mockery of those when he had coldly left her on their wedding day. She would guard her heart accordingly. There would be no chance for the Duke of Riverdale to hurt her again.
Finally, a knock came.
