Although she expected it, Sybil jolted nonetheless, her heart galloping into a rapid pace. He had come.
“Enter,” she called.
As he had the night before, her husband sauntered into the room in bare feet and a dressing gown, his nonchalance an insult when her hands were trembling at her sides and her body was coming to life with remembered warmth of all that had passed between them and all that would yet again.
“Madam,” he greeted her with the selfsame icy courtesy, offering a half bow. “You enjoyed dinner, I trust?”
She had been seated far from him at dinner, but she hadn’t missed his gaze, stealing over her like a caress at almost every opportunity. For his sake, she had flirted madly with every gentleman at her end of the table. Her bodice had been daringly low yet again as well.
“I enjoyed it greatly,” she lied.
“Excellent.”
He stopped before her and frowned. “Why is your hair bound?”
“It seemed the most expedient means of keeping it confined. It was last night as well, and you didn’t find fault.”
“Undo it,” he ordered her.
She eyed him, unwilling to do as he demanded when he was so thoroughly rude in his request.
“Please,” he added, his tone gentling.
“Why?”
“Because your hair is lovely, and it delights me to see it unplaited.”
The compliment was wrapped in barbs. Barbs that pricked and drew blood. She had been ordered about before, subject to the whims of one man. To his mercurial moods and his iron-edged control. She had escaped.
“Delighting you is not a part of my duty, Your Grace,” she pointed out to her husband. “My hair will remain as it is.”
“Then I shall play lady’s maid.” He reached for her hair.
Sybil sidestepped his touch. “I prefer to keep it thus.”
“Ah, of course.” His nostrils flared. “To spite me.”
She compressed her lips, her earlier frustration and anger toward him returning in ample measure. “Because this is how I wish for my hair to be, and it ismyhair.”
“Next, you will lie on the bed once more and begin praying whilst you stare at the ceiling.”
“I already told you that would be sacrilegious, but I can do that if Your Grace prefers it,” she suggested sweetly.
His icy eyes narrowed. “So now you are concerned with what I prefer, in all matters other than your hair.”
“You don’t concern me in the slightest, Your Grace,” she said.
It was a bitter lie. Everything he did concerned her. She had been dreadfully jealous at dinner, watching him bestow his conversation and attention upon others. He had been charming and relaxed. The handsome, debonair rake. But for her, he was cold and aloof, emitting an anger that was palpable, issuing orders as if she were a servant instead of his wife. She wouldnever understand what she had done to suffer such ill treatment. He had duped her with such ease.
“How reassuring to hear,” he said, his voice as forbidding as his expression had become.
“Am I meant to reassure you? Forgive me. Perhaps I should unbind my hair and then tear off all my garments and drape myself over the bed for you like a willing sacrifice.”
“You go too far, madam,” he growled.
She longed to push him. To slap him. To do him violence. The urge shocked her, but his cold demands had taken her to the brink. She no longer recognized herself. Perhaps she was more her father’s daughter than she had previously been willing to admit.
Sybil clenched her jaw instead. “On the contrary, it is you who has gone too far.”
