Heat crept over her cheeks. Had she been that obviously forlorn? How embarrassing. She would have to work harder to disguise her emotions. Distract herself more completely.
“A dance would be lovely,” she told Kingham, grateful for the reprieve.
Perhaps a turn about the ballroom in the arms of a charming man would help to cure what ailed her. If not, it would certainly provide her with a few minutes of pleasant diversion. Heaven knew her own husband had no wish to dance with her.
“I’m afraid the duchess is already spoken for,” Everett interrupted, moving between them in proprietary fashion when she would have accepted Kingham’s proffered arm. “The next dance is mine.”
Kingham sketched a half bow to her. “Perhaps another dance then, Duchess.”
She longed to argue. At the moment, dancing with the duke felt as if it would be much safer than whirling about the dance floor in her husband’s arms. But the two men continued to stare at each other like a pair of pugnacious dogs about to battle over a prized scrap of meat. Seeking to avoid conflict, she deferred to Everett’s claim, taking his arm instead.
“Until later,” Kingham said.
“Or never,” her husband muttered under his breath in quite uncharitable fashion.
Sybil didn’t think Kingham overheard, however, as he was already melting back into the crowd of revelers.
“You need not dance with me if you don’t wish it, you know,” she said as her husband guided her onto the gleaming parquet.
Beneath the blazing chandeliers, and with so many souls packed into the two-story ballroom, the heat was almost unbearable. She felt dizzied for a moment as she and Everett faced each other, assuming their positions for the next dance. She curtsied and he bowed.
Her husband was unsmiling, his expression unreadable. “What makes you think I don’t wish to dance with you?”
“I’ve scarcely seen you all evening, and you only demanded this dance so that the Duke of Kingham couldn’t have it.”
His hand settled comfortably on the small of her back as if it belonged there, pulling her nearer to him. “Hosting a ball is tedious business. I’ve been drawn into no fewer than a dozen conversations in which I had no desire to participate.”
“Of course,” she said coolly, not believing him for a moment.
Although Sybil tried her utmost to remain impervious to her husband’s aloof lack of emotion where she was concerned, there were some days when she wondered if doing so would truly be possible. His lack of emotion never ceased to affect her.
They linked their hands as the familiar strains of a waltz began, and she tried to ignore the jolt of heat skipping up her wrist and past her elbow. It didn’t matter that gloves separated them, that she had known this man intimately for weeks, or that they had enjoyed far greater familiarity than a mere entwining of gloved fingers. She was as intensely aware of him as ever, much to her chagrin.
They spun gracefully, as if they had always been meant to dance together thus. For a moment, she forgot how thoroughly vexed she was with him. But then he spoke again and spoiled the illusion.
“You and Kingham certainly looked as if you were engaged in a cozy tête-à-tête,” Everett murmured in her ear as they glided along.
“Surely you aren’t jealous.”
The notion was preposterous. First, he had nothing of which to be jealous. She scarcely knew the Duke of Kingham beyond the handful of conversations they had enjoyed. But most important and distressing of all, Everett couldn’t be bothered to consider her existence beyond his nightly visits to her bedchamber.
He had made his interest in her plain. It was her body’s ability to bring him pleasure and possibly bear him a child that he cared about, and nothing more.
“Have I reason to be?” he asked with deceptive calm as they performed another graceful whirl.
She tipped her head back so she could see his face. “Do you think I harbor atendrefor the Duke of Kingham? Because if so, I can assure you that I do not.”
One male in her life was misery enough to deal with. She had no wish for another. Even if he was as handsome and amusing as the Duke of Kingham.
“Are you certain?” Everett asked.
She narrowly resisted the urge to stomp on his foot. “Don’t be silly. The Duke of Kingham is your friend, and as such, he is mine as well.”
Her husband laughed grimly. “I don’t believe the Duke of Kingham is capable of being a friend to any woman without wanting to get beneath her skirts.”
His vulgar assessment made her nearly trip on her hems. “You needn’t fret in that regard, I can assure you, Your Grace.”
“Ah. I have displeased you.”
