“Hm?”
Apollo cleared his throat, and Sybil blinked into the present.She was fiddling with his cravat.She stopped, tried to find something else to do with her hands, but when they weren’t fiddling with the linen, they wanted to settle in the natural places of someone being carried—his neck, his shoulders, his chest.
“I need you to open the door,” he said.“I cannot when I’m holding you.”
“Knock with your foot.Temple has hired a housekeeper and a cook.I’m to fill the house with any others I might need now that I’m here.But I’ve promised to bring in very few mouths who might give away my location to any nefarious creatures.”
“Too late.”He knocked.“I’m the most nefarious creature there is and you’re inviting me in.”
Her heart thumped.
The door swung open.A woman with steel-gray hair and heavy cheeks stared up at them, hands on her ample hips.Her eyes narrowed.“Who might you be?”
“I’m Miss Sybil Grant, and my chariot is my brother, Hesperus Grant.You are expecting us.Or, me.Hesperus was a rather last-minute addition to the traveling party.He’s here to keep me company and make sure I do not bolt.”
Apollo rolled his eyes and pushed past the woman, who considered Sybil as if she were a creature from the moon.
“Are you Mrs.Collins?”Sybil asked, looking over Apollo’s shoulder to where the woman still stood in the doorway.
“I am.”
“Where’s a parlor or drawing room?”Apollo demanded.
“I’ve hurt my foot,” Sybil explained, looking up at the ceiling.The house was much lovelier on the inside than it had been on the outside.The entry hall was circular, and a staircase that began at one side of the room curved around it above the door and upward to an open balcony.They faced three closed doors like mysterious choices beneath the stairs.
The housekeeper bustled past them and chose the center door, leading them into a rounded, well-furnished parlor with large windows, not that there was much sun to shine through.Apollo settled Sybil on an elegant sofa near an empty fireplace then stood like a statue looking out the window.So stony.So stoic.Was her injury truly worrying him so much?Or was it the kiss?Her request for another?
What a foggy-brained idea that had been.Certainly the wine’s fault.But how could she resist.Their kiss had been a revelation.It had felt like taking hold of her own life and doing as she pleased.A luxury when she was being carted off and hidden like ugly statuary in a closet.
Once Sybil had arranged her skirts smoothly, she smiled at Mrs.Collins.“I understand it has been difficult to open up a large house on such short notice.You have my deepest gratitude.”
“The marchioness ordered it.”Mrs.Collin’s had the grimmest mouth Sybil had ever seen, and the way she saidmarchionesswas like she’d swallowed something sour.“We don’t have a cook yet.Tomorrow was the earliest she could work.I’ve got provisions.Should I bring something for you?”
“That would be lovely.Thank you.”
When Mrs.Collins disappeared behind a different door, Apollo returned to Sybil’s side.He pushed her to the side of the sofa and sat on the other end, opposite her.He patted his lap.
She raised an eyebrow.
“Your foot please, princess.”
“It’s well enough.”And shoeless.Too swollen to fit inside a boot.
His turn to raise a brow.
“Very well,” she sighed, turning to lift her foot onto his thigh.She lifted her skirts a bit higher than necessary, flashing her calf.
Not that he noticed.His gaze never wavered from his intent—slipping off her stocking.The kiss must have been nothing to him.She held her breath, not wanting his touch to feel like a warm bath and a zing of lightning at the same time.
He untied the bandage and lifted her foot, inspecting the sole.“The potion is working nicely.It’s healing more quickly than it would have without.”
“Is it?”
“You shouldn’t need assistance walking by the end of the week.”He drew his thumb down the inside edge of her foot, then stood abruptly, taking up position at the window once more.
Anger bubbled up in her.No idea why except that he was acting so… so bland!“I was drunk last night!”
He spun around.“Pardon?”
