The dance came to an end, and Sybil removed her hand from his with apparent enthusiasm. The first, annoyingly, she had shown all evening. He half wanted to keep hold of her and explain that she should not be seen to be snubbing a Duke in front of an entire ballroom. But before he could say anything at all, she’d curtsied and had almost hurried away.
Vexation rose in his chest. The ladies he pursued did not run from him. And they certainly did not pretend the last time they had met—where they had both reached mutual satisfaction—had not happened. He might as well have been speaking with a stranger.
He watched as she slipped through the crowd to the open doors leading out onto the lawn. Then, as one of his friends came to claim his attention, he followed.
* * *
The cold air soothed Sybil’s cheeks as she hurried across the grass, her flimsy shoes dampening. She was horridly flushed, which was no doubt because of the exertion of the dance. Nothing to do with the man she had been dancing with. Nothing atallto do with the fact she could still feel his hand on her waist.
She wanted to groan and rip her hair out at her own stupidity. The Duke had danced with her and she alternated between being insipid and stupid, and disagreeably pert. Well, at least he might not court her now, and she would be spared… this. The way her body burned for him in a way she was entirely unaccustomed to.
Frustrated, she ducked behind a tree, rested her back against the bark, and closed her eyes. She would remain here a few minutes then slip back into the ballroom. If there was one thing her motherwouldn’tmind her doing, it was slipping out into the gardens. She would probably just assume Sybil was meeting with a gentleman, which in her mother’s world was perfectly acceptable.
When she snorted, it sounded remarkably snotty, and she was only slightly surprised to discover her cheeks were slick with tears. How inconvenient. Much better she save her tears for when she got home. Footsteps crunched behind her, and she stopped mid-sniff.
Please don’t let it be the Duke. Please, please, please.
“I know you’re there,” the Duke said. “You can come out now, or I can wait for you, but I warn you, I’m not a patient man.”
The heavens were not on her side. Her only hope was if she fled, but the clouds smothered the moon and what little light it cast. If she ran, she would likely just crash into something, and that would be even more embarrassing. With a deep breath, she stepped around the tree and came face to face with him. Or at least, she came face to face with a dark silhouette she presumed was the Duke.
“Sybil,” he said when he saw her.
“Lady Sybil.”
He took a step closer, and she rested a hand against the tree for support. He really was so much taller than her. “How long are you going to keep pretending?” he demanded.
“I don’t know what you mean,” she said, though her knees were shaking. All she needed now was to collapse into a wet heap in front of him. Then her humiliation truly would be complete.
“Do you not?” The Duke moved too fast, catching her face in his hands. For a second, he hesitated, as though gauging her response and how willing she would be to accept the caress.
The answer was not at all willing, but her body didn’t appear to understand, and her breath hitched. Taking that as an invitation, he brought his mouth crashing down on hers.
It was as though the last year had never happened. She might have been by the river all over again, when he was teaching her the rules of pleasure. Then, he had commanded her mouth with such quiet authority; he had demanded she submit, and with his mouth moving against hers, she could not have helped but do so.
Now, it was as though history repeated itself. Although it had been such a long time since they had last come together, her body felt as though she remembered him. With a gasp, that his mouth greedily swallowed, she caught his lapels, pulling him closer to her.
A sound of approval rumbled in his chest, and he pressed her against the tree, deepening the kiss. His hot tongue teased hers, drawing her further into him, and this time he didn’t taste of wine.
Heat danced through her body from every place they connected, as though he was the sun and she was stealing his light, his warmth, his life. She wanted more. So much more, now she knew what more there was. That warmth pooled low in her stomach, and when he shifted against her, pressing her more firmly against the tree and sliding his hands down to her waist, she felt evidence of his arousal, too.
The feeling of being wanted brought its own rush of feeling, making her moan, and his fingers tightened on her hips. It was not tender, this kiss, but she didn’t need it to be. She needed—
Oh no, she didn’t need this. He wasn’t a lowly footman who could never question her virtue; he was a Duke, and he had the power to ruin her forever. One of his hands skated back up her body to cup the back of her neck, but she pushed him back. To her surprise, he went, leaving nothing but cold air and regrets between them.
In the dark, she thought she saw him smirk. “Do you remember now?”
Her lips burned with him, and she could still taste him on her tongue. “You didn’t need to kiss me to remind me.”
“You seemed remarkably reluctant to remember any other way.” He leaned in, and she got a whiff of his scent again: amber and leather and wine all mixed together in a heady combination that made her want to melt against him.
But Sybil was not a given prone to melting to anyone, and especially not an arrogant Duke who thought, because he was an expert kisser, he could do so whenever he liked.
She straightened her spine. “I think you have the wrong impression of me.”
“Do I?”
“I’m not the kind of lady you believe me to be.” The kind of lady Lord Alverstone had believed her to be. The kind of lady hermotherwas. “Excuse me,” she said, making to step past him, wishing her body could stop wanting to demand more of his mouth on her. “I should return to the ball.”
