If that were true, Sybil thought,he would have offered for me already. “The Duke,” she said through gritted teeth, “is not a gentleman.”
Her mother regarded her for a moment, then sighed. “He is a rake, perhaps, but that merely means he is a man ruled by his desires, and if you can encourage his desire for you—”
“I refuse to have this conversation.” Sybil strode to the door and before her mother could say anything more, left the same way as the Duke.
If the Duke had any intentions of behaving honorably to her, he would have done so already, as soon as he recognized her and knew precisely what had happened.
No matter what, she would not allow him to know how much she still wanted him.
ChapterTwelve
The Vauxhall expedition came around all too soon, and before she was mentally prepared, the Duke and his cousin arrived at the house. Sybil waited in the hallway, pulling her gloves up to her arms and wondering whether, the last time she had seen the Duke, she had imagined the attraction that had drawn her to him.
“His Grace, The Duke of Danver and Her Ladyship, Lady Windermere,” the butler announced and Sybil came face to face with a pretty lady, not in the first flush of youth—likely in her mid-thirties—but with a twinkle in her eye that suggested she had a lively sense of humor.
“My cousin, Lady Penelope Walton,” the Duke said.
Sybil took one look at him and decided that no, the last time they had met, she hadnotimagined her attraction. A lock of dark hair fell over his forehead and his blue eyes were fixed on hers, provoking her to blush before they had so much as departed.
Sybil swallowed her dry throat and looked away from him before she could betray herself further.
She was here to meetothereligible men to marry. The Duke was her friend, helping her. Nothing more.
The lady held out her hand. “George has told me so much about you,” she said with a dimpled smile. The same one he shared, Sybil realized. “I’m so glad to meet you.”
“He told you about me?” Sybil asked, not able to hide the horror in her voice.
“All good things,” the Duke said, giving her a slight bow, and a long look under his lashes. Such looks ought to be illegal, she concluded, as her breath stuttered in her chest. “I would not be so ungentlemanlike as to confide your faults.”
“George!” Lady Windermere smacked his arm with her fan. “Thatwas singularly ungentlemanlike. No young ladies have faults, and certainly not such pretty ones.”
He inclined his head, that sinful smile lingering on his lips. “You are perfectly right, Cousin.”
“You must ignore him,” Lady Windermere said to Sybil, tucking her hand through Sybil’s arm. “He’s a terrible tease.”
Indeed he was, but not for the reasons Lady Windermere knew.
Before Sybil had time to breathe, they were closed in the carriage, and although the Duke had sat on the opposite side, his knee kept brushing hers. Whether it was deliberate or not she couldn’t say, but there was no denying his gaze settled on her face more than was perhaps polite.
Was he noting her reaction?
Washe just toying with her?
Lady Windermere patted her knee. “There’s no reason to be shy. George goes out of his way to be disagreeable, but I’m sure you know that already.”
“Indeed,” Sybil mumbled, although that hadn’t been her experience at all.
“And I have the feeling we’re going to be the best of friends, and tonight is going to be such fun. George has tasked me with finding you an eligible gentleman.”
Wonderful. Sybil glanced at the Duke, meeting his eyes, and even though the carriage was dark, a frisson of tension ran through her. Cheeks burning, she glanced away again, praying no one could see her face. Or feel the heat from her skin.
It didn’t take them long to reach the gardens. Vauxhall Gardens were known for their extravagance, the brightness that arose once the sun set, and tonight was no exception. Sybil didn’t know where to look as she descended the carriage, Lady Windermere’s arm in hers. The garden was spacious, tall bushes and trees flanking winding paths, and flickering lights illuminating the people walking upon them.
Here was not just a place for the upperton. Merchants and rouged women in low-cut gowns mingled with the gentlemen and ladies, and Sybil couldn’t help thinking that this was somewhere her mother would be more than happy to visit.
Still, aside from the bosoms on display, there was plenty of other beauty to appreciate, such as the pillars and statues that regularly interrupted their paths. Lady Windermere and the Duke seemed utterly unaffected by the glorious display, but Sybil wanted to stop at each hanging festoon, at every pavilion, at each marble statue.
In short, she wanted to see far more than there was time for. If she’d had her way, she would have detached herself from her party, rendered herself invisible, and walked through the crowd in a state of wonder, unnoticed and alone. The way she preferred to be.
