Of course, that was not to be. The Duke had other plans. They reached the center of the gardens and the boxes that lined the open space. A group was already in attendance, and they hailed the Duke with apparent enthusiasm.
“Hansen,” one called. “We’ve been waiting for ages for you.”
The informal address only seemed to amuse the Duke, who waved a hand. “I was bringing us some company.”
There were a few other ladies in the box—wives, she suspected, or sisters—and they watched her with intrigued stares as she took a place beside Lady Windermere.
“This is Lady Sybil,” Lady Windemere said. “And she is my particular guest.”
“Hansen’s, more like,” a young man called. He looked to be in his mid-twenties, perhaps, and handsome enough, with blond hair and an arrogant posture that suggested he was accustomed to his attentions being well-received. Given how attractive he was, Sybil was sure they often were.
The Duke lowered himself into a chair and tossed a smirk in his friend’s direction. “Jealous, Finch?”
Finch, or Lord Finchbury as Sybil suspected he was called, gave her another long glance, and his mouth curled into a smile. “Perhaps I am.”
“Lord Finchbury!” Lady Windermere said, leaning over and tapping his hand with her fan. “That’s quite enough of that from you, thank you.”
Sybil didn’t know where to look—from the assessing, interested glances of the gentlemen to the snide glances from the ladies who clearly viewed her as competition.
“Why would you be jealous of the Duke?” one asked Lord Finchbury, leaning over and placing her hand on his arm. “You can have all of us.”
“Or perhaps the Duke will exchange his entertainment for the night for something that might a little better suit his fancy,” another of the ladies said, her tone suggestive.
Sybil’s eyes widened and she firmly faced the front again, paying more attention to the passersby. When would the fireworks begin? Perhaps she could strap herself to one of them and be flung into the night sky far away from here.
If only her mother had taught herwit, not merely how to position one’s body in the most flattering angle. Something she was not doing now.
The Duke came and sat beside her, and she tried not to show her relief. “Waiting for the fireworks?” he asked. “They will happen after dinner, when the sky is fully dark.”
“I see.”
“What do you think of my selection?” he asked, gesturing at the other gentlemen in the box with them.
Sybil tilted her head as she looked at them. They were… perfectly acceptable, she supposed, and handsome in their own way, but none could compete with the Duke in attractiveness or title. “Why are we here instead of at a ball?”
He glanced at her, lips twitching. “I’m afraid at a ball, I would be obliged to dance with you.”
Heat flooded through her. He was flirting. “You are neverobligedto dance with me, Your Grace.”
“Very well, not obliged. Perhaps… enticed.” He leaned forward and his breath brushed the shell of her ear, giving her shivers all over. “I may be finding you a husband but that doesn’t mean I don’t have fond memories of time spent with you.”
“Your Grace!” Scandalized, or at least attempting to be, she shuffled away, and with a chuckle, he leaned back.
“Call me George, Sybil. At least here.”
She clung to what remained of her propriety, though she was tempted to. “That would be extremely forward.”
“I think, all things considered, we can forget the formality, don’t you?”
This entire expedition felt like torture; cruelty he had selected just for her. Yet there was something delicious about the box and its proximity to the gardens—they could leave, could slip away, and no one would be any the wiser. No one was looking at them. No one was staring at her.
A few acquaintances of the Duke’s greeted them, and although a few curious glances were cast her way, they were not the usual disparaging looks she usually received. The Duke’s presence was… giving her consequence.
“I only usually invite my close acquaintances to my box,” he said after a moment, leaning back in his chair as though it was nothing that she apparently numbered among them. “I expect rumors will fly that I am courting you, but that will only make you more desirable to the other gentlemen of theton.”
“Why, is your influence so great?”
“I am a Duke,” he said as though that explained everything. “And although I know there aresomewho believe me unworthy of my title, I bear it still.”
