* * *
The ball passed in a blur for Sybil. She barely noticed who she danced with when it wasn’t George.Him, she noticed all the time, even when she didn’t want to. Even when she specifically told herself she wouldnotlook at the way he was staring broodingly across the ballroom at her, her gaze somehow managed to find him.
And, it transpired, he made an excellent brooder. Several ladies had approached him asking for dances, but although he did indeed dance with many, she couldn’t help noticing that he seemed to be paying her more attention than his partners—despite the fact his partners seemed to all have numerous charms.
That was another thing she couldn’t help but notice: how beautiful the women that fawned over him were. Most were married, and the thought crossed her head—multiple times—that they were his mistresses.
Yet he was looking at her. Ather.
If it was possible for hearts to explode, Sybil’s might have exploded at the very thought. But, of course, it was not possible and despite all the evidence of her body to the contrary, her heart remained in place in its chest, beating away.
Fast. Very fast. Faster still when he came to claim her hand for the waltz.
“I’m amazed your mother is allowing the waltz in the ballroom,” she said as his fingers curled around hers. For the first—no, second—time that evening, she wished she wasn’t wearing gloves.
“She bowed to the demands of the social Season,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “They are increasingly popular, you know.”
“Oh. I have to say I’m surprised.”
A slight smile spread across his face. “Me, too. But I can’t say I’m disappointed, Sybil.”
“You shouldn’t call me that in public,” she said, but he placed his hand on her back and for a moment, all thoughts slid out from her brain. They probably dribbled out of her ears and all over her dress, making a mess of incoherency, because George was touching her and even though he’d done it before—several times, and in far more intimate ways than this—it still had the effect of switching off all logical thought.
“Sybil?” He still had that smile, growing wider by the second as she scrambled to scrape together her scattered faculties. “Is everything quite well?”
Excellent. This exchange was going extremely well. Sybil couldn’t imagine it going better, actually, even though she had planned the next time she would see George and the things she would say.
Do you remember when I asked you if we should get married? It was a joke, and I thought you would find it funny. Only, it seemed you took me seriously, so I would like to take this opportunity to reassure you that Idon’twant to marry you. In fact, I have no aspirations toward matrimony at all—with you, I mean. Any other man would suit me.
Ah yes, incoherent even in her the privacy of her own head. Perfect.
He leaned even closer, and he assaulted all her senses, overwhelming them until all that existed in her world was him. He smelled familiar, somehow, as though the few times they had met and been close enough to smell each other had imprinted itself on her brain. Leather and cotton and something underneath, something darker andgood. Like safety. Like home. Which was a ridiculous thought, she reminded herself. The Duke wasnevergoing to be home.
If only he would remove his hand from her back—although it felt more like her waist. They were standing too close; he hadn’t leaned back from when he’d closed the distance to whisper to her. Someone was bound to notice, then rumors would go flying and—
She wanted to kiss him. Right here, in the middle of the dance floor, which would be a terrible decision, because—
Well, as she looked at his mouth, she couldn’t quite remember why it would be a terrible decision at all.
“Sybil,” he said, his voice a murmur. “I—”
“George!” The voice was commanding and made Sybil jump, but George’s hand merely tightened on her waist, and she had the impression that he wished himself anywhere but in this present moment with—
His mother.
Whyhis mother had seen fit to come and interrupt their dance, she didn’t know, but by the smile on her face, she didn’t think it was for any good reason.
Sybil knew the Dowager didn’t approve of her. Quite frankly,thatfact wasn’t hard to miss; although she had been the one to introduce Sybil to George—again—she hadn’t seemed to want the friendship to continue, and her lips had positively pursed when Sybil had entered the Manor. Even though, to her precise knowledge, it wasn’t the Dowager’s house. It was George’s.
That didn’t seem to matter to the Dowager, though. And by the way she moved through the room, stopping them from dancing and generally behaving in a way that suggested she owned the house and everything in it.
“Mother,” George said through clenched teeth.
“Step outside with me, would you please?” The Dowager’s gaze darted to Sybil. “And you, Lady Sybil.” Her name was delivered through clenched teeth that suggested she hated the fact it passed through her lips.
Sybil, too, hated that it had passed through her lips.
George’s hand tightened on her waist. He was still holding her, although she wasn’t sure if he was aware. “Anything you wish to say to us can be said here.”
