His mother raised a single eyebrow. “I would prefer not to do it here.” Without waiting for them to agree, she strode through the crowd, leaving George and Sybil staring after her. George’s jaw was clenched, and it sent a frisson of uncertainty through Sybil.
His mother wanted to speak to them both. This almost certainly wasn’t good.
“You don’t have to come,” he murmured as he turned to follow his mother. His hand dropped from her waist and she missed its heat. “There’s no obligation to listen to whatever she’s decided we must hear.”
“Is this about you courting me?”
The corner of his mouth twitched, but his smile was grim. “If it is, she is about to learn something about her only surviving son. Stay here, Sybil.”
“And leave you to face her wrath alone? No doubt her objection is withmymother.” Sybil squared her shoulders before she could rethink. “I’m coming.”
His hand slid down her arm to wrap around her fingers, and for the umpteenth time that evening, she wished she hadn’t been wearing gloves. All she wanted was the feel of his skin against hers, his heat sinking into her. Still, it was a gesture of reassurance that sent steel into her spine and gave her the courage to walk through the crowd, her head held high. Eyes darted down to their clasped hands, and she was subjected to whispers that no one tried much to hide.
“I wonder what charms she used to capture the Duke’s attention.”
“Knowing his reputation, I can guess what charms.”
“He won’t marry her, though, will he?”
“Unlikely, and unlikely any other gentleman will be interested.”
Sybil couldn’t have cared less if no other gentlemen wanted to marry her as long as she had the Duke’s attention and affection. All her life, she had been set aside from Society by her mother’s birth; at least this way, the rumor would be about something making her happy.
And if that made her wanton, so be it. The Duke was holding her hand and she could hope for nothing more.
Well, if she was honest with herself, she could hope for a little more, but given that wasn’t an option, she would settle for this.
They left the ballroom together, following the Dowager into the library, which was a richly furnished room that on any other day Sybil would have wanted to lose herself in.
As it was, she was face to face with a lady who had never liked her, and now, she was convinced, actively despised her.
“Mama,” George said, his voice cold. “What reason could you possibly have for taking us from the ball I am throwing?”
“I wished to speak with you about…” her gaze flashed to their joint hands, “your arrangement.”
George’s voice lowered dangerously. “What arrangement?”
“The one where you give this nobody your attention in return for whatever favors she offers.” The Dowager gave Sybil a long, hard look, her brown eyes hard and opaque. So different from her son’s.
“You are out of line, Mama.”
“People are talking,” the Dowager hissed. “I have allowed this to continue long enough.”
“I don’t understand,” Sybil said, her voice oddly hard. “You were the one to introduce us.”
“A whim! Nothing more. George is a Duke and he should remember what he owes to the name he was granted.”
Sybil thought that was an odd way to frame the sentiment, but before she could give voice to the thought, George released her hand and stepped in front of her.
“The room opposite is my study,” he said in a quiet voice that thrummed with danger. “There will be no one else there, Sybil. Wait in there while I speak with my mother.”
Sybil stiffened. He was sending her away? “But—”
“There are several things I would like to speak to her about.”
The Dowager tittered. “Really, George, is she really worth this?”
“She is worth far more than you give her credit for,” he said, taking a threatening step forward. “Sybil, please. Wait for me. I will come to you.”
