These were too many revelations for Sybil to process. “So your mother is not truly your mother?”
“She is not.”
“Then who is?”
“A maid, I believe. I was never told—my father, on seeing that I was a son, instructed my mother to bring me into the household and raise me as one of her own. Suffice to say, she has never seen me as her son.”
He was illegitimate. George, the Duke, was the result of a dalliance between his father and amaid. It was almost more than she could believe, yet everything made sense. No mother would be so cruel and unfeeling to their only remaining son, but to her, he was not her son at all.
“Sybil,” George said, catching her hands. “Tell me, do you despise me?”
“Despise you?” Sybil moved closer and twisted her hands in his so she could link their fingers. “Nothing could prevail on me to despise you.”
“Even if I do not deserve the title which has fallen to me?”
“How can you say such a thing? Why should I, of all people, judge which woman birthed you? You are what life has made you to be, and you are a Duke in Society’s eyes, and mine.” She lifted onto her tiptoes so she could press her mouth against his. “I could never hate you, George.”
“I don’t deserve you.”
“Wait,” she said, laughing against his lips as he freed his hands and wrapped them around her waist. “George, I have something I must say to you, too, and I will make you wait an odious amount of time to hear it, just as you made me wait.” He searched her face, the uncertainty in his eyes unfortunately sweet. Everything about him was sweet, and she adored him.
“How long must I wait?” he whispered.
She laughed, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing her lips to hers. If someone saw, let them—let the world know how she felt about this wonderful man. “A few seconds longer.”
His mouth moved against hers in a steady pressure, reassuring like a heartbeat, but before she could lose herself in him too utterly, she drew back and said, “I love you, George Hansen.”
The hands on her waist tightened, and before she knew what was happening, he was pulling her closer, his tongue sweeping into her mouth and his head tilting to better possess her.
ChapterTwenty-One
George had not expected his mother to openly admit that she had sent the letters. He had expected that, after a series of threats and wheedles, she would eventually make some excuse for her behavior. Something along the lines of how she would not see the line thrown away on a girl who deserved the title as little as he did.
As it was, she strode around the room, her skirts swirling as he demanded, yet again, that she tell him the truth.
“You have hardly made a secret of your dislike of her,” he said.
“Why should I? She comes from inferior birth.”
“Evidently the fact I am in love with her makes no difference to you.”
“Your feelings are the least of my concern, George.” She curled her lip as she swept past him once more. Since his visit, she had done nothing but pace around the room, in agitation he had first thought a confession, and now wondered if it was… well, merely agitation.
Not that someone was threatening Sybil, of course. But about its potential repercussions.
“If you are not the culprit, then who could it be? Who else hates me to such a degree?”
“Consider your behavior of recent months and take your pick. A jealous husband, perhaps.”
“I have made no enemies.” Although, he considered, that might have been a small lie—he had been with enough wives that had their husbands discovered his liaisons, he would have made some enemies. But he had been discreet. And since he had met Sybil again, he had no longer dallied with those ladies. Or, since they had become properly acquainted, any ladies at all.
“I warn you,” he settled for saying when she gave no further answer, “if you are threatening her to get to me, you will regret it.”
“If Iwerethe one behind this travesty of an attack, I should hardly admit it, or be scared into submission by your threats. I am your mother, and—”
“You are not my mother, as you have taken great delight in reminding me.”
Her smile was sharp and fierce. “Yes, but I am your mother in the eyes of theton—you cannot touch me without condemnation.”
