Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
“Do you think I should go to the library and take a book to read at the lake, Rosie?” Sibyl asked teasingly, smiling as Rosie babbled happily in her arms. “I have been getting back into reading, mercifully.”
Rosie squirmed in her arms, already reaching out her tiny hands towards the windows as Sibyl carried her down the hallway to the garden.
“I do hope one day you will take after me,” Sibyl added, finding comfort in speaking idly to her daughter.
It never bothered her that Rosie could not yet talk back. She simply enjoyed talking without anybody to correct her or judge her or question her words. Besides, Rosie liked her voice, and Sibyl wanted to make sure her little girl would always hear it when she needed.
Sibyl was into her second week at Stonehelm Hall, and she had already found so much solace by the lake.
It made her feel peaceful, with only the rustling of the trees and the bubbling of the fountain in the middle of the lake to hear.
It was far enough from the manor that she didn’t feel its looming size so terribly.
As beautiful as the estate was, without conversation to properly fill it, Sibyl felt as though she was wandering endless hallways.
Heading to the library, she passed by the parlor.
The door was open, and the chatter of the maids inside drifted out.
The sound was nice; it was comforting to hear life within the manor.
After growing up always hearing her sisters talk to each other or to their parents, the silence in her new home had been terrible.
“‘… and one Miss Catherine Tremaine was rather smug about her dalliances with the late Lord Kerrington, and I am certain the ton is also wondering who else’s bed did the Earl of Kerrington keep warm.’”
Sibyl stopped short at the mention of her late husband. She couldn’t ignore it, not when she peered inside to find three maids huddled around a scandal sheet.
“‘One also wonders if poor Lady Rose has more siblings in London that she will never know. Does the former Countess of Kerrington know? Did she always know about her husband’s infidelity, and that was why she married the Duke of Stonehelm so quickly?
Rumor has it that the two had been courting in secret.
Who can blame her if her late husband neglected her so?
Yet the wider opinion is that a lady must behave properly no matter her circumstances.
“‘We must think of Lady Rose, who will grow up in such a particular environment. She will have no real father, and from the way the new Lord Kerrington spoke about Her Grace, Lady Rose shall not hear any kind words about him either.’”
Sibyl’s stomach sank, and she pushed into the parlor, ready to tell them to stop reading such drabble. But thunderous footsteps cut her off.
The Duke swept into the room before she could, storming right up to the maids.
“Would any of you care to explain why you are gossiping about my wife and my stepdaughter?” he growled.
The maids quivered and looked towards Sibyl, their faces paling.
“In fact, I do not care for an explanation,” the Duke continued. “Because it should not happen either way. There is no excuse for insulting my wife and spreading further gossip. This scandal sheet is nonsense, and I will not tolerate this.”
“Your Grace—”
“She is your mistress,” the Duke interrupted, “and I made it clear that she’s to be made comfortable in Stonehelm Hall. This is her home, and you owe your loyalty to her.”
“Y-Yes, Your Grace,” the maid who held the scandal sheet in a trembling hand stammered. She blushed deeply, as though both chastened and awed. “We’re sorry, Your Grace.”
“It is not me you must apologize to,” the Duke said flatly, before nodding towards Sibyl.
All three maids curtsied deeply.
“I’m sorry, Your Grace,” the maid who had been reading aloud offered. “It won’t happen again, and—and if it helps, we don’t believe a word—”
“That is enough,” the Duke sighed. “Let me see it.”
He held out a hand, and the maid placed the paper in it. He did not even spare a second before he tore it apart. He shoved the pieces back at the maids, dishing out the shreds into three piles for each.
“Burn it,” he ordered, “and if I ever see such drivel on my property again, the consequences will be dire.”
“Of course, Your Grace,” they all mumbled and hurried off, ducking their heads low when they passed Sibyl.
With the maids gone, Sibyl realized just how ashamed she was by the gossip.
Indeed, Ferdinand was making good on his promise to spread those terrible rumors. Even though her marriage now protected her from the ton’s speculation, it did add fuel to the fire, just as she had feared.
“I will make sure nothing like this gets printed again,” the Duke growled, already stalking past her.
“Thank you,” she whispered, “for… for speaking up for me.”
He just spared her a long look before walking off down the hallway.
A week passed by, with Gabriel alternating between burying himself in work and returning to the King’s Hound, all to avoid thinking about Sibyl.
Alas, it stopped working soon, and he kept entering more and more matches to drive away his frustrations. But they only grew, for he had been actively avoiding Sibyl, and it seemed she had been content to do the same, especially since the day he had heard the maids gossiping about her.
Gabriel hated that he had failed to protect her from the scandal sheets, and he took out that self-hatred in the ring, losing himself to blows that landed painfully on his knuckles and opponents who got stronger with each fight.
He welcomed it all every night, while his friend watched on with a furrowed brow. Every night, Gabriel would pretend not to notice that Nicholas was holding back questions, and the two would drink together.
On the eighth night of them not dining together, Gabriel had finally let go of his insistence on needing clarity and distance from his wife, who would not leave his thoughts. That evening, he returned to the manor on horseback, slightly bruised and sore, but mostly victorious.
He walked into the entrance hall and turned in the direction of the kitchen. With Sibyl not joining him for dinner, he had taken to either skipping meals himself or snacking in his study in a way that didn’t fill him up, especially now that he was boxing more often.
Yet, as soon as he set food in the kitchen, he froze.
Sibyl was at the stove, a copper kettle whistling as the water inside boiled. She turned at the scuff of footsteps on the stone floor.
He watched her as she dropped some tea leaves into a teacup that rested atop a saucer.
“What is the matter?” he asked, looking between her and the teacup.
“Nothing,” she answered, looking confused by his question.
Her eyebrows quirked as she regarded him, and he was reminded of how he had found the maids gossiping over the scandal sheet.
“I just did not want to disturb the servants at this hour. I can brew myself a cup of tea.” She let out a soft laugh, as if the notion of doing otherwise was foolish.
Gabriel fought the urge to say, I pay them to be disturbed. It was certainly what his father would have said.
But that was not who he was, and although he did pay his servants to be disturbed, he understood Sibyl’s reluctance.
“What tea are you making?” he asked, unsure why he wanted to know.
“Chamomile,” she answered, turning back to the kettle to pour the steaming water into the cup.
As she did, she went rigid, and her hand shot to her back as if supporting herself. Her fingers splayed over her spine, right above her tailbone.
Gabriel arched a curious eyebrow.
“Would you like some?” she offered.
“No, but I would like to know what is wrong,” he countered.
“Nothing is wrong. I am perfectly fine,” she said, far too quickly.
“Oh, if that is the case, then I would like to take you up on your offer. However, I am rather fond of the cup right above your head. Yes, the one right there.”
He leaned against the doorframe, holding back a smirk as she reached up, but she jolted as if more pain shot up her back.
She froze and looked at him.
“I thought so,” he drawled.
“You do not want the cup,” she guessed, her face twisting into a grimace.
“I do not want the cup,” he confirmed, letting his lips quirk up. He pushed off the doorframe, ambling towards her. “You are a very stubborn woman, but you know that already.”
“I am not,” she insisted, moving back towards the counter the closer he came.
Her eyes flickered over his face, so he held up his hands. “I only want to help,” he assured her.
Still, she didn’t move closer to him. If anything, she pulled her hands to her chest as if that would protect her.
When she didn’t say anything, he shrugged his shoulders. “Fine. Keep on suffering.”
Sibyl sighed, dropping her hands. “All right, perhaps my back has been aching a little. I do not know if it is from carrying Rosie so much around the manor or just feeling some tension, but there is a little pain.”
“See? That was not so hard now, was it?” He was so close to her now, close enough that she had to tilt her head back to look up at him. “Turn around.”
Once again, she hesitated, so he kept his hands raised.
“Again, I only want to help.”
“How?”
“Just… just turn around.”
After another moment’s hesitation, she finally did.
Gabriel took a moment to admire how her loose hair fell down her robe. With the hour being so late, she had already dressed for bed, and the robe she had tucked around her was thick enough that he could try to keep his wits about him and focus on alleviating her pain.
He slowly lowered his hands to her shoulders, letting her adjust to his touch. He still remembered how she had stiffened when he had taken her hand and helped her into the carriage after their wedding.
Seconds passed before her shoulders finally relaxed, and Gabriel took that as his cue to continue.
Carefully, he began to massage down her back. Throughout his time boxing, he had learnt a thing or two about easing aching muscles, especially from holding oneself in the same position for a long time.
He recalled how Letitia’s nursemaid used to move similarly, with her hand supporting her back, for Letitia could only fall asleep when she was carried by someone. The motion had always helped her drift off.
Beneath his fingers, Sibyl began to relax. He felt her muscles loosen as he kneaded them. Soon, she leaned into his touch, and he held his breath.
A small noise escaped her. “Oh, that feels heavenly.”
His eyes closed for a second as he collected himself. His fingers pressed a little harder as he fought to keep that composure. He let his hands move where she needed his touch, and she grew heavier against him.
Suddenly, she let out a soft moan.
His hands stilled on her waist, having been massaging near her tailbone, and she slowly turned around in his hold. Her eyes locked on his, and he felt his whole world tilt off its axis.
Her face was inches away from his own, and the desire he had been suppressing roared within him.
No number of matches in the King’s Hound was enough, not when his wife looked up at him as though he were a question she couldn’t answer. And he knew he was looking at her the same.
Her name rushed to the tip of his tongue, the way it had that day when he had wanted to ground her.
Lowering his face to hers, Gabriel gave her another chance to pull back, to stop this before they got past the point of no return. Because once he kissed her, once he had her, he feared he would never be able to settle for less.
Yet her face tilted towards his, and their mouths were barely an inch apart. And then, he kissed her.
Her breath caught in her throat as soon as his lips met her soft ones. He lifted one hand from her waist to cup her face, letting his fingers graze her cheek, gently hold her jaw, keeping her face tilted to his. His thumb brushed beneath her eyelids, realizing her lashes had fluttered shut.
He finally gave in to the kiss. He finally gave in to her.
His first taste of her was soft, tender, and it immediately hooked him. He already knew he would need more.
He wanted more.
He angled his head to deepen the kiss, waiting for the moment she would pull away. But she didn’t.
His fingers tightened on her waist, moving her backward until she was pressed against the kitchen counter. Her hands curled around the edge, knocking the cup aside as she leaned back against it, drawing him into her.
How long had it been since she was kissed like this?
Had she even been kissed like this?
The thought made him kiss her harder, and a groan built in his throat that he let slip out. Sibyl gasped and buried one hand in his hair, tugging it as though it would keep him there.
He never wanted to move, even without that grounding touch.
He pressed his body against hers, and she froze. Her mouth stopped moving against his, and she pulled back. He could feel her trembling, so he released her.
“I am sorry,” he breathed, needing to fix the mistake he had made. “Duchess, I am—”
“I…”
She was already moving away from him, trembling as she clapped a hand over her mouth. Her eyes bored into his for a moment, fear and panic pooling in them.
“I must check on Rosie.”
Before he could say anything, she was gone, leaving him full of heated need and confusion, standing alone in the kitchen with the cooling chamomile tea.