Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
The small ceramic pot slipped from Sybil’s fingers, clattering against the marble surface of her dressing table with a sound that seemed unnaturally loud in the quiet chamber.
She’d been so lost in thought—replaying every moment of the evening, every heated glance Hugo had given her, every possessive word he’d spoken—that the simple task of applying hand cream had become impossible.
Her fingers trembled as she retrieved the pot, and she couldn’t seem to stop the smile that had been curving her lips since they’d returned from the ball.
Rosalie was magnificent tonight. Every bit the success I hoped she’d be.
But that wasn’t what had her glowing with satisfaction as she prepared for bed.
It was the memory of Hugo’s face when she’d descended the stairs in that burgundy gown.
The way his eyes had darkened with something that made her pulse quicken.
The possessive edge in his voice when he’d claimed her first dance.
‘In that dress, you are only mine.’
Warmth spiraled through her at the memory. She’d fled to the terrace to escape the intensity of her own response, but even now, alone in her chamber, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something fundamental had shifted between them tonight.
Stop being foolish. It was just a dance. Just words spoken in the heat of the moment.
But her treacherous heart refused to listen to reason.
The soft knock at her door made her start. “Come in, Mary,” she called, expecting her lady’s maid to appear with her nightgown and offer to help her prepare for bed.
Instead, Hugo filled the doorway.
Sybil’s breath caught at the sight of him. He’d discarded his formal evening coat and waistcoat, his white shirt open at the throat, and his dark hair slightly disheveled. The casual disarray made him look younger somehow, less ducal and more simply… male.
Dangerously, devastatingly male.
“Oh!” She instinctively moved her hands behind her back, suddenly self-conscious about the rough texture normally hidden beneath her evening gloves. “I thought you were Mary.”
“Clearly.” His gaze took in her state of undress—her hair loose around her shoulders, her gown partially unlaced—and something flickered in their golden depths that made her skin burn. “Forgive the intrusion. I brought you something.”
He stepped into the room carrying a small silver tray with a delicate porcelain cup, steam rising from whatever it contained. The gesture was so unexpected, so thoughtful, that it reminded her painfully of the night she’d brought him tea in his study.
When I was trying to apologize for accusing him of breaking his promises.
“Chamomile,” he said, setting the tray on the small table near her fireplace. “I thought you might have difficulty sleeping after the excitement of the evening.”
“That’s very kind of you.” She moved closer, noting how he stood with military precision despite his casual attire. “Though I should warn you, I was quite wound up. Rosalie was such a success tonight.”
“She was indeed.” Something that might have been pride crossed his features. “You prepared her well. She conducted herself with perfect grace and propriety.”
“She’s naturally charming,” Sybil replied, accepting the cup when he offered it. “I merely gave her confidence in her own instincts.”
“Is that what you call it?” Hugo’s mouth quirked in amusement. “Because from where I stood, it looked like you’d taught her to navigate social complexities with the skill of a seasoned diplomat.”
The unexpected praise warmed her more than the tea. “You make it sound like I performed some sort of miracle.”
“Didn’t you?” His burning gaze held hers with uncomfortable intensity. “Six months ago, Rosalie was climbing trees and swimming in lakes. Tonight, she was waltzing with the heir to an earldom and charming dowagers who’ve destroyed debutantes for far lesser infractions.”
Six months ago, I was a spinster running an orphanage. Tonight, I was dancing with a duke who claims I belong to him.
“She simply needed guidance,” Sybil said with care. “Someone to show her how to channel her natural spirit within society’s expectations.”
“Someone to show her that strength and propriety aren’t mutually exclusive.” Hugo moved closer, his presence filling the intimate space of her chamber in ways that made rational thought difficult. “Much like what you’ve done for me.”
“I’m afraid I don’t follow.”
“Don’t you?” He was close enough now that she could smell his cologne, could see the way his shirt clung to the powerful lines of his chest. “Six months ago, I would have locked Rosalie in her room rather than risk her making mistakes in public. Tonight, I watched her flourish and felt nothing but pride.”
“You learned to listen before reacting,” she said quietly. “To guide instead of commanding.”
“I learned from an excellent teacher.” His voice had dropped to that low register that always made her stomach flutter. “Though I suspect the lesson isn’t finished yet.”
What does that mean?
“Hugo,” she began then stopped. The tea was still too hot to drink, and she needed something to do with her hands to cover her nervousness. “Perhaps I should let this cool a bit.”
“Of course.” But instead of stepping back to give her space, he remained close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from his body. “Sybil, I owe you an explanation.”
“An explanation for what?”
“For my reaction when I learned you were tending to sick children. For the things I said, the way I… lost control of my temper.”
Lost control. Such a careful way to describe his fury.
“You were concerned about the children’s welfare,” she said diplomatically. “I understand that.”
“Do you?” Something painful flickered in his dark eyes. “Because I’m not certain that concern for the children was my primary motivation.”
“Then what was?”
Hugo was quiet for a long moment, his gaze fixed on the fire crackling in her fireplace. When he spoke again, his tone was carefully controlled, as though he were discussing estate business rather than personal matters.
“My first wife died of consumption.”
The simple statement caught Sybil by surprise. She’d known Caroline was dead, of course, but the details had never been discussed between them.
“Hugo, I’m so sorry. I had no idea the disease had—”
“It wasn’t the consumption that killed her.” His words came out flat, emotionless, in a way that made her chest tighten with sympathy. “Not directly.”
“Not directly? What does that mean?”
“Caroline and I… our marriage was not what anyone would call a love match.” He turned to face her, his expression carefully neutral. “We had married under circumstances that were less than ideal with no romantic illusions on either side.”
“But you had your daughters together,” she said softly.
“Yes.” For the first time since he’d begun speaking, genuine warmth entered his tone. “Three perfect, impossible daughters whom we both adored completely. Whatever else was lacking between Caroline and me, we shared that.”
“That must have been enough,” Sybil observed. “Shared love for your children.”
“It was. For a time.” Hugo moved to the window, staring out at the darkened street below. “Caroline was always delicate, prone to illness. When she caught consumption, we all knew it would be difficult. But the physicians assured us that with proper care, rest, good air…”
But it wasn’t enough.
“She deteriorated rapidly,” he continued, his voice growing even more detached. “Became weak, frail, a shadow of the woman she’d been. And I… I felt pity for her. Sympathy for her suffering. But not the desperate grief a husband should feel watching his wife fade away.”
“That doesn’t make you heartless,” Sybil said gently. “Affection built on respect and shared goals is still meaningful, even if it lacks passion.”
“Is it?” he turned back to her, and she was startled by the raw pain in his expression. “Because when I found her that morning, when I discovered what she’d done… all I could think was that I’d failed her completely.”
What she’d done?
“Hugo, what are you telling me?”
“She took her own life.” The words came out flat, factual, devastating. “The pain had become unbearable, the weakness humiliating. She’d become someone she didn’t recognize, and she… she chose to end it rather than continue suffering.”
Oh God. No wonder he’d been so terrified when I went near those sick children.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, setting down her teacup and moving toward him instinctively. “That must have been… I can’t imagine…”
“Can’t you?” His laugh was bitter, self-recriminating. “Because standing there in that corridor, listening to you defend your right to risk your life for others, all I could think about was Caroline. About failing to protect someone under my care. About finding another woman I’m responsible for…”
He stopped abruptly, as though realizing he’d revealed more than he’d intended.
Another woman he’s responsible for. Or another woman he cares about?
“That’s why you reacted so strongly,” she said, understanding flooding through her. “You weren’t just worried about the children’s safety. You were terrified something might happen to me.”
“Terrified doesn’t begin to cover it.” His golden gaze burned with intensity that made her breath catch. “When I heard you’d been exposing yourself to illness, when I imagined you collapsed, fever-bright and gasping for air…”
“It was just a cold, Hugo. Nothing like consumption.”
“This time.” He moved closer, close enough that she could see the flecks of brown in his eyes, the way his hands clenched at his sides as though he were fighting the urge to reach for her.
“But what about next time? What about when it’s something more serious, something that could actually harm you? ”
“I understand your concern,” she said with deliberation. “But I can’t promise to avoid all risks. Sometimes helping others requires accepting certain dangers.”