Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
Three days had passed since the night Hugo had brought her chamomile tea and shared the painful truth about Caroline’s death.
Three days since that devastating moment when they’d moved toward each other like moths to flame, only to have her stumble backward into the tea table, sending porcelain crashing to the floor and breaking the spell between them.
Three days of careful politeness and strained conversations that skirted around everything they both wanted to say.
Sybil stared at her reflection in the dressing table mirror, noting the shadows beneath her eyes, the way her usually smooth hair seemed determined to escape its pins this morning.
She’d been sleeping poorly, her dreams filled with amber eyes and gentle touches and the memory of Hugo’s voice saying he couldn’t lose her.
“You look dreadful.”
Sybil looked up from her untouched breakfast to find Hugo standing in the doorway of the morning room, already dressed for riding in leather boots and a dark coat that emphasized his broad shoulders.
“Good morning to you, too,” she replied tartly. “You certainly know how to flatter a lady.”
“I wasn’t trying to flatter you. I was making an observation.” He moved into the room with that predatory grace she was learning to recognize. “You have shadows under your eyes, you’re pale as parchment, and you’ve been staring at the same piece of toast for ten minutes without taking a bite.”
Because every time I close my eyes, I see you moving toward me with that look in your eyes. Because I spent the entire night wondering what would have happened if that tea table hadn’t been there.
“I slept poorly,” she said with deliberate understatement.
“Did you?” Hugo settled into the chair across from her, his presence filling the small room in ways that made concentration impossible. “Any particular reason?”
You. You’re the reason, you impossible, infuriating man.
“Too much excitement, I expect. The ball, meeting so many people…”
“Ah, yes. The ball.” His voice held that familiar note of dry amusement. “Quite an eventful evening all around.”
Eventful. That’s one way to describe nearly surrendering to passion in my bedchamber.
“Indeed,” she agreed carefully.
“Tell me,” Hugo continued, his dark gaze fixed on her face with uncomfortable intensity, “do you have any plans for this afternoon?”
The abrupt change of subject caught her off guard. “Plans? I… no, I don’t think so. Why?”
“Because I thought you might enjoy an outing.”
“What sort of outing?”
“The sort where you stop looking like you’re about to expire from exhaustion and get some fresh air.” He leaned back in his chair though his eyes never left her face. “Hyde Park, perhaps. A carriage ride, some conversation that doesn’t involve broken crockery.”
Is he asking me to… spend time with him? Voluntarily?
“I’m not sure that’s wise,” she said slowly.
“Wise?” Hugo’s eyebrow arched in that way that always made her pulse quicken. “Since when have you been concerned with wisdom?”
Since I started wanting things I have no business wanting.
“Since always,” she lied.
“Liar.” His mouth curved in a smile that was pure masculine satisfaction. “The woman who married a complete stranger for the sake of orphaned children is hardly cautious by nature.”
The woman who nearly kissed that same stranger last night is even less cautious.
“That was different. That was for the children.”
“Was it?” Hugo leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping to that intimate register that always made her stomach flutter. “Or was it because you wanted something for yourself for once?”
Something for myself. When was the last time I wanted something purely for my own sake?
“The children needed—”
“The children needed many things,” he interrupted smoothly. “Safety, security, education, medical care. All of which I could have provided without marriage.”
“I don’t understand what you’re suggesting.”
“I’m suggesting,” Hugo said with deliberate precision, “that perhaps you didn’t marry me entirely for altruistic reasons.”
Heat flooded her cheeks at the implication. “That’s absurd.”
“Is it? Because standing in your bedchamber, watching you look at me like you wanted to forget every rational objection you have to this marriage, I couldn’t help but wonder if perhaps convenience was never the real issue.”
“You’re being ridiculous.”
“Am I?” he stood suddenly, moving around the table with that fluid grace that made her pulse race. “Then prove it.”
“Prove what?”
“That spending time with me is such a hardship. Come for a drive with me this afternoon.” He stopped beside her chair, close enough that she could smell his cologne. “If you can manage to look miserable for an entire hour in my company, I’ll never suggest such a thing again.”
It’s a trap. It has to be a trap.
“And if I don’t look miserable?”
“Then we’ll have to reassess this marriage of convenience, won’t we?”
Reassess. What does that mean?
“Hugo—”
“One hour, Sybil. Surely you can spare one hour to humor your husband’s whim.”
Whim. As if anything about this man could be called a whim.
“Very well,” she heard herself saying. “One hour.”
“Excellent.” His smile was sharp, predatory. “I’ll call for you at three.”
And then he was gone, leaving her alone with her cold toast and the uncomfortable realization that she was actually looking forward to it.
Dangerous thinking. Extremely dangerous thinking.
But as she finally took a bite of breakfast, she couldn’t quite suppress the flutter of anticipation in her chest.
One hour. What could possibly happen in one hour?
The curricle was a sleek, elegant vehicle built for speed rather than comfort, and Sybil found herself pressed against Hugo’s side as they navigated the crowded streets of Mayfair.
This was a mistake. A massive, catastrophic mistake.
“Comfortable?” Hugo asked though something in his tone suggested he knew perfectly well she was anything but.
“Perfectly,” she lied, acutely aware of the way his thigh pressed against hers with every turn of the wheels.
“Good. Because we have a bit of a drive ahead of us.”
“A drive? Where exactly are we going?”
“You’ll see.” His mouth curved in that infuriating way that meant he was enjoying her discomfort far too much.
“That’s not an answer.”
“No, it’s not.” He guided the horses through a particularly narrow gap between two larger carriages with the skill of a man completely at ease with the reins. “But then, you didn’t seem interested in details when you agreed to this outing.”
“I assumed we were making polite conversation in a public setting,” she said stiffly. “The sort of thing married couples do to maintain appearances.”
“Appearances.” Hugo’s voice held that familiar note of dry amusement. “Yes, I’m sure that’s exactly what motivated my invitation.”
Then what did motivate it?
But before she could voice the question, they were turning through gates she didn’t recognize, following a tree-lined drive that seemed to lead away from London entirely.
“Hugo, where are we?”
“Richmond,” he replied calmly, as though taking her miles outside the city without warning was perfectly normal behavior.
“Richmond?” Her voice came out higher than intended. “But I thought… you said Hyde Park—”
“I said fresh air and conversation. I never mentioned Hyde Park specifically.”
The arrogant, manipulative—
“Yes, you did. You deliberately misled me.”
“Did I? Or did you make assumptions?” He glanced at her with those infuriating dark eyes. “Seems to be a habit of yours.”
A habit of mine? The nerve of the man.
“Turn around,” she said with as much authority as she could muster. “Take me back to London immediately.”
“No.”
The simple refusal, delivered with calm certainty, made her want to throttle him.
“I beg your pardon?”
“I said no. We’re here now, and you agreed to an hour of my company. I intend to collect on that debt.”
“This is kidnapping,” she said through gritted teeth.
“This is marriage,” he corrected smoothly. “Specifically, a husband taking his wife for a pleasant afternoon drive.”
Pleasant. There’s nothing pleasant about being manipulated.
“I want to go home.”
“Do you?” He guided the curricle to a stop beneath a spreading oak tree then turned to face her fully. “Because you don’t look like a woman eager to return to polite conversation and proper boundaries.”
Stop looking at me like that. Stop seeing things I’m not ready to acknowledge.
“What do I look like?”
“Like a woman who’s been running from something for so long she’s forgotten what she’s running toward.” His voice dropped to that low register that always made her stomach flutter. “Like someone afraid to want things for herself.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Is it?” Hugo shifted on the seat, bringing himself closer, close enough that she could see the gold flecks in his eyes. “Then tell me, Sybil. What do you want? Right now, in this moment, what do you want that has nothing to do with duty or responsibility or taking care of others?”
You. I want you to keep looking at me like I’m the most fascinating woman alive. I want you to touch me the way you almost did last night. I want to stop fighting this and see what happens if I just… surrender.
“I want to go home,” she said desperately.
“Liar.” His mouth curved in that predatory smile that made her pulse race. “Try again.”
Stop challenging me. Stop making me think about impossible things.
“I want you to stop interrogating me like I’m some sort of criminal.”
“Better. But still not the truth.” He leaned closer, close enough that she could feel his breath against her cheek. “What do you want, Sybil?”
“I want…” She started then stopped, color flooding her cheeks.
“Yes?”
I can’t. I can’t say it out loud.
“I want you to stop playing games with me,” she said finally.
“Games?” Hugo’s hand came up to cup her face, his thumb tracing the curve of her cheek with devastating gentleness. “This isn’t a game, Sybil. This is the most serious thing that’s ever happened to me.”
The most serious thing. What does that mean?
“Hugo—”
“I know you’re afraid,” he said quietly. “I know you think wanting something for yourself is selfish or dangerous or both. But I also know that last night, before that tea table intervened, you wanted me to kiss you as much as I wanted to kiss you.”
“That doesn’t mean it was wise.”
“Wisdom is overrated.” His thumb brushed across her lower lip, sending fire racing through her veins. “Besides, where’s the woman who risked everything to save children from a burning building? Where’s the woman who married a stranger to protect people she loved?”
“That was different.”
“How?”
“Because…” She struggled to find words that would explain the difference between risking her life for others and risking her heart for herself. “Because those risks were worth taking.”
“And this isn’t?”
This. Whatever this is between us.
“I don’t know,” she whispered.
“Then let’s find out.” Hugo leaned closer, close enough that their lips were almost touching. “Let’s stop running from this and see what happens if we’re brave enough to want it.”
Brave enough to want it. But what if I want it, and he doesn’t? What if this is just physical attraction that fades once the novelty wears off?
But before she could voice her fears, before she could think of another reason to retreat, Hugo’s lips were on hers.
And suddenly, nothing else mattered.