Page 12 of Seduced By a Scoundrel

“Someone like me?” He scowled down at her. Her hair was the color of warm tea touched with gold. Singular. In the summer it was like honey. He imagined wrapping it around his fist. Often.

“Proper. Orderly. Stodgy.”

It was his turn to be offended. She made him sound like a prig. Like he was a hundred years old.

She patted his arm, suddenly looking as though she were enjoying herself immensely. “Don’t grimace so. You’re very… lordly.”

“Wonderful.” It was not wonderful. He was more confused than ever—and more certain than ever that keeping his distance from Sybil remained the best course of action. The sane one. The only one. Hadn’t that been beaten into him?

“Was this some ploy to get yourself married?” he asked. “I’ve heard of ladies doing creative things to that end, but this is a bit much. And unnecessary. I am sure some gentleman will offer for you. No need to fret.”

Sybil tilted her head back to blink at him slowly.

And then she laughed.

Right in his face.

Something else he was not accustomed to ladies doing.

And still he did not let her go.

Sybil laughed because her other choice was punching him right in his very fine nose.

Which was tempting.

But she had already rattled him today, and she knew Lord Blackburn did not care to be rattled.

Also, she was already in the wrong.

Just a little bit.

But why did he have to be so warm? And so comfortable for someone who looked as those he were carved from stone? Hulking. Intimidating.

Lovely to hide behind when the weather turned.

All true.

And just as tempting as punching him.

But Sybil did not hide. Not even from her own mistakes. Even when she really, really wanted to.

She had made the pact with herself a long time ago. She knew she was reckless and impulsive and hard to deal with. The least she could do was take responsibility for the mess she sometimes left behind. Especially as she had no intention of staying home and knitting when she could be out wreaking havoc—also known as pursuing justice—for the Spinster Society.

Even if she liked knitting.

And truly, she had properly put her foot in it this time. Violence probably would not help matters.

“Keir,” she said, sounding like a governess about to lecture him on geography.

“Yes?”

“Not every woman wants to marry.”

“All evidence to the contrary.”

She snorted. “Aren’t you the popular one, then. I am quite sure the bumblebees are swarming to you. It must be such a nuisance.”

The tips of his ears went red. “I didn’t mean it that way.”