Page 13 of Seduced By a Scoundrel

She shifted her position. This conversation was best had while she was standing on her feet, not curled in his lap like a kitten. Sliding free of all that warmth and the soft stirring of his breath on the top of her head was more difficult than it had any right to be. She knew where this led. Where this always led. But tonight, it would not help matters. “Thank you,” she said with slightly stilted politeness. “It was kind of you to”—Hold me against your chest? Smell so good?—“build the fire.”

He nodded, just as stiffly. Lord Blackburn once again. “What prompted tonight’s madness?”

She could not tell him she had stolen the betting book. And for the Spinster Society, no less. He would disapprove. He already disapproved. It emanated off him like steam from a boiled kettle, now that she was no longer pressed against him.

Pity.

“Sybil?”

Why did she like it so much when she said her name? His voice went stern and soft all at once, and it was intriguing. Confusing.

Annoying.

It was annoying.

“Yes?”

“No need to contort yourself coming up with a story. I already know you stole the Fortingham betting book.”

And he was perfectly willing to pre-emptively call her a liar, as well as a thief.

As she was both, she had no business feeling a twinge of… something. Something unpleasant. Some of the lovely warmth left her. This was how it always ended: ashes after a raging fire neither of them could control.

He only waited with that legendary patience, one eyebrow raised. So she raised hers back at him. “I’m not giving it back. You can’t have it.”

“I know that too.”

That he had seen her take the book was one thing. But now he would demand to get it back, she would refuse, and it would go on and on. He might tell the club, which would cause trouble for the Spinsters. For her father, most assuredly.

Best to play it off as a prank.

Another nail in the coffin of the very idea of Sybil Taunton as a reasonable woman.

And Keir would have no problem believing her.

“It was only a lark,” she said lightly. “A challenge.” Half true. She waved her hand nonchalantly. “You know how it is.”

He believed her. Immediately. She could see it in his face.

Of course he did. Why wouldn’t he?

It was addlepated of her to feel disappointment.

“A lark,” Keir repeated.

She kept her smile firmly in place. It was a skill honed through long practice. First as the girl plucked off the streets and raised by an earl, with every other family in Mayfair whispering behind their fans, waiting desperately to be amused if she failed at dancing or pianoforte or used the wrong fork at supper.

But she played her part.

And as a Spinster, she had played many more parts outside of London Society: wallflower, stern governess, companion. Forgettable.

But Sybil Taunton of Mayfair was flighty, unreliable, unpredictable. Another part.

Most of it perfectly true.

It was only her reasons, her purpose that remained secret from most people in her life. Priya and Peony and the other Spinsters were her sisters in ways they probably did not even understand. They actually saw her. And they did not turn away because she was too much, too little. Too something.

They didn’t look at her the way Keir was looking at her. With polite displeasure.

And he had every right to that displeasure. Tonight, at least.

Her smile did not falter. Not even when he sighed.

“It’s not just my life you used like a plaything. Lady Violetta will be affected.”

Sybil bit her lip. “I know.” She did not care for feeling guilty any more than she had cared for being locked in a cellar. At least this was much easier to fix. She sighed. “There’s a ball tomorrow tonight. Tonight, I suppose, technically, as it’s nearly dawn. I’ll tell everyone then. Please apologize to Lady Violetta for me.”

He watched her silently for a very long moment.

She fought the urge to shift from foot to foot, to squirm like a sailor under the eye of a disapproving captain.

And then he inclined his head and left.

Just like that.

Infuriating mountain of a man.