Page 45 of Seduced By a Scoundrel

Mostly because one could not spend every moment reliving a tryst in a hired hackney. No matter how it threatened to sear into one’s soul and remain there forever.

Something had changed. Was changing. Maybe?

But just because she could not stop thinking about it, that did not mean that Keir was similarly affected. She mostly elicited an exasperated stare or the enthusiasm of a stone from him.

When they weren’t clawing at each other, all desperate mouths and hands.

A hot tingle raced through her, unbidden, ungovernable.

It had been like that since she woke. Tea had not helped, nor toasted bread, nor throwing knives at a target in the ballroom. A bracing walk would surely do the trick. The sky was a hard shell of blue, sunlight glistening on the icy glass of the Serpentine and the mounds of fresh snow. Children ran past with red woolen mittens and matching red cheeks, shouting with unrestrained glee. Ladies promenaded in their thickest pelisses, hands warm in fur muffs. A cart offering roasted chestnuts and gingerbread in paper wraps did brisk business. It was cheerful and crowded, everyone taking advantage of the sun’s brief appearance, of the storybook snow turning London into a soft confection.

Sybil bought her own bag of peeled chestnuts and popped one into her mouth. It was sweet and warm and perfectly brought to mind Christmas outings to gather holly and pine boughs from Hyde Park, even though it was frowned upon. The tip of her nose was cold and the rest of her pleasantly warm. She skirted a snowball battle and three snow angels.

Couples walked closer than was generally considered appropriate, taking advantage of the cold. They sat on benches and shared gingerbread. They wandered into the trees for a moment of romantic privacy.

“They” suddenly included Sophie and a young gentleman Sybil did not recognize.

She paused as he whispered something in Sophie’s ear. Sophie blushed.

Sybil did not wish to break up a lovely stolen moment.

Except that something in her belly tightened in warning.

And she had learned to trust herself, despite the fact that her body now reacted to the cold as though she were in danger. She would not let Eastbourne’s cellar steal that from her. Not when Sophie’s reputation might be at stake. Damn her reputation—her safety was paramount.

Sybil strode forward, pasting on her most cheerful smile. No need to make a fuss and embarrass the girl. At her age, Sybil would have been mortified if an older woman had interrupted with well-meaning lectures.

An older woman.

A spinster.

Sybil struggled not to let her smile turn into a disgruntled sigh.

If she was going to be a dried-up, wizened old spinster at the age of twenty-nine, then let it be for some good.

“Sophie,” she said calmly.

“Sybil!” Sophie started, eyes widening guiltily. “Is my brother with you?”

“No, why should he be?” Sybil would not think on that answer too hard.

“Oh, good.” Sophie wilted with relief. Her cheeks were pink. She looked as fetching a young girl with her first secret love could ever look. “Miss Taunton, may I present Mr. Pelham.”

“Good afternoon,” Sybil greeted him neutrally. Politely. And with a narrowed eye. She could not help herself. Something about him set off internal bells.

“Miss Taunton.” He bowed with a charming grin. His hair curled over his forehead and into his eyes, also charming. He tossed it clear, charmingly.

He was charmingly charming.

Sybil nearly groaned. Blast. She did not trust charming. And she recognized his name from Priya’s list of known fortune hunters.

Blast and botheration.

“Mr. Pelham, was it? I knew your father.”

It was a bland, nothing statement that said everything. She knew his father had cut him off, which meant she also knew he had been caught trying to steal away to Gretna Green with a young girl just last month. His smile slipped, then dazzled brighter. “How do you know my father?”

“Miss Taunton is the daughter of Lord Wentworth,” Sophie put in.