Page 70 of Seduced By a Scoundrel

She waited for him to reach for his clothes, to walk away. She wrestled with the disappointment welling inside of her.

And he did walk away.

But this time he returned. He didn’t drag on his breeches, didn’t tuck her back into her dress, gentle but swift. This time he returned with the washbasin and a cloth to help her clean up. Part of her teared up, and she refused to give in. Instead, she wrinkled her nose, intending to save them both from the awkwardness of the aftermath. It was uncharted territory for them. “I can do it.”

“Sybil,” he said, very seriously, “this is my privilege.”

She let him tend to her and tried not to lean into the gentleness of the moment, the possibilities it promised. Because reality lingered, unsaid.

So, naturally, Sybil proceeded to say it.

“Keir?”

“Yes, plum?”

“I will not marry you.”

She might want to marry him. Quite desperately, actually, if she thought about it, which she refused to do because it was not sensible. She might feel different, but she wasn’t. Not really. Her circumstances certainly had not changed. Although his had, as he was no longer courting Lady Violetta.

“Keir, are you listening to me?”

“Yes. Of course.”

“You are going to wake up in the morning full of honorable intentions and untarnished reputations and honor and all that rot you love so much.” More than her. She could feel it. After all of those stolen moments in dark rooms, carriages, against the garden wall. This time was different. Something was changing. Had changed.

But not Society.

Never that.

“Rot?” he said, amused. “You reduce hundreds of years of Society to ‘rot’?”

“Easily. All of those rules and protocols are not made to help me at all, despite the claims to the contrary. Women are not gentle sparrows who need tending. I’d much rather have access to my own money than a sonnet about my golden hair.” She shook her head. “I am getting distracted.”

“Excellent.”

“I mean it, Keir. I won’t marry you.”

“Let’s see, shall we?”