Page 74 of Seduced By a Scoundrel

Chapter Eighteen

Leaving Keir stretched out half naked in her bed was possibly the most difficult thing Sybil had ever done.

And that was including the time she had climbed out of the icy Serpentine without any help. But he was sleeping so soundly, the tense lines of his jaw relaxed, that she did not want to disturb him. He had slept with his chest pressed to her back the whole night. He was still here. It was unexpected, even after what he had told her about his father. So she did not wake him, even if she wanted to drape herself over him.

Instead, she just stood there and stared at him for a very long time. An embarrassingly long time.

There had been very little sleep to be had. She was tired, a bit sore, famished.

And it was absolutely worth it.

But she was still a Spinster. Breakfast meetings were part of the system that kept things running smoothly. Or as smoothly as they could, considering the things that they got up to.

Not to mention that she required a trough of tea this morning.

The others were already gathered, including Priya and Pierce. Tea was poured before Sybil had even found her seat. “Bless you, Peter. I left the Copperwhite letters in your study,” she added to Priya as she scooped blackberry jam onto a slice of cheddar for her bread.

“Yes, I saw that, thank you,” Priya said. “Lady Venetia will be much relieved.”

“Any progress on the rock through the window?”

“Sadly, no. We can assume Minos, but unfortunately, I am no nearer to finding out who he is. Or they are.”

“I’ll find this Alfie today,” Pierce promised grimly.

The chandelier rattled slightly overhead. Matilda smirked. “Your guest, Sybil?”

Sybil smirked back. Before she could reply, the heavy footsteps paused, started up again. Keir appeared in the doorway. “Good morning, ladies,” he said, cheeks ruddy. “Gallagher.”

He was as awkward as it was possible for a marquess with seven houses and the ability to brush the chandelier with the top of his head could be. His hair was tousled, as if he had combed it with his fingers, which he no doubt had. His shirt was creased, cravat missing. A marquess seldom showed himself to the world without the aid of his valet. And never at breakfast in a house that belonged to an unmarried lady. Several ladies. “I’ve… come to take Sybil for a promenade.”

“At ten o’clock in the morning?” Peony asked dubiously.

He shifted. “Er… yes?”

Sybil grinned at him over her teacup, thoroughly amused. He did not know the rules for this sort of thing and was no doubt scandalized. It was very endearing.

“That’s odd,” Peony added, adding salt to her eggs. “As I heard your footsteps coming down the stairs just now.”

“I…”

“You are not light of foot, my lord.”

“Peony, stop teasing the poor man,” Emmeline said. “He’s already looking a little peaked.”

“Sit down, Lord Blackburn,” Priya said, amused. “Break your fast. We do not stand on ceremony here.”

“Have some coffee,” Emmeline offered. “I made it myself.”

Everyone shook their heads in warning. Even the footman behind her, and it was not discreet.

“Thank you,” Keir said, and accepted the cup she poured for him, incapable of being impolite.

They would devour him whole in this house.

Keir took a sip, swallowed without a wince, and then added cream. Sugar. More cream. And took another sip. Emmeline beamed at him proudly.

“It’s like watching lions play with an injured gazelle,” Pierce muttered.