Page 79 of Seduced By a Scoundrel

Chapter Nineteen

“I am not going back to school.”

Sophie attacked the fish on her plate as if it had offended her.

As if it was her brother’s big head, in point of fact.

Something that she pointed out. Loudly.

Keir had returned home just in time to slip into the dining room and take his seat as his sister came down the stairs. He did not want to have to explain his absence. And so he ate a second breakfast of good, proper tea instead of the acid Emmeline had served him, and a sweet bun.

How different this room was from the other. Here the drapes were heavy, embroidered with gold and tied with matching gold tassels. The cups were as delicate and fluted as if they were made of lily petals. His father had preferred everything to be fragile, especially when his son grew bigger and stronger than he was and struggled to feel comfortable. Crystal beads dangled from every chandelier, the candlesticks gleamed, oil paintings of renowned Montgomery ancestors glowered from the picture rail above several footmen standing at attention, should Keir find himself unable to reach for the salt. He would send half of them to Sybil this very day. Those that looked strong enough. Were clever enough. Good enough.

In contrast, Spinster House, as he was told it was called, was filled with plants and books and daggers hidden in the oddest places. The chairs were sturdy. The earthenware mug Sybil had handed him in the kitchen had made him want to propose right then and there.

Of course, he had wanted to propose when she made that little gasp when he sucked her nipple into his mouth. When she had rolled her eyes at him. When she had dragged her nails across his chest. When she paused to watch him, thinking he was asleep. Every time he looked in her direction, really. That had never changed, only now he could indulge the thought.

And now that he had granted himself permission to look at her, to want her and crave her? Now that he knew the taste of her pleasure in his mouth without rush? His need for her would not be satiated. A frozen river in his mind had shattered to pieces with the parlor window, flooding him with images of Sybil waking up in his bed, walking with him through the park, wearing his ring on her finger. Even when she was also wearing that ridiculous getup as Lord Singleton.

“You’re not even listening to me,” Sophie complained.

“I don’t have to,” Keir pointed out, pouring himself more tea. He could swear Emmeline’s coffee was still burning in his stomach. “You’ve said the same thing three times now.”

“Because you never take me seriously.”

“It’s hard to take someone seriously when they put porridge in other people’s shoes.” He wasn’t wrong, but he was also aware that he sounded like a prig. Exactly as Sybil accused him. “You have to go to school, Sophie,” he added somewhat helplessly.

“I already know my sums. I know French, a little Italian. I can dance a quadrille and curtsy when the queen requires it. I can ride a horse and embroider a pillow. And I read the newspaper every day, even though I was told it would weaken my eyes and that gentlemen do not like a lady who knows more than they do.”

He frowned. “Who told you that?”

“Who hasn’t told me that?”

“I’ll find a better finishing school,” he promised.

“If you send me away, I shall just make them send me home again.”

“It’s not sending you away.” Didn’t she realize he had no idea what he was doing? Why would she want to live in this soulless, joyless mausoleum? She was better off anywhere else.

Well, perhaps not anywhere. That headmistress had deserved porridge in her shoes, and any future teachers would know to be very, very careful with his sister. Because her wildness was no excuse for discourtesy, or worse, unkindness to her.

“You don’t have to look at me like that,” she muttered, misreading his scowl. “This is my home too.”

Not if he could help it. She deserved so much better.

“Your new chaperone will arrive any moment,” he told her, changing the subject. “Try not to make this one cry.”

“I did not make the last one cry.”

“On the contrary, she left here in tears.”

“Because she was scared of you!”

“Because you snuck away and she thought you had fallen in the Serpentine and drowned!”

“Because she was a ninny,” Sophie returned.

She was not wrong. Not that he would admit it. And arguing with her was not making him sound like a sensible man twice her age. He was grateful when Chevril appeared in the doorway. “A Mrs. Gorse for Lady Sophie, my lord.”