Page 7 of Seduced By a Scoundrel

And got into the most trouble, truth be told.

“Aren’t you supposed to be resting?” Peony added, falling into step with her.

“Blasphemer. I thought you were my friend.”

Peony snorted. “I was your friend until you made me lose a wager with Matilda. I said you would not last a single hour on your regiment of rest. And then you went and lasted several days.”

“Barely. And only under duress. And hey! You wagered against me?”

“I wagered with reason and logic.”

Sybil could not really argue with that.

“Since you clearly were not resting tonight, what have you been doing instead?” Peony asked as they ducked between giant potted ferns. Given Priya’s love of horticulture, there were plants everywhere. It was a veritable jungle. Even the ladies’ necessity dripped with roses and lilies.

“I went for a walk.” Sybil grinned.

“Mm-hmm. Where, exactly? The bottom of the Serpentine?”

“Not this time. I was on St. James.”

Peony grimaced. “Much worse.”

“Usually, yes.” They climbed the stairs, the polished wood creaking pleasantly under their feet. “But this time I breached Fortingham’s.”

“You went inside a club?”

Sybil tried not to look as smug as she felt and failed miserably. “I went inside, caused a fuss, pretended to swoon, and then stole the betting book on my way out.” She waved the book triumphantly. She had left the part about being carried around by Keir, about the heat radiating off him, the scent of wood smoke and soap. The way she knew exactly how his hands felt gripping her waist.

“You did not!” Peony exclaimed. “And without me!”

“They would have bolted the doors against us if they’d seen us together.”

“True.”

“And possibly constructed a makeshift drawbridge to raise.”

“And lit the torches, found some pitchforks. Cowards.”

They grinned at each other as Sybil plopped the book down on Priya’s desk and scrawled a note to accompany it. Unsurprisingly, Priya’s office was stuffed floor to rafters with plants. And also a large basket stocked with bandages, ointments, towels. Baskets were scattered throughout the house with all the necessary supplies. Sybil knew she would find a flask of whisky under the clean towels. She decided she was not that cold and settled for a towel to dry her hair. She had never minded the cold before her experience of being locked in the marquess’s cellar. She still refused to mind it, but lately there was definitely an invisible line drawn between the normal chatter of her teeth and something else.

She did not care for it.

Whisky helped, but she did not care for that either.

“Anything good in here?” Peony asked, riffling through the betting book.

Glad for the distraction, Sybil shrugged. “I didn’t really have time to have a proper look. But I am sure Priya can find something useful.” Stealing it was the fun part. She left the rest to Priya.

They skimmed pages of handwriting going back over a year. It would take some time to sort through. Peony shook her head. “These two idiots bet two thousand pounds on whether or not the robin sitting on the sill of the bay window of the club would fly away to the east or the west.”

“Those two are dukes.”

“Still idiots. And the Earl of Bellingham wagered he could sleep with a viscount’s daughter and not have to marry her.”

“Miss Middlemarch.” Sybil nodded. “She broke his nose. It’s still crooked.”

“Well done, Miss Middlemarch. Perhaps she would like to join the society.”