Page 77 of Seduced By a Scoundrel

“In the meantime,” Sybil said, “Keir will return the betting book and I will make the rounds of the other clubs and see what I can find out.”

“We will make the rounds,” Keir corrected her. He glanced at Sybil, the other ladies. “Please.”

“Better,” Priya murmured.

“I should be off.” Keir placed his napkin to the side. “I have to see to my sister. She has already scared away three chaperones, and it’s only been three days. I shudder to think what she has accomplished this morning while I was not there to welcome the newest victim.”

Sybil followed him out of the breakfast room and down the hall to the front door, where the footmen had very helpfully made themselves scarce. He appeared pensive but not surprised. She had expected a lecture of some sort, a recitation of the rules of proper Society. Something about danger and reputations. Outrage. Smugness that he was right all those years ago and she was too wild for Polite Society.

He did not oblige.

“You are not shocked at all, are you?” she blurted out.

“Well, I didn’t think you were hosting a needlepointing club, Sybil.” He leaned down to press his brow to hers. “I was serious before. There’s nothing you can do, nothing anyone can say or do, that would make me abandon you again. Not unless you asked it of me.”

“This is not exactly behavior worthy of an earl’s daughter.” Or a marquess’s wife. Surely he could see that. She might understand why he had acted as he had when they were younger, but he was still Keir. Mayfair was still Mayfair. Society was still Society. He had no idea, not really.

“But it is behavior perfectly worthy of Miss Sybil Taunton.”

“You are taking this far too well.” It gave her hope. Too much hope.

“Did you want to me call for smelling salts? I’m not a boy anymore. And my father can’t hurt you,” he added sharply. “No one will. That’s all that matters to me. So, you’ll wait for me tonight,” he ordered, catching her chin firmly to tilt her face up. “You don’t go in there without me.”

Sybil rolled her eyes.

He kissed her. Thoroughly. Distractingly. Deliciously.

She bit his bottom lip in retaliation. His grip tightened briefly, eyes flaring.

So she did it again. “Hurry.”

Sophie showed up at the front door a few hours later with two young ladies in tow. One of the housemaids at Wentworth House had slipped her the address of Spinster House. She had been asked to do so if any ladies showed up unannounced, especially if they looked nervous. Sophie did not look nervous, but she was known to the household. And the blonde girl definitely seemed nervous. She was bright red and looked ready to bolt. Or faint.

“Jane, do stop wringing your hands,” Sophie muttered.

“My mother would kill me if she knew I was here.”

“Then do not tell her.” Sophie rolled her eyes. “Problem solved.”

“Ladies.” Sybil stepped aside to let them in, casting a quick glance out of the door. She motioned for their coachman to take the carriage down to the mews. The fewer family crests associated with this house, the better. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Sybil, this is Lady Jane Sweeney and Miss Margaret Reed.” Sophie tilted her chin up defiantly even though there was nothing yet to defy. “We want you to teach us.”

The footmen drifted away when it was evident the young ladies were not being chased by anyone. “Teach you?” Sybil echoed.

“What you told me in the Park,” Sophie elaborated. Her eyes shone. “And how to kick a gentleman properly. Mostly that. I have since discovered that Mr. Pelham was courting two other girls. Jane was one of them.”

Jane winced, but she did look interested in the idea of kicking someone. Margaret grinned, her black hair coiled prettily under her bonnet. “I punched an earl’s son last month, but I bruised my hand. It hurt for days.”

“Yes,” Sybil said, “I imagine so. It’s best to use the elbow in most cases, or the heel of the hand. Come along.”

They followed her wide-eyed down the hall, ducking under ferns. “Was that Lord Oliver you punched?” Sophie asked.

Margaret nodded. “I ought to have known not to trust him. He kept reciting Byron to me.”

“I thought Byron was all the rage?” Sybil asked.

The dry, and deeply disgusted, expression on all three girls’ faces when they turned to her at once was identical. Sybil felt like she was back at home staring down her governess. Judged and found ridiculous. She had to grin. “Oh, you’ll all do just fine. Here we are, the ballroom.”