Page 26 of Seduced By a Scoundrel

He did not intend to be rude and would have been shocked at the accusation. Sybil, though not a wallflower in the strictest sense, was a spinster. She could not be expected to marry particularly well, at least in this particular crowd, and so no one much worried about dancing twice in a row or being seen alone chatting on the balcony. She was not on the market.

The market did not care for her.

She did not much care for the market either, to be fair.

The sight of Keir’s legs in his kilt would not change that.

And anyway, Victor’s cheerful candor was refreshing. It had nothing to do with her and everything to do with the rules. There was many a fortune hunter who would have disregarded those rules for a crack at her dowry. Which was exactly why her parents let it be known that she did not have one.

It was not true. Her dowry and inheritance were substantial, but to protect her from fortune hunters and families who would not respect her or treat her well, they had chosen to hide it from Society.

Victor danced with more enthusiasm than finesse. Sybil laughed as he whirled her too fast and too wildly until they were both dizzy. They danced another set while Keir escorted Violetta to the refreshment tables and procured her a glass of ratafia, frowning at Sybil’s display. As ratafia was created by the devil himself, Sybil much preferred to keep dancing. She danced until her feet ached and her hair slipped its elegant twist, until her breath burned and she stopped seeing Keir’s hand clasped around Violetta’s waist.

“I heard a story about you today,” Victor said, thrusting a glass of champagne into her hand.

“I am quite sure you did,” Sybil replied drily. “I assure you, Lord Blackburn is not courting me.”

“Obviously.” Victor dismissed it immediately.

Hmph.

Valid. But hmph nonetheless.

“No, this is about Fortingham’s.”

“I was only there because the weather was dreadful,” Sybil said, forcing her tone to be light. Positively effervescent. “And then I could not help myself—I had to poke a little fun at the marquess. He is so proper. Was it terribly wicked of me, do you think?”

Victor laughed. “Blackburn deserved it, I’m sure. The man is dour.”

Sybil found she did not like that. It was suddenly very tempting to shove Victor’s head into the punch bowl.

Very tempting.

“No, it’s only that the betting book went missing last night.” He looked around furtively. “I should not say so out loud. It’s a secret. The club is terribly embarrassed.”

Ha! Good.

Sybil blinked. “Lord Bailey, are you asking me if I stole a… What was it? A book from the club? I did not think you read in such places.”

He studied her, then laughed again. “I suppose not. I fancied myself a hero returning with the booty, like the eagle standard of the Roman army.”

Sybil’s expression remained impassive. A touch bewildered.

“Never mind, Miss Taunton,” Victor added. “I am being a fool. Shall we dance more? I can almost feel my lungs again.”

Sybil smiled back. “Let’s.”

“What a shame you don’t have a dowry,” he sighed.

If one more person smiled at him in commiseration and suggested Sybil was a desperate wallflower no better than she should be, Keir would hold their head inside the punch bowl.

Even if it was a dowager who smelled like liniment.

Not to mention that he’d woken up to the rumor that he had three mistresses. By later afternoon, it was said he was caught frolicking with four different courtesans outside a brothel.

Keir did not have a mistress, never mind four courtesans. And he did not frolic.

Certainly not outside in winter.