Page 20 of Seduced by a Scoundrel (The Spinster Society #3)

“Y ou should have marked my name,” Keir muttered for the third time. “Not yours.”

They were warmly ensconced in the carriage. Sybil was feeling quite pleased with the evening’s work. Keir, less so. She snorted. “No one would ever believe that Lord Blackburn, Marquess of Decorum and Dignity, would keep company with such men. But they don’t know Lord Singleton well enough to make that judgment.”

“I don’t like it.”

She patted his thigh and tried not to be distracted by the feel of his warm, solid strength. “Cheer up, this might not work at all.”

“If only that were true. Your plans always work, in some way or another.”

She beamed at him. “I’ve missed you.”

He smiled, though the lines of worry between his brows did not budge. “I’ve missed you more.” He rubbed a hand along his jaw. “I do not like it, but I have to go home tonight for Sophie. I am very sure her newest chaperone did not last the day.”

“I did not care much for governesses and chaperones either,” Sybil said with some sympathy. “They quit at an alarming rate.”

“She will have to get used to it until she is back at school.”

“She does not care much for school either,” Sybil reminded him gently.

“She does not. But you cannot always get what you want. Even as a Montgomery.”

“Which would be reasonable advice if Sophie wanted a unicorn. All she wants is to be with her brother.”

Keir stared at her. “She scoffs at everything I say.”

“She is sixteen and scoffs at everyone. Not to mention, you do say a great many things that are scoffable.”

“Thank you so much, Lord Singleton.”

“You’re very welcome, Lord Blackburn.” She sighed, shaking her head. “You really don’t see it, do you?”

“Are you about to call me a pocket pig again?”

“Sophie gets herself sent down from school so she can be with you , you big, rock-headed lummox.”

“She does not like me.”

“She loves you.”

“She cannot possibly live in that dour old house. It’s not good for her.”

“It’s not good for you, either.”

He shrugged. “I’m used to it.”

“That’s the problem,” she insisted. “The house is exactly as it was when your father lived there. He haunts it far too comfortably. But it’s not his house anymore—it’s yours.” She meant every word and was a little disgruntled to find they applied to her as well. “I escaped that cellar. And you escaped your father. We need to act like it.”

He exhaled slowly. “You are annoyingly wise, Sybil.”

She flashed him a grin. “I also find it annoying.”

“I don’t know the first thing about raising a sixteen-year-old girl.”

“You’ll learn. She’s nearly raised; she just needs her big brother around. The rest will sort itself out.”

“You sound very sure.”

“I am. And if not, you can send her to Spinster House.”

“The soul shudders,” he teased.

“Doesn’t it? But for God’s sake, get someone in there to redecorate. And get rid of that ugly clock.”

“And the petal-thin teacups.”

“The crystal swan in the ladies’ retiring room.”

“There’s a crystal swan?”

“It’s hideous. And the size of a large dog.”

“It’s the first thing to go,” he assured her.

“Good. It has painted eyeballs. It gave me nightmares.”

“When were you up there?”

“When your father had those long, boring suppers and you snuck me in the back door. I might not know the fancy front of the house, but I am well acquainted with the back.”

“I’d forgotten about that. We stole the frosted cakes.”

“They were delicious.” She lowered her voice conspiratorially. “I snuck one under his pillow once.”

Keir smiled slowly. “I don’t remember that.”

“He had just sent you away to school. I was cross.”

“He ought to have known not to make you cross.”

“One of the maids told my mother’s lady’s maid that it took weeks to get rid of the ants.” She sat back, as proud as she had been at twelve years old. “He was furious.”

Keir frowned out of the window as the horses turned toward Mayfair. “I am loath to leave you alone tonight.”

“I am hardly alone. Between Pierce’s men and the footmen you sent, we are entirely out of room. It’s very crowded. Peony is not amused.”

“It’s not enough.”

“It’s more than enough. Anyway, Minos does not know that Singleton and Sybil are the same. No reason for the society to come for us tonight.”

“Except they came for you last night. And the day before.”

She shrugged. She might be concerned for the safety of her friends—and her own—but this Minos Society did not get to win. They did not make the rules. And she would not obey.

She would meddle and meddle and meddle until they fell apart like moth-eaten lace. Insubstantial. Weak.

“If you came home with me, it would not be an issue,” Keir said softly, barely loud enough to be heard over the rattling of the carriage wheels beneath them. His breath misted in the air even with the warmth from the heated and wrapped bricks at their feet.

Sybil shook her head. “Now you are just being absurd.”

“I am entirely serious.”

“Keir, even a spinster on the shelf, such as I am, cannot swan about flagrantly breaking rules like that. Not without consequences. You of all people know that. Even if I snuck in and out, there are risks.”

“Such as a hasty marriage.”

“Exactly.”

“Sybil, I want those consequences. That is a risk I am entirely comfortable with you making. Unlike challenging powerful men who are hunting you.”

He was so serious. So handsome. So Keir . Her stomach dropped but her pulse picked up. Her body was as confused as her mind.

“Let me convince you,” he added. It was tempting to let him try. She had never wanted anything more, in fact.

Instead, she sighed. “Have your coachman take us to Seven Dials. Or as near as he dares.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Why?”

“Please, Keir.”

“As you wish.”

Seven Dials was a crowded warren of narrow streets, houses barely holding each other up, the sky crisscrossed with lines of laundry. It teemed with residents who lived too many to a room, sometimes without a window or candle between them. Clean drinking water needed to be fetched from a well that was decidedly not clean. Safer and easier to drink at one of the gin mills or the flash houses that were a combination of pub, brothel, and criminal den. There was theft and violence—but no more than in Mayfair, as Sybil had discovered.

It was crowded, stinking of coal smoke and urine and the Thames and refuse. And it was cold, always in danger of burning down or falling down.

And for years, it had been Sybil’s home.

She took Keir to the alley now because she did not know how else to explain it to him.

There were so many versions of her. How to explain it when sometimes she could not explain it to herself? He had seen the truest version of her for so many years, but it had not been enough. And anyway, these other parts were real too. They were important. The spinster, the governess, the ill-treated companion, Lord Singleton. The flighty, messy adopted daughter. The street urchin.

Sometimes, it was a little complicated being Sybil Taunton.

Sybil Smith, as she was before the Tauntons.

It was a crowded business.

And it had started here. In a one-room flat with a window. Then a smaller room without a window. And finally, after her nan died of the same fever that claimed her mother, the alley.

And she was lucky.

Some part of her felt guilty that she had escaped. Had been plucked at random like a flower from the roadside. There was no rhyme or reason to it. She could have ended as a pickpocket, a prostitute. Or died of hunger long before that. It made her head hurt to think about it too long. Her chest ached.

Amandine always said the reason was that Sybil was her daughter, but it had taken her some time to find her, and it was as simple as that.

Sometimes, it was.

And sometimes she woke from hazy dreams of a grandmother she barely remembered, of her gray shawl. The sounds of coughing and dogs barking and the time she had burned her toes against a fire barrel because they were so cold she was afraid they were going to fall off. No one lived in the Dials because it was comfortable. Because it was safe. It was just there . And too often, that had to be enough.

Most houses did not have the means for cooking, no grate, no coin for coals. Definitely no ice box. But there were always street carts, selling meat pies, toasted muffins. She found one selling hot baked potatoes and handed him coins and a request to bring a potato to every child in the alley. She made the request several times a week, but he did not recognize Lord Singleton, only Miss Taunton. And he warned her every time that it was not safe for her. “Thank you, Tom.”

Keir had not spoken yet. He was too intent on watching her, while keeping an eye on the pickpockets who had spotted two flash culls from Mayfair with more money than sense. Even if one towered over everyone and looked as though he could crush a man’s skull with one hand.

“He’s no goldfinch to rob. I wouldn’t risk it,” Sybil warned, street cant returning. He was welcome to her coins, but she needed the list of names and those curious numbers to stay in her pocket. “Tell your Captain Tom.” She remembered the gangs of Seven Dials—even the children had their own. They had named themselves the Sixes and Sevens. And their Captain Tom was an older boy of twelve who protected them as best he could. She had tried to find him years later, but with no success.

One of the pickpockets blinked at her use of street cant in surprise, took in the width and breadth of Keir, and melted back into the shadows.

The rookery throbbed with sound at all times of the day and night: songs being sung, fights being fought, babies crying, dogs barking, shouts, threats, laughs. Sybil stopped at the mouth of the alley she knew best. Keir might be the size of a standing stone and she might be quick on her feet, but it wasn’t wise to wander the Dials. It wasn’t wise to stop too long in one spot, either.

“This is where I come from, Keir. And I’m not ashamed of it. There’s no shame in surviving, and that’s what everyone in the rookeries is trying to do. But the ton think differently. A girl from the gutter does not marry a marquess.”

There. It had to be said. Out loud. And right here, where the snow had already turned to muck and puddles gleamed with garbage. Where eyes watched them warily from doorways.

Keir turned slowly to pin her with his gaze.

“Did you think I would see this and be shocked? Disgusted?” he demanded. “Do you think so little of me?” He made a sound of frustration. “Of course you do—why wouldn’t you? I was an ass.”

“I’m not here to make you feel guilty,” she said. “I know who your father was. That’s hardly your fault.”

“And I know who you are.”

“Do you?” She had to laugh. “Because sometimes I don’t even know who I am.”

“Then I’ll tell you, shall I?” he said, nudging her away and down the street to a safer corner, where the carriage waited. “You are the bravest, kindest woman I know. You are appallingly messy. You steal the covers. You do not share cake. And I love you for it. All of it.”

The ice in her chest that had started melting earlier when he told her she was not too much, that he had not been enough, was gone now. She wasn’t cold even with the snow crunching under her boots, with her ankle aching.

“You can’t just turn your back on Society,” she said quietly. “I know you too, Keir.”

“Of course I can. Sybil, I followed those rules and became an insufferable prig to protect you. And then you were abducted. That rock through your window could have been a bullet. I’m going to keep protecting you, but I’m going to love you too, damn it. And Society can adapt or they can go hang.”

“It’s not that simple.” She waved her hand, encompassing the alleys teeming with dirt and desperation behind them.

“It’s even simpler. I love you. There is nothing simpler.”

He sounded so sure.

She wanted it to be enough.

“You’re scared,” he realized. “My little rebel, who never found a rule she did not relish breaking, is scared.”

“I’m not scared.”

She was terrified.

He smiled briefly. The ass.

“I will have you any way you choose, Sybil. I’m not ashamed of you. I am tired of hiding. I want the world to know you are mine and I am yours. But it’s enough that you know it.” He opened the carriage door. “For now.”