Page 98 of Seduced By a Scoundrel

Her mother was not subtle.

The master of ceremonies raised his voice, as though he were announcing someone important. “Miss Sybil Taunton, daughter of Lord and Lady Wentworth.” He added the last in case anyone had forgotten. Sybil knew that he had been ordered to do so by her parents. A reminder that they would not tolerate any disrespect.

Sybil lifted her chin and entered the fray, trying not to feel like a minnow in the ocean, watching for sharks. The men of the Minos Society, as well as the other garden-variety fortune hunters, were on the move. She might not be able to see them, but she fancied she could feel the ripples, like water betraying what lurked beneath.

But she was a Spinster.

Not a minnow, not a sacrifice.

Tonight, a swan.

Always a Spinster.

And she had an army at her back, hidden throughout the hastily decorated ballroom. Peony stood behind a cluster of potted trees. Emmeline and Matilda circled the room, alert. Priya glowed in pale yellow, every glance a reminder that she probably knew more about you than you did. The footmen were all armed. Not as armed as the Spinsters, but still armed.

And Keir was with her.

She did not turn to look for him. He would be in the shadows, or pretending to speak to other gentlemen, pretending, pretending. He was tall enough to scan the crowd as it pressed closer.

She might be on display, bait dangling and flashing over the river during salmon running—but she had never been so well protected.

Or so eager to deliver a comeuppance.

Sybil greeted guests, acting shocked and humbled by her dowry. She accepted several offers to dance, two glasses of champagne, which she did not drink. And received an offer to be compromised in the cloakroom and do away with all of this courting nonsense.

The viscount in question, who assured her he had a country house and seven hunting hounds, paused. “Do you hear growling?”

Sybil bit back a smile.

The orchestra, hidden in a jungle of ferns, began to play. Violins, a cello, a harp. Three flutes. Masked dancers paired together. The group of ladies who approached her were also masked, but she had no trouble recognizing them. She knew their voices, their comments, their sharp little smiles.

“Miss Taunton, felicitations, dear,” Lady Shrewsbury said. She was not yet twenty and already a duchess. It lent her a certain social power she did not yet know how to wield kindly. “You must be so relieved.”

“I can’t think why your parents waited so long,” Lady Joan added.

“Yes, poor thing, but finally a dowry to offset your… Well, you know.”

“My childhood in an alley?” Sybil asked bluntly, mostly because she perversely enjoyed the way it made them squirm. This was not the way the social game was played. You did not say what you actually meant. You did not engage in a frontal attack. It was all feints and parries, sugar-sweet poison unless you could be sure of privacy. “That I was an orphan? The fact that I stole potatoes so I would not starve?”

The ladies blinked. Fans were fanned with more vigor. Between the blinking and the fanning, they might yet create a wind current. One of the swans floating above them began to circle more quickly.

Sybil continued to stare at them, refusing to drop her smile or smooth over the awkward silence. There were white rose petals under her shoes. “Was there something else you wished to say, ladies?”

A sniff. “We meant no harm, I am sure.”

“Don’t let a dowry go to your head, Miss Taunton. As you say, you are still a—”

“Miss Taunton,” Keir interrupted sharply. “I believe you have promised the waltz to me.”

Sybil bobbed a curtsy. “Of course, Lord Blackburn.” His legendary icy stoicism seemed to be slipping. His eyes burned, green as will-o’-the-wisps.

“Lord Blackburn, you are too kind to our Sybil,” one of the ladies cooed. “Such condescension from a marquess to a… woman.”

Keir offered his arm and led Sybil to the dance floor, his jaw ticking. “Since when do they talk to you like that?” he demanded.

Sybil shrugged one shoulder. “Since forever. It’s not the first time and it won’t be the last time.”

“Oh, it’s definitely the last time,” He said it with quiet menace.