There were moments, he had to admit, when he wondered if he was just the manifestation of her rebellion.
All three daughters of Downton had done it – Mary had her flirtations (and more, if you were to believe the rumours, although he wasn't certain if he did – he'd seen the way the girl looked at Matthew, an odd devotion coupled with the question of whether she was truly deserving or not), Edith her manipulations, and Sibyl had her political persuasions.
If he was a father, he'd pick Sibyl's rebellion any day – but then, he wasn't exactly a disinterested party. Part of him had enjoyed simply having someone to talk to about such things – and if you were going to talk to anyone about anything, you may as well pick a beautiful young woman.
And oh, she was beautiful. Most seemed to be taken with Mary – an obvious beauty, most certainly, no denying that – but Sibyl was, in his opinion, more beautiful than her sister.
Then again, he wasn't exactly a disinterested party...
There was definitely a warmth between them, light flirtation and genuine affection. There were moments when he wondered if she was going to approach him, propose some sort of arrangement, and he wondered if he'd have the strength to refuse her (or, at least, tell her "not yet".)
Then there were the other moments, when they happened to be alone (by circumstance, not plan) and she'd do something unconsciously affectionate – sweeping imaginary dust from his shoulder, smoothing his jacket, placing a brief hand on his arm when she spoke to him. She had already begun catching his elbow when she wanted his attention.
The worst part was that he was beginning to respond in kind – just yesterday, as he'd been about to help her dismount, he'd noted a stray curl and had been unable to resist tucking it behind her ear. He'd been aghast, about to apologise when she'd beamed at him, a gentle, adorable blush on her cheeks.
Moments like that made him feel suddenly very certain that he wasn't just a manifestation of her rebellion, that this thing between them – whatever it was – was real.
Which somehow made it all the worse, all the more dangerous.