Sybill (11 page)

Owen responded tightly, “Good day. I hope you have that letter completed. I want to send it to Mallory in this packet.”

“It is nearly done.”

“Nearly?” His face twisted as he tried to swallow his rage. “I told you how important that letter to the barrister was. You have had hours to complete it.” He picked up a page from the desk. “What have you been wasting your time on? Estate accounts? This is not your handwriting.”

Reluctantly he said, “No, m'lord. Sybill came to ask my help.” He allowed himself a short laugh. “She had trouble understanding the meaning of a few of my abbreviations.”

“Sybill?”

“Yes, m'lord.” Trevor fought to keep his lips from turning down in a frown.

The change in Lord Foxbridge when the woman's name was mentioned was remarkable. From the eagerness on his face, it was obvious he could think of nothing or no one else. The change had not been gradual. Nearly from the time she arrived, Lord Foxbridge took no pains to hide that he wanted Sybill Hampton. It had been those strong emotions more than the rumors of her father's life that had tricked Trevor into believing she was a fortune hunter.

Owen's narrowed eyes glittered with an emotion his aide could not read. Leaning forward to place his hands on the desk, he asked, “Do you enjoy working with Sybill?”

“It's always pleasant to work with someone who knows the job well.” He was pleased to be able to speak the truth, but was uncomfortably aware of the woman's presence in the room.

“I thought you would get along well together.” He rubbed his gem-bedecked fingers against the front of his doublet. Taking one of the rings off, he dropped it on the desktop. “Have this sent to London and reset.”

“Reset? How?”

He smiled. “I will put together my needs in a letter for the goldsmith. Just package it so it will arrive without being stolen.” As if relieved to have business out of the way, he asked, “Do you know where Sybill is? I want to ask her if she needs anything from London.”

“She is here, m'lord.”

“Here?”

Trevor did not back down from the livid stare. Calmly, he stated, “I told you she came—”

“You did not—Never mind!” He spun about to see the silhouette at the window. “Finish that letter immediately,” he threw over his shoulder as he went toward the young woman.

“Aye, m'lord,” he answered with sudden fatigue.

He could not interpret Lord Foxbridge's vacillating moods. In the same breath that he made it clear he wanted Sybill and Trevor to have as little interaction as possible, the older man spoke of his pleasure at hearing his ward was enjoying her work with him. Trevor bent his head to his task, but could not keep from eavesdropping. With difficulty he concentrated on the letter he was writing to the lord's personal barrister, requesting him to be prepared to visit the Cloister at an undetermined time in the future.

“Sybill, my dear, what are you doing in this gloomy room on such a lovely day?”

“Reading.” She was afraid if she said too much she would betray what had taken place only minutes before. As she smiled at Owen, she wondered how these same lying lips could have been so honest when Trevor held her close.

“I thought you and Trevor—”

With a laugh, she interrupted him. “He helped me for a while, but he has more important duties. When he returned to those, I decided to read for a while.”

He tilted the book to read the title on its spine. “You read Homer in the original Greek?”

“Greek?” She fought to keep the spasm of dismay from her face, but her voice squeaked to lay her falsehoods open before him. Hastily she added, “No, I do not read Greek. I was simply enjoying the lovely illuminations.”

“Yes, it is a beautiful book.” He sat beside her. “And you make a beautiful picture sitting here enjoying it.”

Lowering her eyes from his, which seemed to see too much, she whispered, “Thank you, Owen.”

“I have embarrassed you. Forgive me.” He put his fingers beneath her chin.

With a gasp, she jerked her head away and leapt to her feet. His motion echoed Trevor's when he kissed her so sweetly. She did not want anything to detract from that precious memory.

“Sybill?”

She smiled weakly. “It's nothing. I must get back to work.”

“I did not intend for you to slave for me, my dear.” His pale eyes glistened in the sunlight as he smiled. “It is not as if you are an employee.”

Hoping the shadows concealed her high color, Sybill fought her rage. Trevor could hear Owen's words, which were spoken without compassion. Her loyalty might be misplaced, but she did not like hearing her guardian disparage the man she was learning to care for so strongly. “I like the work, Owen. Excuse me.” Slipping the book back into the shelf, she hurried to the desk. She scooped up her papers. “Thank you for your help, Trevor.”

“Anytime, Sybill,” he answered, aware as she was of the man who would be listening. “I will see you at dinner.”

“Yes.” She managed to keep the excitement from her voice. The door of the library shut silently behind her, leaving both men with their thoughts.

Sybill dressed for dinner with great anticipation. For the first time, she rued the dark hues of her gowns. Tonight she would have enjoyed looking pretty for Trevor and seeing the loving glow in his eyes as he watched her. Although she always enjoyed the meals with Trevor and Owen, tonight she could not still the tremble of her hands as she thought of being with Trevor again.

Even when Kate snapped at her for not standing still as she closed the many hooks along the back of her gown, Sybill could think of nothing but her joy. Often Owen would retire early. She prayed tonight would be one of those nights.

Opening the middle drawer of her dressing table, she drew out her treasured jewelry box. Inside were the pieces she had smuggled out of her home. She was smiling as she picked up a pearl necklace. On her violet frock, it would appear as lovely as the first snowfall.

“You are wearing that?”

She turned to see Kate's astonished face. “Is there a problem?”

“You were so concerned with going from black to purple, but you seem to have no problems with wearing white jewelry.”

“Wearing a necklace does not hurt my father's memory.”

Kate sniffed as she picked up the clothes Sybill had taken off. “All I can say, Miss Sybill, is that you do not resemble a girl who has lost her parent.”

“What do I resemble?” She leaned forward to check her hair in the mirror.

“A woman in love.”

Sybill's voice dried up as she stared at the reflection. She could see Kate's cold smile before the maid turned to the task of rehanging the dress and petticoats. Glancing at her own face, she saw Kate spoke the truth. The happiness within her could not be hidden. It reminded her of how vulnerable she was. Finally she managed to say, “Don't be silly! I must be going, or I will be late.”

“Have a pleasant meal, Miss Sybill.”

She nodded but did not reply as she went out of the room. All her happiness was dimmed by her fear of others discovering what she had been foolish not to mask. Determined to be more careful, she went down the stairs.

Pausing to gain her composure, she looked at the stained glass window on the landing. It was a masterpiece. The pale green in the family crest matched the uniforms of the staff. In the middle floated a herald flag divided into four quarters decorated with the Lancastrian rose, a fleur-de-lis, and a feather to denote the wisdom the family treasured. Two wolves, each taller than her, held the flag.

She shivered as she stared at their bared fangs. Although she understood the desire of the Wythes to choose such a brave animal as part of their crest, the vicious creatures made her uneasy. She preferred the slobbering glee of Goldenrod when he loped to meet her. Turning her back on the window, she continued to the ground floor.

The hallways were ghostly in the thin light of the candles placed along the walls. She walked from one pool of light to the next. It surprised her that she met no one. Usually the corridors were abuzz as the servants rushed to finish their last chores.

She entered the strangely dark dining room. Overhead, sleeping in the dark, hung the chandelier which normally glowed brightly with its glass prisms sending luminescence to the farthest corners of the room. A single pair of wax candles lit a spot at one end of the table.

Sybill nearly screamed as a hand touched her shoulder. With a shaky laugh, she breathed, “Owen, you startled me!”

“Forgive me, my dear. It was not my intention.” He took her fingers in his cool palm and raised them to his equally chilly lips.

“Is there a problem?”

He laughed as he saw her head swivel about to view the darkened room. “With the lighting? No, no problem. I thought this would be far more cozy as we dined alone.”

“Alone? Without Trevor?” She regretted the words as soon as she spoke, for her disappointment was vivid in them. In the half light she could see the tightening of Owen's jaw.

“He is busy tonight in Foxbridge.”

“Oh,” was all she could say. She did not believe him. Never had she thought Owen might be lying to her. Now she knew he was.

He kissed her hand once more. “It gives us a chance to learn more about each other. You and Trevor have had an opportunity to establish a good working relationship. It is time you spend some uninterrupted time with me.”

“Of course.” Even to her own ears her words sounded false, as she said, “That would be wonderful. Shall we sit down?”

When he did not reply, she looked up at his face. It startled her each time she realized he was as tall as Trevor. Lord Foxbridge seemed diminished by the innate strength of his estate manager. She gasped as he pulled on her fingers and brought her against him. “No!” she gasped. “Owen, please.”

Instantly he released her. When she moved toward the table to put the massive surface between them, he did not stop her. Instead he followed and pulled out her chair as if nothing had happened.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“You are welcome, my dear.” When he was seated, he smiled. “Don't look so frightened. I didn't mean to overwhelm you.”

She fought to smile back at him, but it was impossible. Picking up her napkin, she mumbled, “It is all right.”

“Do you have someone you love, Sybill?” When her head jerked up in shock, he added, “You have never spoken of a suitor.”

“There is no one.” Too many people spoke of love; she was not sure of her feelings.

“Don't worry. You are young. Love will come to you.”

“I'm not worried.” She gazed at him as she tried to sort out the direction of this baffling conversation. “Marriage is something I have not thought about much.”

His smile broadened. “Leave that to your guardian, Sybill. As your surrogate father, I will be sure that you find a husband who will adore you and give you a rich life.”

“Thank you.” She did not know what else to say. Everyone in Foxbridge Cloister knew exactly what husband Lord Foxbridge planned to find for his ward. With no effort to hide her discomfort, she changed the subject. Anything would be better than this horrible topic.

Throughout the meal, she felt Owen's light blue eyes on her and knew that what he was speaking of was not what was on his mind. Whenever he attempted to turn the conversation back to her future, she adroitly spoke of something else. Although he asked her to join him in the solarium for a glass of wine, she begged off, citing fatigue from her long hours of working. Graciously he accepted her refusal and rose politely before she left the room.

Sybill fled along the hallway to the stairs. As she ran up the steps, her skirts bunched in her hands, she kept her eyes on the risers. When she bumped into a hard form, she nearly slipped. A warm laugh cut through her panic. She stared at Trevor's smiling face.

He asked lightly, “Do you intend to make it a habit for me to rescue you on the staircase, Sybill?”

“You are here!”

“Obviously.” His smile faded at her shock. “Sybill?”

“He told me you were going to Foxbridge. That is why you didn't eat with us tonight.”

“Lord Foxbridge told me—Never mind. Come with me.” Taking her arm, he led her up the stairs into the warm shadows of the upper corridor. He did not speak as he led her to a door she had never opened. When she saw another set of steps disappearing upward, she glanced at him questioningly. He urged her to follow him up the narrow steps.

The third floor was far different from the lower ones. None of the ostentation of downstairs had been wasted on what was merely quarters for the servants and storage. Fewer candles burned in the sconces on the wall. No rugs covered the stone floors, and the doors were plain.

“What are we doing up here?”

“Shh!” He put his finger to her lips as he motioned with his head to the left. Holding her hand, he drew her along the corridor. When he opened a door, he ushered her into a room as spartan as the hallway. Her eyes noted the narrow bed which was little more than a pallet raised on legs. Other than that, the only furniture was a chest and a chair. The floor was as bare as the walls.

She whirled when she heard him close and bar the door. “Trevor, what are you doing? What is this place?”

“This, my dear Miss Hampton, is my home.”

“You live here?” She looked about, her astonishment visible on her face. This horrible room was not what she expected Trevor would have. The disparity between her rooms and his simple quarters refused to be ignored.

He smiled, but the expression could not disguise the concern in his eyes. “Sit down. You and I need to talk.”

Uncomfortably she perched on the hard chair as he sat opposite her on the cot. Despite herself, she could not help staring again at the empty walls and rickety furniture. When she felt his warm fingers reaching for hers, she returned her gaze to his face.