Sybill (12 page)

“Sybill, it doesn't matter.”

“How can he give you this room when you do so much for him?”

“I'm only a servant here,” he reminded her without bitterness. “This is a servant's room.”

She leaned forward as she said, “But you are different, Trevor!”

“To you, perhaps.”

“No, to Owen. You should have a suite of rooms commensurate with your standing. If I spoke to Owen—”

His fingers tightened on hers until she gasped in pain. “No! Stay out of this, Sybill. I don't want you to ask for favors for me. It's too dangerous for you to be obligated further to Lord Foxbridge.”

“I know.” She needed to add nothing more.

He stared into her uneasy eyes. Both of them knew how foolish it was to be together, but they had to sort out the turmoil they had been thrown into by a simple kiss. Lord Foxbridge's actions showed he was aware of the attraction between the two who ran his household. His arrangement for dinner announced his intentions to prevent it from growing into more.

Choosing his words carefully, Trevor said, “Sybill, you don't have to answer this question if you don't want to. What I am asking is none of my business.”

“Go ahead,” she urged, sure of what he planned to say.

“Lord Foxbridge is making it no secret he would like to keep you as his wife. Have you changed your mind on that?”

Gently she shook her head. “No. I don't know what I want, but I know marrying Owen is not right for me.”

“I thought so.” He paused, then hurried on, “Sybill, what happened in the library today. It—it—”

“Was wonderful.”

He grinned at her enthusiastic response. It told him what he needed to know. Whether what they shared would ever become more, he did not care. He had to know if she was willing to risk her security to take a chance without promises. Rising, he brought her smoothly to her feet. Her wide skirts drifted around his legs as his mouth descended to cover hers. His arms tightened around her so he could feel the softness of her body close to him.

She let her fears drift away as the bewitchment of his mouth against her skin revived the passions he had woken. While his lips savored the responsive surface of her neck, her hands stroked his broad back.

“Sweet Sybill, you drive me to madness.”

Drawing away from him enough to view his smiling face, she murmured, “That does not sound complimentary.”

He stroked her cheek, brushing the strands of her ebony hair from her face. “It is. You are in my mind every moment of the day. The echo of your laughter brightens the time when we are apart.”

“Trevor—”

Her whispered voice was interrupted by a knock and a repetition of his name. “Trevor?” came a voice from the far side of the door.

Fear wiped the tender emotion from her face as her hands clutched convulsively on his arms. She could not be discovered in Trevor's room. What Owen might do, she did not want to imagine.

“Just a moment!” he called. Lowering his voice, he whispered, “Don't worry. Come with me.”

She froze as he walked toward the door. Only when he pointed to a spot which would be hidden when the door opened did she move. Pressing her back to the wall, she drew her wide skirts close to her body. She silently cursed the collar ruff which rustled so loudly in her ears.

Her eyes did not move from Trevor's profile as he cracked the door enough to speak to the woman in the corridor. Biting her lower lip, she commanded her heart to stop pounding. She was sure everyone in the Cloister must be able to hear it.

“Good evening, Joan.” His pleasant tone did not give a clue to anything being amiss.

“Trevor, he wants to see you
now
!”

“Lord Foxbridge? What does he want?”

Sybill could envision the lifting of the maid's shoulders in answer. “That is the only message. Trevor, I would hurry. I have never seen him so agitated. If he overdoes, he could hurt his heart again. I don't know what an old man like that is doing chasing the skirts of—”

“I cannot stay to gossip.” The cold words were clearly a reprimand.

“Of course,” she responded tartly. “I just thought you should suggest to him that he might want to take it easier in his courtship of Miss Sybill. If he kills himself, it will be his licentious son we must bend our knee to.”

“Joan! Enough for now.” He could feel Sybill's distress as if it were his own. “Run ahead and tell Lord Foxbridge I'm coming.”

Her pout was visible in her words. “Trevor, I planned to meet Neal—”

“Your lover can wait a few minutes for you. Go.”

“All right!” The angry sound of her wooden shoes resounded loudly as she stamped toward the stairs.

Trevor sighed as he closed the door. His eyes went directly to Sybill's ashen face. “You knew there would be talk,” he said reasonably.

“I knew, but to hear it …” She shook her head. “I didn't want to come to Foxbridge Cloister, for I feared there would be trouble.”

“I am glad you came.” He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and turned her into his embrace once more. “No matter what comes to pass, I'm glad you came here.”

“Owen wants to see you,” she said regretfully as he bent to kiss her

With a smile, he said, “He, like Joan's lover, will be able to wait a few moments.”

Desperately she clung to him, seeking within his kiss healing for her wounded heart. Of all the men who had entered and exited her life, Trevor was the only one she was sure she could trust. Even her father had betrayed her by refusing to share the burden which drove him to end his life.

“Sybill, it will be fine.” He wished he could ease her unhappiness. “I will help you convince him that you have no wish to be his Lady Foxbridge.”

“Will you?” Her face lit with joy.

“Of course.” He tweaked her nose playfully. “Now we have to return you to your rooms without you being seen.” When she stiffened in his arms, he laughed. “Trust me, Sybill. I would not have brought you up here if I thought I would ruin your reputation.”

She put her hands on both sides of his face. The soft texture of his beard teased her palms as she stared into his eyes. As if it was the most sacred vow, she stated, “I trust you, Trevor.”

“I promise you I will never give you cause to regret that,” he replied as quietly. A sudden, mischievous grin made him look like a boy. “Shall we go before Lord Foxbridge sends for me once more?”

Her laughter wafted along the hall, but none of the doors opened to investigate. Not one of the servants would guess that the lady of Foxbridge Cloister was skulking hand-in-hand with her guardian's estate manager. When Trevor wished her a good night's sleep, he squeezed her fingers briefly and was gone. Sybill floated on the wings of her bliss into her room.

Kate may have been shocked to see her bemused expression, but said only, “You certainly look as if you had a fine time this evening.”

“This evening?” She smiled as she recreated the delight of Trevor's kisses. “It was a wonderful evening, Kate.”

The maid gave her a queer glance, but said nothing else. It would appear everything was happening exactly as Lord Foxbridge planned. That should not have surprised her, for she had learned he was a man who would do all he could to gain what he wanted. There were exciting times ahead for Foxbridge Cloister. The round woman was humming to herself as she stored Miss Sybill's clothes. Yes, exciting for all of them.

Chapter Six

“Come in!”

Sybill heard the excitement in her guardian's voice and entered the library cautiously. Her growing distrust warned her to be careful. When Owen motioned for her to sit, she did so gingerly.

“I have good news for you.”

“Good news?” she repeated as she regarded his anticipation. “Have the English sent the Spanish navy back home?”

He waved aside her concerns about the tense political situation. “Don't worry about that, my dear. If they come, the Spanish fleet will sail toward London. They will never reach here. I doubt that King Philip's supposedly invincible Armada can best our finest sailors.”

“But Trevor said he had heard—”

“I do not want to hear it, Sybill! You do not need to repeat everything he tells you as the gospel truth.”

She recoiled from his sudden spurt of rage. “Owen, it isn't that. I'm worried, because I know so many in London.”

“You worry about them when they turned their backs on you?”

“Owen!” His words brought back the knife-sharp pain of betrayal she had been able to forget as she discovered her love for Trevor. Although her voice trembled, she said quietly, “Just because they were cruel doesn't mean that I wish them to suffer an attack by our nation's enemies.”

“No, no, of course not,” he replied absently. He was taking no pains to hide that he found this discussion boring. “Don't distress yourself about the Spanish. They won't take Foxbridge Cloister. I have made plans already.”

“Plans?”

He took her fingers and held them between the damp curves of his palms. “I said that you shouldn't distress yourself, Sybill. I prefer to see you with a smile on your pretty face. You are happy here, aren't you?”

“I am.” She was pleased she could tell the truth.

“I have seen how you and Trevor work so perfectly together. It is as if you can anticipate what the other needs without words.”

“I enjoy working with Trevor.”

“I'm sure you do. The rest of the household staff enjoys your supervision also. It was fortunate for me that you came to join my household, Sybill.” His finger reached out to trace the oval shape of her face. He did not seem to note the rigidity of her back as he grinned more broadly, his eyes disappearing in the wrinkles that normally gave his face dignity. “I like it best when you smile. Wear that expression when your portrait is painted.”

“Portrait? What portrait?”

He smiled as she withdrew her suddenly cold hands from his. “There's no need to make it complicated, my dear. My words were simple. I wish to have your portrait painted.”

Sybill did not note her fingers twisting the cord that dropped from her belt as she murmured, “But, Owen, I'm not a member of your family.”

“Not officially, but you are my ward. I would like to be able to see your pretty face in the drawing room.” When she gasped in shock that he would choose that most public, formal room as the site for her portrait, he added, “To tell you the truth, Sybill, I agreed to hire this portraitist as a favor to Baron Milford. Who else can he paint?”

“Anyone!”

“Come, come, my dear. What is the problem?”

She lowered her eyes. She could not speak the truth nor could she accuse him of lying. This painter was not coming to Foxbridge Cloister because of an agreement between Owen and Baron Milford. More than once, she had heard Owen speak of how useless the baron was. He would not do the baron a favor. She was sure of that, but she would check with Trevor. He would know from the lord's correspondence.

Owen had a reason to want her enshrined at the Cloister. She knew all too well what it was. He wanted to marry her. She did not understand why. He was older than her father and knew she did not love him.

“Tell me, Sybill, what is bothering you.”

With a faked smile, she said, “Forgive me. There is no problem.” That was the truth. There was no problem she could discuss with him. Perhaps sitting for the portrait would give her time to think through this increasingly confusing life. It could not obligate her more than she already was.

“Good. He will be here within the week. I have ordered a new gown for you to wear.”

“Another?” His generosity frightened her. This was not the treatment a penniless ward should receive. Any women in her destitute situation should expect nothing more than a garret room and hard labor to repay her guardian for the crumbs he granted her.

Owen stood. Placing his hand on her head, he tilted it back so she was forced to meet his eyes so far above hers. “It pleases me to see you lovely.”

“But it is so expensive.”

“It is my wealth.” His voice grew as cold as a wintry morning as he added, “It's better I spend it instead of Christopher. You deserve this small gift more than he deserves the generous allowance he spends too quickly in London.”

The mention of his son gave her hope. Rising, she said, excitedly, “Recall Christopher to Foxbridge Cloister. Have the painter do a portrait of him, Owen.”

Shaking his head, he put his hands on her shoulders. “No, I don't want Christopher here. He is a disruptive influence at best. I have learned it is wiser to leave him in the city where he can get into trouble that does not impact on the harvest.”

“But, Owen—” she began.

“Not another word, my dear. I must ride into Foxbridge to tend to a matter which Trevor feels I should investigate. Have a pleasant day.”

“Thank you,” she said automatically.

Sybill stared after him as he left. The open hatred for his son startled her. She had known Owen was unhappy with his heir's lifestyle, but had guessed only dissenting opinions kept them apart. Every day she was discovering Owen Wythe differed from the man she thought him to be.

She went to the desk and unstopped the ink bottle. Picking up a quill and a piece of paper, she penned a quick note. She closed it with the heavy seal Trevor used for all correspondence leaving the Cloister. Any break in it would be instantly obvious. In the hallway, she reached for the bellpull. She paused as she saw Clara Pekins emerging from the drawing room with a dusting cloth in her hands.

“Yes, miss?” the maid asked with a quick curtsy.

“This message is for Mr. Breton. Do you know where he is?”

“Aye, miss.”

“Good. Deliver it to him at once.” Sybill's voice softened to her normal tones as she added, “Thank you, Clara.”