Sybill (24 page)

Knowing her desire was peaking, he moved to share her alluring body. As he felt the tempest roiling through her, he was immersed in the maelstrom. He captured her mouth to mingle her short breaths with his own. Windswept by the fervor imprisoning them, she was lost. Her identity blurred and merged to be one with the man she loved. Together they broke their earthly bonds to sample infinity. Even as she floated on the potent pulse of their passion, she was aware of him sharing the joy. It was truly perfection knowing that never again would they be totally separate. Their very souls were soldered together by the fire of their love.

Quick kisses against her face brought Sybill to full awareness from the hazy half-light of her happiness. Languidly, she ran a finger through the thickness of Trevor's beard. He turned his head and kissed it lightly. Her throaty laugh evolved into a giggle.

“You sound very pleased with yourself,” he commented with his normal dry wit.

“I should be.” The incongruity of their words brought a smile.

He laughed. “Aye, you should be if you feel as fine as I do.” His voice grew serious as he bent to kiss her again. “Sybill, your loving is as sweet as your name on my lips.”

Curling up next to him, she found she wanted to do nothing else. As languorous as her body felt, she doubted if she could do anything else. She breathed in the aroma of his male body and smiled. This was what she had been seeking all her life.

“How did you get all this here? You didn't sneak it out of the Cloister, did you?”

She leaned over him and kissed him playfully on the nose. “You will find, when you do the accounts this month, one entry to Mr. Malcolm Beckwith for services rendered.”

“Mac? Is
this
what you were talking to Mac about?” He laughed delightedly as he ruffled her curls, which drifted along one shoulder to rest on his skin. “Does everyone in the shire know what I was too stupid to guess?”

“No one knows. I told him I wanted to furnish this for a couple marrying at the Cloister.”

“And he accepted that explanation?”

She giggled. “At least, he didn't ask any other questions. No man has more questions than you, Trevor Breton.” She nestled against him and savored the caresses of his fingers along her bare skin. Her own settled on the warmth of chest near where her face rested. Within seconds, she decided this must be heaven.

“I have one more. What did you lose?”

“Lose?” She gazed up into his face so close to hers. His words startled her out of her pleasant memories of his love.

“You said you lost something here. Was that the truth or simply a ruse to seduce me into your sweet arms?”

With a smile, she brought his lips back to hers. “I did lose something here. I lost my heart to you, Trevor.”

Her words propelled his desires to the forefront again. This one bit of loving was not enough to satisfy his appetite for her. So long he had been ravenous for Sybill that he wanted to love her again and again until he was fulfilled. As he stared down into her sea-blue eyes, he wondered if he would ever have enough of her.

He did not want to think of the complications beyond this small building that she had made into the perfect place for their love. While he was with her, skin against warm skin, he did not want to imagine what would be the result if this were discovered. Knowing he should halt this love affair before their lives were twisted together more than they were already, he found himself reaching to pull her back into the secret world of their love. All reasonable thoughts drained from his head as his mouth covered hers. He reveled in the soft caress of her breath.

For whatever would happen, it was too late to turn back. He had found what he wanted, and he would risk everything to keep Sybill's love. If he had guessed he would be called to account for that vow, he would not have hesitated to make it. Nothing that would happen could change his mind about the love he found in her arms.

Chapter Twelve

“You look disgustingly happy today.”

Sybill did not bother to look up from her book. “If it bothers you so much, Kate, you don't have to make yourself miserable by staying here. Clara can handle everything today.” Pointedly she added, “She does every other day.”

“Only because I supervise her.”

“Oh, Kate, just go away!”

With a loud sniff, the maid stormed from the room. When she heard the door to Kate's room close, Sybill looked across the sitting room. She smiled as she saw Clara trying to hide her grin. “It's all right. Go ahead and laugh.”

“Miss Sybill, you are naughty.”

“Yes, I am.” Bending her head over her ledger, she shared her happiness with the neat rows of numbers.

She was naughty and adored, sneaky and satiated with the love Trevor had to give her. As summer had faded into the temperate days of fall, her desire for him simmered faster. The bewitchment which had tempted her to surrender had not lessened. Each day she urged the morning hours to flee past, so she could escape the walls of the Cloister to meet Trevor in the small hut that swelled with the rapture within it. The desperate love had altered to a slow sensuality as they explored each other and sought the boundaries of their love. They had not discovered its outermost limits yet. Each parting was bittersweet as they anticipated the next tryst after the long hours apart. In the Cloister, they tried to pretend nothing had changed. Sybill wondered sometimes if anyone was fooled. It did not seem possible that they could keep their perfect love secret.

After the midday meal, Sybill left the Cloister far behind her. Each day, she was careful to take a different, circuitous route to their hideaway. Often she stopped to put a flower on Joaquin's grave in remembrance of how he brought her a love she hoped he once had known.

Today she did not pause as she flew to Trevor's arms. She reveled in his gentle loving as he taught her of feelings she had not known existed. Warm in the gentle afterglow of their love, she thrilled in the open-hearted conversations which brought them a precious intimacy.

Running her fingers along the taut muscles of his chest, Sybill murmured, “This is a very special day.”

“I know. Six weeks we have been meeting here, my love. Six weeks of ecstasy.” He tweaked her nose. “Do you grow bored?”

“Never!”

“Nor do I.” Leaning her across him, he gazed up into her smiling face. “Every time we meet, I learn something new about the woman I love. Each day is a renewed pleasure.”

“I know nothing of you, Trevor. You know so much of me.”

He grinned roguishly as his fingers swept along her soft skin. “Aye, I know so much of you. I wish to know more.”

“Stop it! Be serious!”

“I am.” Rolling her back onto the soft pillows, he rose to look into her laughter-crinkled eyes. “I would love to know every bit of you more intimately than I know myself.”

“Then there would be no more of these delicious surprises.” She tilted his lips across hers for an unhurried kiss. Her fingers remained on his cheek as he raised his head. “Tell me about yourself.”

“There isn't much to tell. My father was a clerk in Liverpool for Lord Foxbridge. When I finished my schooling, I worked with the shipping that makes that city famous. My two brothers also work in that field, but not for Lord Foxbridge. I have a sister who is wed, with a houseful of children.”

She traced a path through his dark beard and across his chest. When she heard his sharp intake of breath, she felt the answering warmth deep within her. Before the waves of passion swept over her, she whispered, “But how did you become Owen's estate manager? This is so different.”

“As a lad, I did some work on farms around the city in exchange for fresh food for our table. He must have known of that, for he approached me nearly three years ago about the position. I have never regretted deciding to come to Foxbridge Cloister.” He smiled as his hand settled on the soft curve of her breast. “Especially now. If I had not come here, I would never have met you. Love me, my love.”

Her response was lost beneath his mouth.

Owen did not seem surprised to see Sybill standing in the morning sunshine at his door. “Come in.”

She recalled that she had not been in this sitting room since her arrival. That night and the angry woman seemed to belong to another life. She could not imagine leaving Foxbridge Cloister and the love she had found. “Owen, Marshall told me you were feeling poorly. Is there anything I can do for you?”

“Sit. Grace me with your charming company.” He pointed to a chair next to his own.

Spreading her burgundy skirts, she did as he requested. Her eyebrows reached for each other as she noted the gray tint of his skin. When she saw the half empty bottle of wine beside the chair, her concern turned to anger. Without asking his permission, she reached for it.

“Sybill!”

She ignored his shock at her forthright actions. He watched in amazement as she tugged on the bellpull. Giving the bottle to the servant who answered it, she told the lad merely that the lord was finished with it.

“Sybill, what are you doing?”

“Taking care of you!” she retorted coolly. “I saw too many in London ruin their health with too much wine. If you are ill, I will have Mrs. Dailey prepare a posset for you.”

He grimaced so violently at her suggestion that she laughed. “'Tis nothing. Just a bit of queasiness. Perhaps the same bad humor which has struck you this week.”

As she was about to sit again, she froze halfway to the chair. “How—how—did you know I wasn't feeling well?”

“Very little stays unknown long in the Cloister. Kate was concerned about you and came to tell me. She assured me that she would let me know if it became serious enough to call in Dr. York.”

Sybill wet her arid lips as she dropped into the chair. Trust Kate to note the slightest aberration in her normal behavior. That she had been suffering all week was something she had wanted no one to know until she could talk to someone who could help her. Kate was not that one. “I did not want you to worry,” she told him with a watery smile. “With the changeable weather, it's a wonder all of us aren't ill. I shall have your midday meal brought to you on a tray.”

Owen took her hand in his and stroked it. “Sybill, you care for me so sweetly. Is it too much for an old man to think that a beautiful child like you could love him?”

“Please, not now.” There was sorrow in her voice. “The love I have for you isn't the kind you want.”

Gently he relented. Instead he told her tales of the early years of the Wythes' residency at Foxbridge Cloister. The stories of the construction of the massive new addition soon had her laughing as he recounted mishaps and the adventures he had as a young boy scrambling over the stones and hindering the workmen. For the first time, she learned of his younger brother, who had died of typhoid during a visit to London. It helped her understand why he was so disappointed in his wayward son. They were the only Wythes alive.

Extracting a promise that he would rest, Sybill left Owen when his tray arrived. She bent to kiss the parchment dry skin of his forehead and tried to ignore the caress of his fingers on her waist. The touch sent a shiver of clammy sweat along her.

Sybill did not urge her horse to a trot as she normally did when she exited the main gate. She was not in a hurry, for she had to make a stop before she met Trevor. It was an errand she dreaded, but she knew she had no choice. Already she had delayed and cost herself many sleepless hours in the darkest nadir of the night.

The chickens clucked in the dooryard as she stopped before the crude cabin. As she had the first time, she noted the ornate lintel over the simple door. Her life had twisted in upon itself in ever more confusing, tightening circles since that day. Then she had come as a stranger and been welcomed as a friend. Today she needed that friendship like never before.

Her hand paused as she raised it to knock. Biting her lip, she closed her eyes and whispered a fervent prayer. She wished she could still the trembles controlling her body as the waves ruled the shore. Even as she rapped on the wood, she was fighting the impulse to flee.

“Miss Hampton, come in!” Mrs. Beckwith automatically offered her hospitality. The gray-haired woman had spoken to Miss Hampton when she saw her along the road. Often they had chatted easily of Goldenrod and the people they both knew. Except for the one time she had come with Trevor, the lass had not visited the Beckwith house.

Sybill hesitated before stepping into the small cottage. Her voice quivered as she asked, “Are you alone?”

“Aye. Mac is out in the fields, and Nancy has taken this week's eggs and cheese to the market in Foxbridge.”

Only when she heard that did Sybill enter. With her hands gripping her riding crop tightly, she wondered how she could ask the questions without compromising her secret. She sighed. There was no way. Perhaps if her mother had lived to teach here the things all maidens should know she would not have had to seek out this woman.

“Can I get you a mug of cider?”

“No, I have to meet—I am late—No, thank you.” Her jumbled words fell over one another as she fought to keep her lips from trembling.

Mrs. Beckwith's knowledgeable eyes widened further. Many lasses had come to ask for help. They all came for the same reason. Now it was the lord's ward who appeared on her doorstep. There was no way to soften the question, so she did not hesitate. “You fear you are pregnant, Miss Hampton?”

She nodded, not trusting her voice. Her eyes remained on the knots in the boards on the floor. Until she heard Mrs. Beckwith say the horrid truth aloud, she had tried to refute it. Now it was impossible.

“And you wish to end that pregnancy?”

“No!” she cried. She edged back toward the door, afraid of the evil she had heard hinted at by some of the women who visited her father's house. There were whispered asides of old women living in the most disgusting sections of London, who would, for a large sum of gold, rid a woman of an embarrassment.