Sybill (28 page)

“But, my lady, you will obey m'Lord Foxbridge's orders from now on, won't you?” With a laugh, the maid reached for the bell pull. She did not have to tug on it. The threat was enough. If Sybill did not cooperate now, she would be forced to do so.

Her icy hands pressed against her hot cheeks as she stared at Kate. Backing away, she bumped into the settee and moaned as the wood cut into her hip. The sound of Kate's victorious laugh was like a sword slicing through her. She had been ill-served by the one she once trusted nearly as much as Trevor. “Why?” she whispered.

The maid smiled. “It's simple, my lady. I wish to stay at Foxbridge Cloister. If you married that yeoman, we would have found ourselves in some hovel. It was not difficult to convince you that the one you longed for had deserted you. I knew you would accept the lord's proposal when you thought Mr. Breton would never return.” She held open the door. “Come, my lady. It's time for your wedding. Your lord is waiting.” Her laughter was loud in the empty hallway.

Sybill considered balking. It was useless. Kate would not dare to be so forthright about her treachery if she had not had the support of Owen Wythe. With a shiver of fear, she wondered how much her soon-to-be husband knew of her love for Trevor.

Walking down the stairs, the differences between the wedding she had dreamed of having and this one became increasingly clear. Instead of being married on the church porch surrounded by her friends and family, the ceremony would take place in the drawing room. There was a chapel in the old section of the Cloister, but Owen had been adamant that he would not marry her in a room that, in his words, “reeked of popery.” There was no gaiety and singing as she walked to meet her intended. No bridal cup to be passed among the celebrants to loosen their tongues for the party to follow.

She paused by the window. Her eyes settled on the motto beneath the two wolves. “Always Prepared, Truth's Champion.” She could hear the words spoken in Trevor's voice the first morning the window was in place.
Today she was neither, but soon she would be a Wythe
.

The room was crowded with servants. At the far end, the minister stood before the hearth. For a moment, she stood in the doorway as she closed her eyes and said a quick prayer to strengthen herself for the ordeal which was just beginning. She opened them to see the portrait of her far more innocent self gazing at her. Somehow she was going to have to dampen the thrill within her each time she saw Trevor. Never again could she touch his warm skin, taut over well-honed muscles. The caress of his beard against her breast was something she had to put from her mind.

A soft sob of pain slipped from her lips as she thought of the love she was losing. Trevor's fired kisses and his enrapturing touch would be lost forever. She knew Owen's loving would never bring her such ecstasy.

Kate's hand in the small of her back urged her forward to meet her betrothed. As Sybill walked across the endless expanse of empty floor, she did not hear the voices singing or see the smiles on the faces of those who could not guess the true state of the bride's heart. Placing her hand in Owen's, she turned to listen to Reverend Sears. As he went through the rite, she was oblivious to it. She answered when required and held up her left hand when Owen placed a ring on her finger.

Tears ran unchecked as he slid over her knuckle the gimmal ring designed in the popular style. Two hands of gold held an emerald in the shape of a heart. The significance was simple. Two hands sharing one heart. The only problem was her heart had been given into the safekeeping of another who did not believe she loved him. She heard murmurs from those who saw the wetness coursing along her face. She knew most would see them as tears of joy. Trevor and she had been so careful to hide their love, nobody would realize she was mourning its death tonight.

While the minister gave his wedding sermon, discoursing at length on the duties of marriage, she stared straight ahead. Although she knew Owen wanted her to look at him, for he tugged clandestinely on her fingers, she did not remove her eyes from their sightless gaze at the wall. Through the long sermon, she did not move.

After the benediction, the minister passed the bridal cup to the groom. Taking it, Owen took a sip and handed it to Sybill. For the first time, she looked directly at him. His smile was the antithesis of her sorrow. Raising the cup to her lips, she saw the rosemary floating in it. She could not swallow past the lump in her throat, so she did not drink. Whom she passed the cup to, she did not see. Her eyes closed as she felt Owen's hands on her shoulders.

Although she wanted to scream out her protests, she knew there was nothing she could do. She was Owen's wife. Remembering that Trevor had not once spoken of any future for them, she held up her lips for her husband's kiss.

“My dear wife,” he whispered before he placed his mouth against hers very lightly.

Cheers broke out in the room. For the staff, this wedding seemed the perfect solution. The lord had been lonely for years, since his wife died, and Sybill needed a home. Together they would bring happiness to the Cloister.

Sybill drifted through the wedding feast only half aware of what she said or to whom she spoke. She did not doubt that any errors she made would be laughingly dismissed as those of a bride nervously facing her wedding night. She ate only because she recalled Mrs. Beckwith's words always to think first of her child. The wonderful food prepared by Mrs. Dailey's staff tasted like cold ashes in her mouth. Listening to the toasts, she wished it were someone else they were fêting.

Her hand in Owen's trembled when he led her to the master suite. During the day, she had watched as Clara made all the trips with Sybill's possessions from the rooms which once had been hers to the ones she would share with her husband.

Her husband! She wanted to deny the words, but it was too late. All her errors must be faced tonight. It would have been so easy if she had been the woman Trevor accused her of being. Then she would have let Owen think the baby was his. As he would. Trevor would not guess it was his child, for he had trusted her to tell him the truth.

When the doors of the master suite closed behind them, she watched her husband walk to the door of the main bedroom. He held out his hand to her. “Come with me, Sybill.”

Dampening her dry lips, she obediently went toward him. He was her husband. She had promised to love him and be his wife for as long as they both lived. That she loved another man was something she had to forget.

Owen smiled as he took her fingers and raised them to his lips. “My dear Sybill, I know you are very aware of what awaits you beyond this door.”

“I am your wife, Owen.”

His hands brushed her curls from her face as he had so often. She fought to keep from flinching. Her eyes closed as he leaned toward her, but he kissed her gently on the cheek. “Tell me the truth.”

“About what?” She did not mean to be coy, but she had so many secrets to hide.

“You and Breton are lovers, aren't you?”

“Owen!” she gasped. It was the last question she had anticipated when they stood hand-in-hand at the door to their bedroom.

He took her face in his hands and tilted it back so he could see her distress. “If it helps, Sybill, I know the truth. You have been lovers since early fall, haven't you?”

She lowered her eyes and nodded her head. As she felt his hands slip to her shoulders, she wondered why he had not asked her this before they had taken their vows. If he knew, she could not understand why he had insisted that she marry him.

“When will your child be born?” he asked in a purely conversational tone.

“How—?” Her face turned gray with shock. Putting out a hand to the doorjamb, she fought the nausea rising through her.

He laughed as he walked toward the hearth. Easily he sat in his favorite chair and motioned for her to take another. “I assume Breton doesn't know. He has no signs of the exultant, expectant father.”

“No, Owen. He does not know.” She dropped to her knees by his chair. With her hands on its arm, she looked with supplication into his face. “He hates me.”

“Hates you? That seems odd. Is that why he took your virginity from you?”

Her blush betrayed her. Burying her face in her arms, she leaned against his knees and began to cry. “I'm sorry, Owen. I should have told you before—”

Taking her face in his time-wrinkled hands, he drew it up so he could see her shattered features. “But, my dear, I wouldn't have wanted to marry you if you weren't in this condition.”

“I beg your pardon?” she gasped.

“I need you pregnant. Why do you think I pushed you and Trevor together from the beginning, my dear?”

“From the beginning? From the time I arrived?”

“Do you think I invited a penniless maiden to my home out of generosity?” He chuckled shortly as his eyes moved along her. “That is one thing I knew. You were a virgin. Your father bragged of that to me when I saw him last, and he told me how he was going to approach your mother to gain you a titled husband.”

“My mother? My mother is dead!”

A mysterious grin tugged at his lips as he asked only, “Is she?”

She stared at him in disbelief. “I don't understand.”

“You never did.” He laughed loudly, his eyes glittering with delight. “I didn't think Alfred Hampton's daughter would be unwilling to enjoy a little entertainment with a very handsome, virile man like Breton. Yet you were different than what I expected. A true lady. I began to despair that you would never surrender to him.”

“But why?” Her eyes beseeched him to tell her this was all a joke. “Why would you want me to be Trevor's, then marry me?” Her voice broke as she whispered, “I don't understand.”

“I need an heir to supplant Christopher.” His hand pressed possessively against her abdomen. “This child will be known as mine, although we alone will know the truth.”

Fearful of the change in him, she started to rise. His hand on her arm became a manacle holding her to his chair. With a gasp of pain, she dropped back to her knees. His arm swept around her and drew her mouth under his. There was nothing fatherly about his kiss. Involuntarily, she tried to pull away as his tongue invaded her mouth. While one hand held to the chair, the other caressed the curves of her body, settling on the gentle roundness of her breast.

Against her lips, he murmured, “Sybill, you are so desirable. I remember when your mother was your age, and how I yearned to possess her. If I had, then you might have been my daughter instead of my wife.”

“My mother?” she gasped and pulled away. “You knew my mother?”

“Not as well as I wished.” His finger traced the line of her high cheekbones before dropping once more to caress her. With a sigh of regret, he murmured, “I can't bed you as I would wish. It was not Edith who suffered most from the riding accident, but me. It stripped me of my ability to share your sweet body. Yet you have given me what I need.”

“You mean you married me
only
because you guessed I was pregnant?” Sybill was growing more and more confused. It did not seem possible this was happening. She had fought the demons of her conscience, which had urged her to tell Owen of her condition before she married him. The guilt, the bitterness, the self-hatred had been for naught. He wanted her exactly as she was.

He smiled, but did not answer her question. Kissing her lightly on the lips, he released her. “Go to bed, dear wife. The second bedroom has been prepared for your use. It was a lovely wedding, and I know you must be exhausted. We must make sure you take especially good care of yourself.” His hand caressed her stomach. “I do not want
my
child harmed in any way, Sybill.”

Not knowing what else to do, she did as he ordered. She realized she had never been in the room which would be hers for the rest of her married life. She had not expected she would be sleeping alone. As her fingers settled on the latch, Owen spoke a final command. She spun to face him in horror. “Of course, my dear, you must never tell Breton the truth. If anyone was to suspect the child is not mine, it would be necessary to rid Foxbridge Cloister of your ex-lover. You would not wish to see him dead.” He smiled coldly. “I trust I need not warn you that there will be no resumption of that affair.”

His cruelly calculated words triggered her rage. More frigidly than she had ever spoken to him, she stated, “I am aware of my place, Owen.”

With his laughter ringing in her ears, she raced into her room and slammed the door. Dropping the bar in place, she did the same on the door connecting the two bedrooms. Then she sank onto the wide bed. She buried her face in the pillows as she sobbed out her betrayal. Once again she was being used as she had been from the beginning. Never had anyone wanted her for herself, but simply for what she could offer in the games she could not begin to understand.

Trevor rose to leave the library when Sybill entered it next morning. She did not move from the doorway, so he had to pause or shove her aside. He chose the former. “Good morning, my lady. If you will excuse me, I have work to do.”

“Please, Trevor,” she said softly. She closed the door to shut off the noise from the corridor. “Do not leave yet. I must speak with you.”

“Is that an edict from the lady of Foxbridge Cloister?” he snapped. “If that is so, then I must stay.” He bowed deeply.

She knew he was hurting when he acted sarcastically as he had shortly after her arrival. The reflection of his pain ripped through her. If only she could explain the reason why she had done as she had. She had had no choice. “Why did you leave early?” she blurted.

Black fire blazed in his eyes. “Your
husband
decided suddenly to send me to Liverpool before I went to London.”

“Owen gave you that order?” She recalled his irate words to Mr. Mallory.

“How many husbands do you have, my lady?”