Sybill (29 page)

Not daring to touch him, but longing to soothe his aching heart, she whispered, “Trevor, I am sorry. Owen lied to me. He knew—” She paused and began again, “If it could have been any other way, I—”

Angrily, he interrupted, “But you are Lady Foxbridge. Sybill Wythe, the fine Lady Foxbridge. Isn't that what you wanted? To think I believed you when you told me you were different from that whore you called your father. You just used me until a better offer came your way. All you Hamptons are eager to sell yourself for what you want.”

“No, Trevor, it wasn't like that.”

“No?” He flung out his hands. “When your husband dies, Foxbridge Cloister may belong to you. Sleeping with an old man is not too dear a price to pay to obtain this, is it?”

“That's not why I married Owen.”

“Then why, Sybill? Why did you marry him?” he demanded.

Her husband's threats rang in her ears as she started to tell him the truth. Knowing that by leaving the essential fact out, her story sounded inane, she said, “I received that note from you—”

“I told you that I wrote you no note!”

“I know that now, but I didn't at the time. It said you were marrying another woman to give her child a name and never returning to Foxbridge Cloister.”

“And you believed that?”

Earnestly she whispered, “I believed you would want your child to bear your name. You would do what you thought you should even if it broke both our hearts. Believing that, I knew I had to marry Owen.”

“But why? It was not simply a choice between Lord Foxbridge and me. There are many men who would be eager to wed you, even without a guarantee of a dowry and maidenhood.”

“Trevor, I was scared. I was confused. I thought my life was over when I read that you would not be part of it any longer.” She held out her hands to him. “My love, I did not care what happened to me when I thought you were gone. I admit what I did was stupid, but—Oh, I cannot explain.”

Taking her outstretched hands, he pulled her tight to him. His mouth covered hers. The never-forgotten pulse of passion swelled through her. Her arms swept around his shoulders as she pressed her body, hungry for his touch, close to him. Pushing the high collar of her chemise aside, he let his lips caress the soft skin of her neck before teasing her ear in the way she loved. At the same time, his hands were reacquainting themselves with her warm curves.

When he felt her breath rapid in his mouth, he fought his own desires to love her again as he wanted. Instead he pushed her away. As she stared at him in anguish, he felt a sword-sharp pain through his middle. He forced himself to remember that the sweet innocence had been just another performance by that consummate actress, Sybill Hampton.

Fiercely, to cover his own pain, he demanded, “Did your husband kiss you like that last night, Sybill? Did his fingers upon you bring you the rapture you knew in my arms? Did you think once of my loving while you shared his bed?”

“No, never speak of that!” When she saw the deepening rage on his volatile features, she knew he had misread her concern. He thought she cared only that her husband did not learn of their love. Because she could not explain, she could not tell him that Owen knew all too well exactly what they had shared.

“I think this conversation is completed. Excuse me, my lady!”

“Trevor!” she called after him, but he did not pause as he left the room.

She sank onto one of the benches and knew her life was slowly being destroyed. Married to a man who wanted only to use her as an instrument of revenge against his son, loving a man who must never learn he was the father of the child resting beneath her heart.

Chapter Fifteen

“Get out!”

Kate quelled before the man's wrath. She dipped as much as her bulk allowed. “Yes, m'lord.” As the door closed, Sybill glanced up from her book. The soft patter of rain exhausted the wind's force against the windows. She sat on a settee amid a mound of cushions. With her feet drawn up beneath her silken wrap, she was an appealing sight until her expression altered into a malicious grin. “What's wrong, Owen? Your spy becoming more of a problem than she is worth?” She laughed. “It certainly did not take you long to buy Kate's affections.”

With a snarl, he turned on her. His gentle Sybill had become a shrew. “I did not have to buy her affections, as you so coarsely put it, wife. You are normally so quick-witted, I am surprised you have not guessed the truth. Did you not notice the coincidence that your father took her into his employ after my last visit to London?”

“You ordered Father to hire Kate?” She sat straighter. This explained many things, such as why Alfred Hampton had not dismissed a servant he clearly disliked. One thing her father had wanted was tranquillity. Kate thrived on disquiet. It had been a constant struggle.

“Of course, my dear.” He patted her cheek, but she jerked her head away. In the privacy of their suite, she refused to accept the intimate indignities she must allow before his household. “When I was in London, I met you. What a charming child you were! So pretty, so intelligent! The perfect one to give me the child I needed.”

“Even then …?” She could not finish. Her fingers tightened on the cover of the book until it bent with a soft creak of protest.

He laughed. “All I had to do was be sure you remained untouched and unwed until you were old enough to bear a child safely. I came home and promoted Trevor from his position as a lowly clerk in the shipyards to my estate manager. With his obsessive attitude toward his work, I kept him busy until I could arrange for you to come to Foxbridge Cloister.”

“No!” Instantly she understood what he was saying. All his manipulations had twisted their lives into his control. One of his plots had worked with deadly precision. She rose and backed away from his knowing smile. In disbelief, she shook her head.

Crossing the room, he poured two glasses of wine from the decanter that was always on the table by the window overlooking the sea. He brought one to Sybill. “Take it, my dear. I think you could use something to calm you.”

As if it were not her own, she watched her hand rise to take the goblet. She needed her other hand to steady it as she brought it to her lips. Sipping, she found it impossible to swallow. She let the wine drip down her throat, which seemed as frozen as the rest of her.

His pale eyes never left her ravaged face as he said lightly, “I suppose you are curious how I managed to arrange all this. It was simple. I lent your father a very large amount of money. Alfred always needed money, so it appeared to be simply a deal between friends.” He laughed in remembrance. “I considered it an investment in the future … or rather, in your future, Sybill. At the beginning of the year, I informed Alfred I wanted all the money returned with the interest he owed me.”

“And,” she continued dully, “you made sure no one else would lend him any funds to cover the debt. As you influenced Father's friends to turn their backs on me.”

“It was not difficult,” he bragged. “Gold buys many allies. When Alfred did the honorable thing and killed himself, he never suspected he had been used as he used so many.” He stepped toward her. “The only unknown was you, my dear. I began to despair that you would never succumb to young Breton. Then I followed you one day to your tryst by the seaside. I feared you saw me when you did not return directly to the Cloister. It was ingenious of him to arrange such a spot.”

Putting the goblet on a table, she moved to the settee. She sat on its edge, her feet pressed against the floor to give her the impetus she would need if fleeing became necessary. “That was my idea, Owen. I was the one who arranged for the hut to be furnished, and I was the one who lured Trevor there.” Her eyebrows arched in sharp derision. “See? You were not so wrong. I am like my father. When I fell in love, I went after what I wanted.”

“Enough of that!” he snapped.

“Does it hurt you to hear that I love Trevor and that I always will?” Her cold laugh was a close approximation of his. “You tell me you guaranteed my father's death, and I am supposed to feel nothing. Well, if it satisfies your sadism, I hurt. I hurt badly. I hope you feel as anguished when you realize that, although you may own me, my heart I gave to Trevor months ago.”

He came to stand before her. Although she saw his hand raise, she did not think he would strike her. He valued the child within her too much. Her cry of agony filled the room as his hand impacted on her face. Gripping her arm, he tugged her to her feet. He shoved her across the floor and laughed as she slipped to her knees on the thick rug. “Leave me, Lady Foxbridge, until you have learned some manners.”

Slowly she rose. Fury flashed sapphire in her eyes as she spat, “Me? You tell me that when—”

He hit her again. The concussion rocked her off her feet, but she did not fall. She felt his arms around her. It was the final betrayal, for he kept her from dropping to the floor only because he did not want to risk the child. With a cry, she pushed herself out of his arms and fled from the sitting room. As had become a habit, she bolted her door. It could not keep out the horror which formed the framework of her life. Somehow she had to find a way to escape this.

Somehow, but how? All through the night, that thought blazed in her head as she reclined on her narrow bed and heard Owen's lurching footsteps. He was drinking too heavily, but she no longer cared if he ruined his health.

In the morning, she dressed quickly without help. Kate did not seem to be about the suite. Sybill suspected she was staying out of her master's view. Owen refused to allow Clara in the suite unless Sybill insisted. This early in the day, she did not want to start another battle, which might leave her with injuries to match her swollen and stiff jaw.

Meeting Trevor was totally unplanned. She had been avoiding him since the morning after the disastrous wedding. When she literally bumped into him as she walked along the corridor with her eyes on the page in her hands, he steadied her before she could fall. Her eyes filled with tears as she felt his gentle touch so different from her husband's cruelty.

“Sybill, you should watch where you are going,” he chided softly.

Stepping back, she murmured, “I must. Excuse me, Trevor. And … thank you.”

As she turned to walk past him, he frowned and grasped her arm. Her protest went unnoticed as he drew her near a window. The tender touch of his fingers on her aching cheek brought a mew of pain from her lips. “He hit you!”

“It's nothing, Trevor. I must be going. I have to speak to Marshall about—”

“You are going nowhere until you tell me what happened to provoke this.” When she did not answer, he noted the fear vivid on her multicolored face. He knew then what he should have guessed from the start. Sybill was scared of her husband. Weeks ago that thought would have startled him, for he saw how Lord Foxbridge doted on her. Owen Wythe thought nothing of spending huge amounts of money buying his ward lavish gifts. The reception when the portrait was unveiled had cost more than the rent for five tenant farms. Trevor knew, for he had settled the accounts himself.

Everything had changed. Winsome Sybill no longer chased her dog across the lawns. Her lilting voice was hushed, and the Cloister had become like a tomb once more. Owen Wythe had convinced her to marry him when she was desolate. He was threatening her with more than physical violence. Trevor wanted to discover how Lord Foxbridge had taken control of Sybill.

“Trevor, I must go!”

The desperation in her voice called him back from the morass of his thoughts. “Very well. I have to see Marshall myself. I will walk with you.”

“I don't think that is a good idea.”

“Sweetheart, why are you so frightened? I know you are married to Lord Foxbridge, and I won't force you to do anything you do not want to do.” He smiled as his fingers stroked her soft curls. “Remember? It was you who seduced me the first time.”

She shook her head. In a choked whisper, she begged, “Don't, Trevor!”

Although he wanted to know if she objected to his words or his touch, he merely said, “As you wish, Lady Foxbridge.” His usual ironic tone was missing.

On one thing he did not relent. He walked by her side toward the front of the house. Her fear was a stench overpowering his senses. He did not understand why she was frightened. Walking through the halls of the Cloister with her husband's estate manager was no crime, even in the eyes of a newly malicious Lord Foxbridge.

A maid informed them the butler was in the drawing room, supervising a project for Lord Foxbridge. The lass's eyes widened in horror as she saw the bruises on her lady's face, but she wisely said nothing. Soon all would know of the horrendous treatment the lord was doling out to his lady.

The sound of hammers masked their arrival. Marshall's voice carried over the staccato rapping to reach out into the foyer, but his words were indistinguishable. When they entered the room, Sybill gave a small gasp of agony. Trevor felt her sway against him and looked from the workers by the hearth to see her skin a wretched shade of gray-green. Calling to Marshall, he scooped her up in his arms before she could sag to the floor. The butler rushed to their sides after urging the workmen to leave the room.

“A blanket and something to drink,” commanded Trevor. “Quickly, Marshall!”

She whispered, “No, nothing to drink.” The taste of wine in her mouth would remind her of Owen's words, which she desperately longed to forget.

“Cider, then,” announced Marshall. “You must have something to revive you, Mi—Lady Foxbridge.”

Wearily she nodded. It was not worth arguing about. All her life was involved with one battle or another. There was no use dreaming of the halcyon days when she had rested in the hut with her face against Trevor's bare chest and his fingers etching joy into her skin. Those moments of bliss in the aftermath of the power of their loving were her most precious memories.