Sybill (31 page)

“So you made the decision for me?”

“Made the decision?” She sat up to gaze at him in confusion. At the motion, her vision dimmed. Putting her hand to her aching head, she groaned.

Trevor's rage at his employer expanded to include all the Wythes and their allies. All the Wythes except for Sybill Wythe. Through the blinding haze surrounding him, he vowed to do nothing to endanger the woman he loved. Tenderly he drew her to him. As her lips softened beneath his, he felt the familiar, never-fading flush of desire. In a whisper rich with yearning, he said, “Sybill, I would trade this estate, all of England, and the rest of God's creation to have you and this child as my own.” His wide palm stroked her cheek. “I was foolish also, my love. I didn't think I had to tell you that, for I was sure you knew.”

“I wanted to hear you say it! I was afraid my heart was telling me things only because they were what I wanted to hear. When I got that note …” She pressed her face to his chest. “Oh, Trevor, I love you. I have never loved you more than I do right now.”

“And I love you. Lord Foxbridge won't live many more years. If you are still willing to have me as your husband, Lady Foxbridge, you won't be the first fine lady to marry beneath her.”

Sybill's tear-glistening eyes glowed as she flung her arms around him. “Yes, Trevor, if you will wait for me, I shall be yours. My heart is yours now. As soon as I can, I want to belong totally to you.” She did not let the thought that her husband must die before she could marry Trevor dim her happiness.

Gently he kissed her. “Tomorrow we can return to our trysts. I don't know if I can be with you each day and withstand the temptation to hold you in my arms.”

“No!” She leapt to her feet. When she swayed, she motioned his hand away. She could not let him touch her. If he did, her resistence would falter. Then the torment would become a true hell. “Owen was emphatic that I could not be yours again. He wants no one to question the parentage of the child.”

“He need never know.”

“He knew exactly where we met.”

“'Twas Lord Foxbridge the day you saw someone on the marsh?” He had not thought he could be more shocked by Owen Wythe's perfidy, but he was.

“Yes. Although he did everything he could to bring us together, he loathed the fact we had to be lovers to create this child.” She wrapped her arms around herself. “His spying may have been more than that one time. I feel sick when I think he might have done more than simply follow me. Trevor, do you think …?” Her words faded as she fought the illness in her stomach. Owen's broad hints tarnished her pristine memories of the hours spent with Trevor. To think of the pale eyes watching as the man she loved held her close was the greatest perversion she could imagine.

Fury burned in Trevor's dark eyes, but he only stood and took her hand. “My love, I will do nothing to harm you and the one within you. Instead I will watch as my child takes that twisted man's name. Be patient, and let him rant at you. He can't change what was or what is. In the end, he will lose. You will be mine, Sybill. Then all this hate will be done.”

“And we will be together as we should be.”

“Yes,” he said softly, as if speaking a heartfelt vow, “as we should be.” He started to bring her into his arms, but, as she stiffened, he relented. The specter of her husband hung between them, tainting what once was so sweet.

“I must get back to the house,” she said without looking at him. “Owen will be upset if I am out too long.”

He nodded. Slipping his arm around her shoulders, he said sternly, before she could protest, “Sybill, you took quite a fall. Even an acquaintance would help you under these circumstances. I will not let you risk yourself again simply because of an old man's threats.”

“All right,” she said meekly. Truthfully, she wanted to feel Trevor's body close to hers.

As they left the small room and walked slowly across the courtyard, she leaned more and more heavily against him. Only partially was it because of her nausea. She wanted to enjoy these minutes, which were as precious as the hours in their hideaway.

The change in the Cloister was overwhelming. Even Marshall had lost his previously unshakable calm. Bags, which Sybill had noticed on the back of the horses ridden by Christopher Wythe and his companions, were heaped at one side of the foyer. It was more than a physical alteration. A sense of foreboding stank in the air. As she had too often, she felt the wicked strength of fear erupting through her. As horrible as things had been, the arrival of Owen's son and his London lackeys signaled a worsening.

“Lady Foxbridge!” the butler gasped when he saw she was relying on Trevor's assistance.

“I am fine, Marshall,” she lied. “I had a small riding accident. Have you arranged for rooms for Mr. Wythe and his guests?”

He nodded. “Yes, my lady.” His lips tightened as he wondered how she could have known of their arrival. There was only one way. Christopher Wythe was the cause of her “accident.” From similar incidents in the past, the butler knew the young man was quite capable of hurting his father's new wife simply out of spite.

“Good. I think I will go upstairs and lie down before dinner.”

“My lady, Lord Foxbridge wishes to see you immediately. He is in—”

“I am right here.” The sharp voice was laced heavily with the thickness that warned Sybill her husband had been drinking too much. “It's about time you returned home! It is dark. You could have wandered off into the marsh and been mired. Damn it, Sybill! When are you going to stop acting like a child?” His eyes narrowed as he spat, “It's bad enough that Christopher is home. I do not need you acting irresponsibly as well.”

Owen was clearly perturbed by his unexpected guests. So perturbed he did not seem to see immediately that Sybill was able to stand only because of Trevor's arm around her. When he noticed how closely the two stood, he stopped his blustering long enough to take her hand and wrench her away from his estate manager. She nearly fell. Only when he had steadied her did he ask what had caused the bump on her head. He accepted her story of being thrown from her horse and reacted as she had expected. He was more concerned for the child than for her.

“Are you well?” he asked with false solicitousness. “Where did you fall?”

“Don't worry,” she replied coldly. “I am fine, Owen. I fell easily.” She could not hide her revulsion.

Owen drew her into his arms. As he bent to kiss her tight lips, his eyes settled securely on the man who had escorted her into the house. She would not have been riding with Breton. She loved the man too much to risk him. Jealousy swelled through him as he thought of what these two had shared. Each time he was forced to speak to Breton, he could think only of how his assistant had loved sweet Sybill as he could not. His envy had evolved into a need to punish them both. Viciously he captured Sybill's mouth. He could feel her outrage in her rigid body, but he would not let her think she could cuckold him. Once the child was born, he would bring Sybill to his bed. There were ways she could entertain him, but he did not want to chance her losing this precious baby. He would wait until it was born.

Raising his lips from hers, he stared down into her angry face. Pretty Sybill would do nothing to harm the man she loved. With that threat to hold over her, he could control her completely. Although he wished he could rid himself of Breton, he would not be so rash. If something happened to the man she loved, he would lose his power over his young wife. Until the safe arrival of her child, he would have to allow his assistant to live.

His tender voice was the antithesis of the triumph in his eyes. “No more riding for you, my dear. You should know better in your condition.” The sly expression returned to his face. Turning to his estate manger, he asked, “Did you know Lady Foxbridge is providing me with another son?”

Trevor was convincing as he acted properly surprised. “That is wonderful, my lord. Congratulations, my lady. Of course, you are right. She should not be on horseback.”

As he spoke the words that continued the charade, Sybill closed her eyes. She was tired of the unending games. She would have been far happier to be Mrs. Trevor Breton, living in the small room granted to him on the third floor. Softly she said, “I am fatigued, Owen. Would you send for Clara?”

“Kate would be happy to escort you upstairs.”

Sybill's sharp laugh rang within her aching skull. Owen and his watchdog must have reconciled their differences. She was to accept Kate back as her maid. Tired of bowing to his dictates, she decided she would fight this one. “Send for Clara, Marshall.”

“My lady, I—”

Her husband snapped, “I gave you an order, my dear.”

“Oh, Owen, leave off with this. Kate is so fat, she can barely manage to get herself up the stairs. I do not wish to fall again today. Such would not be good for the baby.”

“Of course,” he said, backing down too quickly. “I would not want you to do anything to hurt
our
baby. Marshall, ring for Clara.”

Bowing his head, the man hid his unease. “Aye, m'lord.” He was happy to call the lass to help Lady Foxbridge escape.

“Marshall?”

“Yes, my lord?” He paused as he was reaching for the bellpull to call the maid.

“No mention of Lady Foxbridge's delicate condition is to be made to anyone. Do you understand?” His glower was aimed at both the butler and Trevor. “If I learn of this being spread like other gossip through the house, you will be looking for other employment.”

“I understand, my lord,” Marshall said slowly. His eyes settled on Lady Foxbridge's pale face. For her, he would be silent. If he were not concerned only about her, he would have considered taking another post.

“Breton?”

His dark head nodded. Lord Foxbridge would not waste further friendship on him. Owen Wythe had not used Trevor's given name since the wedding. “You have my complete cooperation in this matter, m'lord.”

Owen turned his frustration on him when he heard his quiet response. “Breton, you need not attend dinner this evening. My son and his friends are not accustomed to the rough manners of the country. I would never expect them to sit down with a servant.”

“Of course, m'lord.” He accepted the insult as if he saw it as a reasonable request. He could not give the lord any reason to dismiss him.

“While Lady Foxbridge rests, I would like to discuss some important matters with you.”

Again he answered emotionlessly, “Of course, m'lord.”

Clara came bustling into the hallway. She was nearly clucking with anxiety as she saw the lack of color on her lady's face. With her arm around Sybill, she walked to the stairs. Slowly they began to climb the steps.

At the landing, Sybill paused to glance back at the foyer. The stone floor was empty. She closed her eyes and willed her heart to guard Trevor. No longer could she trust Owen not to strike out blindly at them. What the results would be of his even more sadistic son arriving at the Cloister, she could not and did not want to guess.

Chapter Sixteen

When the latch lifted on her door, Sybill saw her fear reflected in her dressing table mirror. Owen had allowed her this sanctuary, but it appeared that no longer would be the case. Clara scuttled to the far side of the room. She had come to hate Lord Foxbridge almost as much as her mistress did. Since the wedding, the servants cowered in fear before the strange metamorphosis of their kindly master.

Slowly Sybill rose and turned to face the door. Her ornate gown whispered with the same stiff sound as her voice. “Good evening, Owen.”

“Are you still dressing?” he demanded without a greeting. He had enjoyed browbeating Breton in the library for the past hour. As he did with Sybill, he could control the man through unspoken threats. “I am ready for dinner.”

His tight smile broadened. “Then you have no need of her presence. Leave us, girl.”

“Aye, m'lord.” Clara bowed quickly and moved toward the door. Carefully she did not touch the wide sleeves of his shirt. To do that would guarantee punishment. Mac was urging her to leave the Cloister, but she did not want to abandon Lady Foxbridge to her lazy maid and evil husband.

Closing the door, Owen walked across the room, which was much smaller than his own bedroom. His eyes picked out the changes Sybill had made. That her taste was refined did not surprise him. Her father had done an excellent job raising her to be the wife of a lord. He smiled as he wondered what Hampton would say if he knew what his cowardly death had brought his daughter. When he passed the overstuffed chair, he scooped up a bit of material with a thread and needle dangling from it. “Baby clothes, Sybill?” he asked in his most mocking tone.

“It should be no surprise to you. I am planning on having a baby in the spring. I don't suppose you might have forgotten that.”

“Sharp-tongued tonight, aren't you?” He laughed. “I should tell Breton how lucky he was not to take you to wed.”

She moved so a chair was between her and his eyes, which seemed to center their cold stare directly on her middle. It irritated him that her pregnancy was not visible. She became more determined to keep others from learning what soon would be obvious to everyone past the walls of this suite. “What do you want, Owen?”

He realized he was no more successful at baiting her than he had been in the past. It was a shame. He had been able to reduce Edith quickly to his will with a few choice words. Sybill was far more resilient. “I don't want you to let Christopher know of your condition.”

“Excuse me?”

“You understand me!” he snapped.

“But why? I thought you would want me to tell him about the baby immediately.”

He took her hand and pulled her to him. When he would have put his arms around her, she struggled to elude him. She cried out in pain as hands gripped her upper arms. Ignoring her pleas to be released, he shook her viciously. “You will say nothing. Do you understand?” He underscored each word with another shake until her eyes could not focus.