Sybill (33 page)

Any efforts she made to speak to Trevor alone were stymied by Kate or Lord Foxbridge himself. She had to warn the man she loved to be wary of the man she had wed. Trevor's value to his employer had gone instantly to nil when Owen was sure that Sybill had conceived. She did not trust him not to rid himself of Trevor at any time. That was why she was shivering in the cold. If she met Trevor in the gardens, it would seem like a chance meeting. She might have the time to speak to him before Owen could send one of his spies to interfere.

A growl deep in Goldenrod's throat could be felt through his thick fur before Sybill heard it. So seldom had she known the animal to react like this, her head jerked up to see what was threatening them. She gasped as she saw Christopher strolling toward her. “No, Goldenrod!” she cried as she felt the dog tense to leap at the unsuspecting man. “No, boy!”

Although the dog reluctantly obeyed her orders to stay, he bared his teeth at the man who wisely did not come any closer. She kept her hand on him, afraid he would attack if she released him. Not that she could stop the dog, which weighed nearly as much as she did.

“Where did that cur come from?”

Irritated by Christopher's officious question, she stated in a tone as threatening as the dog's stance, “This is Goldenrod. He is my dog.” She smiled icily. “I should say he is my very intelligent dog. He is quite able to see when there is danger.”

“Danger?” He laughed, disparagingly. “Why, Sybill, you let a little thing convince you that your stepson means you harm?”

“Little thing? I bear the bruises to show how vicious your treatment truly was.”

His eyes glittered maliciously. “Do you? Why don't you show me, and I will make you forget that incident?”

“You are disgusting. If your father had any idea what you did—”

“He would throw me off the estate. Yes, I know that. So why haven't you told him?”

“Maybe I will. Leave me alone, or you will force me to do so.”

He started to step toward her, but paused as the snarl in Goldenrod's throat accelerated. Glowering at her four-legged protector, he vowed to rid the estate of the dog at the earliest opportunity. There were enough problems here without worrying about this mongrel. “Threaten me again, Sybill, and you may be sorry.”

She laughed loudly. “I am not intimidated by you, Mr. Wythe.”

“Christopher!”

“Why should I call you that, sir? I have no intentions of establishing any sort of friendship with you. Only because I am married to your father do I have to tolerate your presence.” She turned toward the house. Tugging on Goldenrod's collar, she convinced her dog to follow.

“Sybill—”

“Mr. Wythe, I suggest you come in the house if you do not wish to worry your mother by catching your death of cold.” She sneered at him. “What a terrible, terrible shame that would be!”

Her laughter drifted across the dead grass. Christopher swore eloquently as he heard the door close. If he did not succeed soon in bedding his pretty stepmother, it would cost him dearly. That foolish bet he had made that he would woo Sybill Hampton Wythe into his bed before his first week at the Cloister was over had been for high stakes. Yet, as the week was drawing to a close, he knew it was not only the wager that urged him to steal her from his father. She was the most gorgeous creature he had ever seen. Her sultry voice caressed him like well-practiced hands and drove him to desperation as he yearned to follow her lures into her arms.

She despised his father. That he had seen within hours of his arrival. She had married him simply for his title and the chance to be chatelaine of Foxbridge Cloister. If she had been willing to wait a bit longer, she could have had the son who would be better able to satisfy the fires searing unquenchable in her eyes.

The old man would not live forever. Sybill would be a lovely widow. Many would come calling for her, but her fate would be in the hands of her stepson. Then she would pay for snubbing his offers. He smiled. That would be fun.

Sybill spun on the bench as she heard the door opening. No one should have guessed she came to the old chapel. After the surprise meeting with Christopher in the garden, she needed time alone as desperately as a swimmer craves air. With a sinking heart, she knew there was no place to hide in the plain room. Slowly she rose to her feet to face the one who breached her sanctuary.

Her frown abruptly became a smile as she ran forward to be enfolded in welcoming arms. With a laugh, Trevor pushed her back a step so he could close the door. His lips teased hers with the same lightness. Then they asked the loving question she longed to answer. She came to her senses too quickly. Breaking his embrace, she moved away. She did not look at him, for she could not bear to see the wounded expression on his face. “Trevor, there are too many who watch me.”

“I know, sweetheart,” he replied resignedly. “I feel their eyes on me as well. They wish to hurry to your husband with a tale of adultery.”

When he put his hands on her shoulders, she flinched. “Then why are you here?”

“I had to see you. I love you so much, and this is hell never to be able to touch you. I can't speak to you without guarding every word. Under no circumstances will I risk you and your child.”

She bit her lip. Like her, Trevor had become accustomed to calling the baby solely hers. “I hate all of this,” she whispered. “Owen is more hateful with Christopher here.”

“He is drinking too much.”

“I cannot convince him to be more temperate.” She whirled away as she recalled her husband's rage when she tried to discuss that with him.

Regarding her terrified face, he scowled. Although Sybill said nothing of her suffering, rumors circulated about the Cloister of how Lord Foxbridge continued to abuse his wife. He took her hands in his. “Sybill, this has gone on long enough. It is time to leave.”

“Leave?”

“Yes, we are going away from here. You and I and the one who belongs to both of us. I have enough background in the shipping industry to find a position in one of the maritime countries on the continent.”

She blanched. What he was suggesting was beyond her wildest dreams. When she thought about where he hinted they would go, her fear grew to near panic. In a whisper, she gasped, “Do you mean Spain?”

“Or Portugal! Or the Low Countries! The Dutch are becoming increasingly interested in the furthering their explorations. Sybill, there is nothing for us here.”

“I'm scared.”

His eyebrows arched in surprise. “You were not scared when you came here.”

“Oh, yes I was!” she retorted, heatedly. His taunt broke the cloying cobwebs of panic. “I was terrified!”

“You certainly did not act that way.”

Suddenly she laughed. Standing on tiptoe, she kissed him. When she felt his arms around her, she compliantly leaned her head against his chest. “I was so frightened, Trevor. Then you started bullying me, and I discovered I had the strength to prove you wrong.”

“I am glad you did, sweetheart.” He caressed the silken fullness of her curls. “You must be as strong again. I have begun the work for our escape from Foxbridge Cloister.”

Looking up at his loving face, she begged, “Be careful. If Owen discovers what you're doing, he'll kill you.”

“I am quite aware of my current worth to Lord Foxbridge,” he stated, bitterly. “I have served my master well. Damn it! What a fool I was to believe the great Lord Foxbridge actually appreciated the work I did for him! All he wanted was for me to act as stud for his heir.”

“Trevor!”

When he saw her flushed face, he bent and drew her lips beneath his. As his tongue flicked along the moist curve of her mouth, he showed her that their love could never be soiled by Owen Wythe's desires. She sighed as yearning swelled through her. His hard chest could be felt with every inch of her skin. When his fingers followed the neckline of her gown, her knees weakened. She longed to have him sweep her into his arms and place her in the bed that had been unused for too long.

Her cry of rapture was uncontainable as his mouth tasted the soft skin along her neck. Tangled in his hair, her fingers tightened to keep her close to him. She whispered his name in a plea to satisfy her longing as he placed his hand along the upsweep of her breast.

With a strangled moan, he suddenly released her. Going to one of the stone pews, he dropped into the seat and stared at the far wall. Her hand on the back of another pew steadied her while she fought to regain control of her harried breath. As she gazed at his back, she was as aware of his thoughts as if they were her own. The temptation to resume the clandestine moments as lovers blinded them to everything.

Silently she went to the pew where he seemed oblivious to her as he never had been in the past. She sat next to him. “Trevor, I love you.” It was the only thing she could think to say, but the words said all she wished to tell him.

He did not turn to look at her. “Sybill, I will complete the plans as quickly as possible. Be prepared to leave as soon as I give you the word. When the time comes, we must be sure there will be no clues left to show where we have gone. Bring nothing with you.”

“I have some small pieces of jewelry Father gave me. I will not leave them when we will need them until you can provide us with food and shelter.”

Finally his eyes met hers. “What did I do to deserve you, my love? You are so brave to give up all this.”

“All what?” She put her hand on the soft texture of his beard, which could not hide the stern line of his jaw. “I never wanted to be Lady Foxbridge, and I do not want Foxbridge Cloister. All I want is to be with the man I love and share the joy of the child our love has blessed us with. Nothing else, Trevor. I have no regrets about leaving.”

He smiled. “I thought you felt that way, sweetheart, but like you, I need to hear you say the words echoing through my heart. Soon.”

“Soon,” she echoed.

She watched as he walked to the back of the chapel. Joy danced within her as he went out into the hallway leading to the new part of the Cloister. Clutching her happiness close to her, she imagined what life would be like on foreign shores. In her fantasies, she did not think of the loneliness of being among strangers who would not speak her language. Nor did she feel the horror of always looking over her shoulder, fearing Owen had set spies on them. All she dreamed of was a small cottage where they could live in peace. While Trevor went to his job, she would tend their home and raise their children. It was all she wanted. The shadows of Foxbridge Cloister would be left far behind them.

Reluctantly Sybill wrapped her shawl tighter around her. Although she would have enjoyed staying in the quiet to savor her dreams, the icy fingers of cold were caressing her through the thin sleeves of her gown. When she opened the door to the new section, she could hear raucous noise. Noting that it came from the direction of the drawing room, she walked toward the back of the house. She did not want a meeting with Christopher and his horrible friends. They had taken every opportunity to try to seduce her. So far, they were unsuccessful, but she learned the easiest thing to do was avoid them completely.

In the kitchen, she checked on the progress of the evening meal and listened to the cook's complaints about Mr. Christopher's unreasonable demands. Marshall was only a bit more subtle in his comments when she spoke to him in the dining room. “I will mention this to Lord Foxbridge,” she promised, dreading the confrontation.

Marshall's eyes did not twinkle as they normally did. “My lady,” he said solemnly, “do not create trouble for yourself. I will instruct the staff to exhibit a bit more patience with your guests. I will provide them with an example of that myself.”

“Thank you.” There was nothing else she could say. The butler's words confirmed what she had known since shortly after the wedding. Everyone in the house guessed at the horror she experienced behind the closed doors of the suite she was forced to share with her husband. The physical bruises they had seen were mild in comparison to the emotional ones embedded in her heart.

It will be over soon
, she reminded herself with a hidden smile. Although she would regret never seeing friends like Marshall and Clara and the Beckwiths again, she had to think foremost of the ones she loved. For them, she would make any sacrifice gladly.

“My lady?”

Jolted from her thoughts, Sybill replied, “Yes? I am sorry, Marshall. I fear I was daydreaming.”

“Yes, my lady.” Puzzlement threaded his brow, but he only repeated the words she had missed. “My lady, do you wish wine to be served with dinner? Mr. Christopher has ordered several bottles, in addition to the normal amounts of liquor they are consuming each evening.”

“Wine will be welcome, but nothing else. If anyone questions you, have them come to speak to me.” She smiled when he began to protest. “I, too, can be an example of the restraint you wish to instill in the household staff.”

Her humor defused his objections, but he vowed to let Trevor know of Lady Foxbridge's countermanding of Mr. Christopher's orders. Her husband would be little help, for he had been appearing at dinner already well into his second bottle of wine. Trevor would be able to safeguard her from the cruel taunts of her stepson and his companions by reaiming them at himself.

The outburst Sybill anticipated came almost immediately. She arrived early to be sure Christopher did not browbeat the servants. Listening to his ranting for a few minutes, she marveled at how he thought only of his own pleasures. So sure was he of his power, he did not hesitate to disparage everyone in the house, including his father. She noted with a twinge of concern that her name was not mentioned.

“Enough!” she stated. “Talin, you may go.”

The maid who had been the focal point of Christopher's rage dipped in a hurried curtsy. She flashed her lady a grateful smile before fleeing through the door to the nether regions of the kitchen.