Sybill (38 page)

Latching the door, Sybill hurried back to the sparse warmth of the fire. It would not be much of a Twelfth Night for her. She would go to bed early, so she could enjoy the warmth under the covers. As she sat in her favorite chair, she put her hand on Goldenrod's head. His dark, liquid eyes gazed up at her, and she smiled. “It's just the two of us, Goldenrod.” With a laugh, she placed her other hand over the gentle mound in her stomach. “Or I should say, just the three of us.”

Savoring the quiet, she spent the afternoon embroidering the collar of a small shirt. When she let Goldenrod into the house from his romp, she saw the snow whirled in a pattern only the wind knew. She shivered as she looked at the empty road and realized how isolated she was in her small home. The gray shadows of the Cloister were invisible through the swirling storm. If she were there, she would not have to worry about the cold. There would be plenty of food and no concerns about the small pile of gold pieces hidden beneath the feather bed. She would have none of those things on her mind, for she would be busy entertaining her stepson. It would be better to suffer the cold than Christopher's ideas of fun.

When she heard a sharp knock, she spun to look at the door. Her face was as colorless as the flakes drifting through the afternoon. No one should be coming. Everyone at the Cloister would be too busy to bother her. Fearfully she walked to the door, terrified that her thoughts of her stepson had materialized on her doorstep. Her fingers trembled as she slid back the bolt.

“Trevor!” she gasped as she pulled her shawl tighter against the wind blustering through the door.

“Step back, sweetheart.”

“What are you doing here?”

He smiled tightly. “Look out. I am covered with snow. Let me thaw a bit. Then I want to have you warm me.”

She watched in shock as she walked to the hearth and removed his cape and gloves. He dropped them on the bench and held his hands out to the crackling fire. Even as she stood there, she could not accept what she was seeing. “What are you doing here?” she repeated.

“I didn't like the tone of the note you sent me. I could guess things were not going well.” He smiled as he reached for her fingers. Bringing her close, he went on, “I stopped at the Beckwiths' to listen to the most recent rumors. They told me Lord Foxbridge had sent you from the Cloister.”

Leaning her head against his chest, she took a deep breath of the overpowering scent of wet wool. She willed this pleasant dream to continue. “I can't believe you are here,” she whispered. “You are insane to travel in weather like this.”

“I had to see you, Sybill. I have been worried about you here under the tender care of your stepson.”

“You needn't have worried about Christopher. He has not graced me with his disgusting presence since he evicted me from the Cloister.”

Sitting, he pulled her onto his lap. “So you and Clara have been making do by yourself.”

It did not take her long to tell him of her days shortened by the limited light of winter. Only now did she realize how she had been simply waiting out the time until the next round of disagreements started. When Mr. Mallory arrived, Christopher would seek her out if for no other reason than to taunt her with his triumph.

“You have plenty of food, don't you? You shouldn't be fasting at this time.”

She smiled at his paternal concern. “I'm fine. Mac provides us with firewood, which is exceedingly kind of him. If it wasn't for me, he would have married Clara by now. Until things are more stable, both of them insist that she stay with me. Such a sacrifice I would ask no one to make.”

“Because you know how it is to be without the one you love?”

“You know me so well, Trevor.” She unbuttoned the heavy wool waistcoat he wore over his doublet. “Open this, so some of the warmth can get through to ease the cold on your bones.”

He laughed as he bent to tease her ear with the tip of his tongue. Her gasp of delight sent a lightning bolt through his veins. In a whisper which hid none of his ardor, he said, “I can think of better ways to warm myself, my love. In your arms, there is no cold wind cutting through me.”

“You're staying?”

“Yes, my love. Clara is spending tonight and tomorrow with her future in-laws. I can stay no longer than that, my love, but I will have this time alone with you.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “Lock the door, and shutter the windows. If someone comes to knock, we'll pretend no one is here. Nothing must interfere with this short time I have with you.”

“What if Christopher—?”

He interrupted her by capturing her lips. Anxiety would ruin their loving, if they allowed it to prey on them. For the next few hours, he wanted her to think of nothing but the joy they could share. Against her mouth, he murmured, “He hasn't bothered you in a fortnight. There's no reason to expect him tonight. Come, my love, and give your love to me.”

Turning his head slightly, she placed gentle nibbles on his earlobe in the manner she knew he adored. As his hands tightened on her, she breathed a laugh against his ear. She gasped happily as he swept her up into his arms and carried her toward the bed.

“You are heavier than I remember,” he teased.

“And whose fault is that?”

He nuzzled her neck as he placed her amid the pillows. While she watched avidly, he began to undo his doublet. Anxious to help him undress quickly, her fingers replaced his on the buttons. His body was reddened from the sting of the wind cutting through even the thick wool, but her hands moved along him eagerly. As he drew her loose robe from her, she pulled back the covers. With a laugh, he joined her under their warmth.

As the line of his chilled body touched hers, her amusement vanished into a far more potent emotion. Gently she ran her fingers along the planes of his face. Rapture burst full-blown within her as she delighted simply in having him by her side once more. “I love you,” she whispered.

His arm slipped under her shoulders as he leaned over her to stare into her tear-brightened eyes. “I love you, sweetheart. Please do not weep.”

“I can't help it. I am so happy, Trevor.”

As he pressed his mouth into hers, she understood the words he did not say. With their loving fingers and hungry mouths, they would speak the language of their hearts. She gasped with the force of the sudden fire burning in her. It reached out to send tingles of yearning to the tips of her fingers and toes. She stroked the lean length of his back, her fingers lingering on the muted curve of his hips. With her eyes closed, she allowed her hands to guide her to the sweet heaven of his love.

Gentle, unhurried kisses along her face and neck increased her ravenous longing to know the barely veiled ferocity of the desire he created. When his tongue explored, as if for the first time, the slippery softness of her mouth and the silken line of her skin, she could not halt the enticing movements of her body against his.

He gazed into her face and saw her need, which matched his. The long days apart had whetted his appetite, and he intended to feast often on this Twelfth Night at the banquet of ecstasy she offered him. As she quivered, he touched the fuller curves of her body. Even in the days they had been separated, her form had changed with the child growing within her. A child conceived of this unfaltering love.

When he felt her hands pushing against his chest, he willingly rolled onto his back. She followed to look down into his glazed eyes. Her hands slid along the now warm expanse of his chest. She placed her face on the soft matting of hair and savored the memories the tickling of each individual shaft brought into her mind. Lying there, she gave her fingers freedom to discover the many textures of his male body. As she heard his muffled moan of unsatisfied desire, she smiled softly. She wanted to bring him the unbearable pleasure bubbling through her. She wanted to hear him beg her to bring him release deep within her. In the way he drove her over the precipice of sanity with his tongue, she wanted to thrill him.

Her eyes closed with the power of the longings rolling over her, destroying any thoughts but those of seeking a cure for the ache in the center of her being. As she felt his reaction to her fevered fingers and lips, she knew that in bringing him to the peak, she found her own enchantment.

Eager hands drew her to rest over him. She was captured by his eyes, which drilled into her to seek every bit of her essence. When she was about to whisper soft words of love, he crushed her against him. As their breaths mingled in a heated cyclone, they moved together to be wafted aloft into the clouds of swirling passion. At the moment when she surrendered herself to their love, she was swept past the storm to be swallowed by the golden glow of ecstasy.

In the fragrant lethargy after the triumphant crescendo of passion had eased into sweet melodies, Sybill cuddled close to Trevor. Her fingers drifted across his chest as she floated on the rhythms of his voice.

“Are you hearing anything I say?” he murmured.

She shook her head, enjoying the caress of his skin beneath her cheek. “I don't want to think of anything but you beside me, Trevor. I love you, and I love our baby.” He laughed as she sat up abruptly and shouted, “Our baby! Hear that, world! This one is ours!”

“You're silly tonight.”

With a grimace, she tweaked his nose. “Since when is the truth silly,
Mr
. Breton?”

“Since you spoke it, Lady Foxbridge.” He grinned roguishly. “The course of this conversation gives our relationship a decidedly lurid tint. When I hold you close and you breathe with love, you call me ‘Trevor.' Now we return to formality.”

“No,” she retorted, “now we return to silliness!”

“No, now we return to love.” His eyes were bright with longing as he reclined her against the pillows. As her mouth welcomed his, he dissolved into their pooled desire once more.

Chapter Nineteen

Sybill woke to the aroma of breakfast. She was glad the days of morning distress were past. Each sunrise, she awoke ravenous. Today was no exception. She must get up and let Goldenrod out for his run. The dog would never leave until she was awake. If Clara tried to convince him to go out before his mistress was up, he would sit on his haunches and stare at her with his gentle, clowning expression. No cajoling would get him to move.

Although she knew what she should do, she could not tear herself from the luscious bonds of sleep interspersed with the sweet flavors of love. It was far finer to bury her face in the pillows and drink in the scent of Trevor's body, nearly masked by the smell of toasting bread.

Tender fingers twisted in her hair and brought her mouth under an equally famished pair of lips. Her arms rose to draw the strong body back to hers. In spite of their loving, her fervor for his caresses had not lessened.

“Good morning, my love. Are you hungry?” Trevor laughed. “Are you hungry for breakfast I should say?”

“Let me get up and help you.”

He shook his head. Dropping her dressing robe on her head, he said, “You have many mornings to make me breakfast. This morning, to repay you for your hospitality, I have prepared our feast.”

Wrapping the robe around her, she swung her feet to the cold floor. With a laugh, he pushed them back under the covers and tucked the blankets back around her. “What is this nonsense?”

With a leer, he cupped her chin in his hand. “I made a vow to myself on the way through that blizzard. I would not let you out of bed the whole time we were together.”

“Trevor!” A rose blush tinted her cheeks.

“Do you disagree, my love?”

She closed her eyes and leaned back against the pillows as his fingers traced a path of rapture along the skin revealed by the loosened top of her robe. Her own palm rested on the top of his hand to press it more securely to her. Lifting it, she placed her lips against his skin. He kissed her forehead lightly. “Let me serve you breakfast, Sybill. Then you can offer me your sweet self again.”

“That sounds wonderful!” She dimpled with childlike delight as she thought of the completely unchildish sensations he would send swirling through her.

Setting a bench next to the bed, he placed the food on it. He served her with an exaggerated flare which had her giggling so hard that he warned her to be careful she did not spill her breakfast.

“You are an excellent cook,” she said as she dipped her spoon into the porridge for a second bite. “Perhaps I should let you do all the cooking.”

“This, I'm afraid, is the extent of my culinary talents. I shall leave the household chores to you, my love.” His smile softened as his hand stroked her shoulder. “Do you realize that last night was the first time we have spent the whole night together? Sybill, sometimes when I am alone in Liverpool, I think of you here and wonder if I ever will be able to hold you again.”

She put her bowl in her lap and caressed his face. “I know, my love. I know. I watch Clara while she stands by the window looking for Mac to arrive, and my heart weeps. What she has is what I want. To wait for you to come to me each night. Will it be forever I must wait?”

“No,” he whispered. “Not forever, but I don't know when our dreams will come to fruition. Don't think of that, sweetheart. Think only of the happiness we have now. It's too short-lived to spoil with thoughts of bleak tomorrows.”

With a nod, she began to eat slowly. Suddenly she put the bowl on the bench. Rising to her knees, she pressed her face against the side of his neck. “Love me, Trevor. Love me, and keep the dark demons of despair away from me.”

“Only if you eat your breakfast,” he said with a soft laugh. When she looked at him with astonishment vivid on her face, he tapped her nose. “For two reasons, my love. One because of the little one you must take care of.” His grin became a roguish leer. “The other is because I intend to let you work up an appetite again in your bed.”

She smiled and settled back against the headboard. Trevor could ease her fears with teasing. The memory of his smile in her heart would comfort her when he had to leave.