Sybill (41 page)

“How are you, Marshall? I …” His voice faded as his eyes went to the staircase. Three steps from the bottom was the woman he had yearned to see for the past month. He tried to think of something to break the silence. His eyes continued to glow as he gazed at her.

Sybill kept her feet from racing forward so she could throw herself into his arms. Her actions would be noted by the spies Christopher had recruited. In the past week, she had learned how widespread his network was. Nothing she said or did could be allowed to betray her love for Trevor.

Walking toward him, she held out her hand as she did to any guest. One hand closed the shawl she wore constantly to prevent anyone from seeing the swelling in the middle of her body. “Trevor, how kind of you to come so quickly. Thank Adrienne for me. She delivered the message so promptly.”

He understood immediately and answered, “I will do that, my lady.” He bent over her fingers. When his mouth touched her knuckles, she felt her knees weaken. She wanted to experience his kisses over all of her instead of this most polite buss on the fingers. “My lady, you are looking lovely. I'm glad to see you have recovered from the tragedy and the many duties you must have had.”

“I have been living quietly, Trevor. Lord Foxbridge was kind enough to allow me to use the cottage on the shore road as a dowager house.” Her eyes reminded him that he could not have known of the situation which had evolved after he left.

“Dowager house?” There was the exactly proper amount of outrage in his voice. “He banished you from the Cloister?”

“It has been no difficulty. Clara and I have enjoyed our time there.” Her smile told him what she could not say aloud. She had no idea who her friends were nor who would be happy to betray her to Christopher. Except for those clearly loyal to one or the other, the servants were treading carefully until the sovereignty of the house was determined by the will. “Did you have a pleasant trip?”

Reluctantly he nodded. He wanted to learn what Owen's disgusting son had been doing to Sybill since his brief visit instead of speak of the journey from Liverpool. “It was uneventful.”

He could add no more before Christopher Wythe entered the foyer. The predatory expression on the lord's face warned the others he expected all to come as he wished when they gathered in the library. “Good day, Breton.”

“And to you, my lord.”

Christopher held out his arm. “Mother?”

She bit her lip as she placed her fingers on his bent elbow. When he called her that, she knew he wanted to hurt her more than normal.

In the library, she greeted Mr. Mallory as she took a chair. The lord was not ready to release her willingly. Putting her other hand over his, she lightly slapped his fingers. “My lord, you forget yourself,” she whispered. She sat in the closest chair.

He was set to snarl a response, but paused as he saw she had two champions in the room. Both Mallory and Breton regarded him sternly. She always had allies, either other people or that damned dog. With an inarticulate growl, he dropped into his chair.

The barrister looked pained at the continual disruptions. “I trust we may begin now that all requested by the late Lord Foxbridge are present.”

Sybill glanced up at Trevor who was standing with his hand on the back of her chair. She could not speak of the thoughts in her mind. His eyes had swept over her in her loose gown when she came down the stairs, and she knew he was shocked to see that her pregnancy was still hidden. When she realized the attorney had been speaking to her, she urged, “You may begin, Mr. Mallory, when you are ready.”

Except for the dull sound of the man's resonant voice, nothing else was heard in the room. As Mr. Mallory read the will, Christopher Wythe's smile grew wider. All that he had desired was becoming his. The house and all attached to it belonged to the first born of Owen Wythe. Only when he heard there was a codicil to the original will, did his good humor dim.

“The date?” he demanded.

“'Twas signed the day after Lord Foxbridge married Lady Foxbridge, my lord,” the man admitted uncomfortably. “It was witnessed by a Katherine Eisner and Basil Marshall.”

“Who?”

“Your butler, my lord, the woman is—”

Sybill interrupted, “Katherine Eisner is the woman who served as my personal maid. Will you let Mr. Mallory finish?” It was becoming more and more difficult to sit here and listen to Christopher exult in his victory when all she wanted was to escape with Trevor. As soon as this was done, she could leave the Cloister forever.

The barrister lowered his eyes to avoid seeing the fury on the newest Lord Foxbridge's face. Softly he began to read:

On this day following the glorious one when Sybill Hampton became my wife, I wish to make the following changes to my will.

To my son Christopher, I bequeath, of course, the title of Lord Foxbridge. It is what he has been anxious to possess from the moment he realized it would one day be his. I also leave a bit of advice. Remember who your friends were when you had money to waste, son, for I doubt you will see them again when you have none.

To my loyal Trevor Breton, for services rendered beyond what would be expected for his position, I leave one thousand pounds. Breton, I can never repay you for what you have done. I hope you enjoyed your duties as much as I savor the fruit of your labor.

To my darling wife, Sybill Hampton Wythe, who has given me the one thing I have waited twenty-five years to have, I give Foxbridge Cloister, all properties, monies not dispersed above, and any other material possessions I have to hold in trust for the child she bears. If the child dies before her, she may remain at the Cloister as if she is the owner for as long as she lives. The Cloister will revert to the Crown upon her death. If the child lives to have its own descendants, the property will go to them on the child's death.

Mr. Mallory paused, before saying in a tight voice, “There is more about the rights of property and disbursement of funds, but those are the primary changes.”

The explosion they expected came immediately. “Child? Let me see those pages!”

Reluctantly the barrister handed them to Christopher. As the irate man perused what had been read aloud to all of them, Sybill stared at the fire on the hearth. This should not have been a surprise, but it was. For the past two months, she had not been allowed to come into the Cloister. She passed the time of her banishment by dreaming of how she would escape once the will was read. Now she was the owner of the Cloister, holding it in the name of her child.

Her hands slipped to cover the mound in her abdomen. No longer would she have to hide this child. Owen had made it clear to his scurrilous son that it would be useless to rid himself of either Sybill or the child. Carefully he had thought of a way to protect her from the one who would have the most cause to hurt her.

“This is ridiculous!” snarled Christopher. “My father must have been mad!” He spun to glare at her pale face. “You tricked him into this!”

Mr. Mallory answered quietly, “My lord, Lady Foxbridge was as unaware as you were of this codicil. It was Lord Foxbridge's wish that no one but he and I would know of its provisions. Those who witnessed his signature were not allowed to read the codicil.” Sympathy was in his eyes as he glanced at the woman dressed in black.

As if the barrister had not spoken, Christopher stepped toward Sybill. He put his finger directly in front of her face. It shook with the intensity of his rage. “I will contest this, Sybill. I won't see my birthright given to the bastard of a Spanish sailor.”

“What?” she cried. As she started to rise, she felt Trevor's hand on her shoulder, holding her in the chair.

Coolly, the black-haired man said, “I think you owe Lady Foxbridge an apology, my lord.”

He snorted in derision. “An apology? For stealing my inheritance? What do you care, Breton? You lined your pockets well with my father's gold. One thousand pounds. You will be able to live well for years with your miserly ways.” Turning to Sybill, he continued with his tirade, “You won't take my home from me, harlot! I will appeal this to Her Highness Gloriana herself. She has no use for those who succored the Spanish with the warmth of their bodies.”

Sybill shook off the hand on her shoulder. Rising, she made no effort to hide what should have been obvious weeks before. Her fingers entwined in front of her distended belly. When she felt Christopher's eyes on her middle, she allowed herself to smile. “My lord, I need not remind you this is once again my home. You and your friends are to leave it posthaste. As you so kindly did for me and Mr. Breton, I give you until nightfall to remove yourselves.”

“I am Lord Foxbridge!” he shouted like the spoiled child he was.

“And I am the chatelaine of Foxbridge Cloister for my child.” Her smile turned as wicked as his when he bragged how he would turn her out with only the clothes on her back. “It would seem you have a sibling, my lord.”

With another unintelligible snarl, he whirled away. The door slammed behind him so hard that several volumes bounced from their shelves to drop to the floor with a crash.

“He does enjoy making a loud exit,” she said to no one in particular.

Mr. Mallory smiled as he closed his portfolio and retied the ribbons around it. “Do not worry, Lady Foxbridge. The will can withstand any legal fight brought by Lord Foxbridge. The late Lord Foxbridge was very definite about that. Now, if you will excuse me, my lady, there are some papers I must prepare for your signature.” He cleared his throat. “I need to ask. Do you intend to find a new estate manager? You will need a very competent one to clean up the mess Lord Foxbridge has left you. Will you ask Mr. Breton to return?”

She looked at the tall man who had been so quiet during these proceedings. The need to talk of this and many other things wiped all other thoughts from her mind. Telling the lawyer she would let him know within the hour, she added nothing as he left the room. She motioned for Trevor to sit.

With a smile, he took her hands and drew her to a bench. Gently, but with the ravenous desire he could never hide, he placed his lips against hers. As his arms slid around her, the demand of his kiss grew into a command that she give herself to him once more. His laugh interrupted the sweet tendrils of passion entwining them. As his hand moved over the rounded mound, he whispered in her ear, “You have changed, my love.”

Her fingers pressed on top of his. “He has begun to kick very hard, Trevor. I think he will be a man of great strength like his father.”

“Sybill, we must talk about that.” All happiness left his face. “No one but you and I know for sure that this is not Owen's child, but—”

“You and I and Mac Beckwith and Clara Pekins.”

“They know?” He chuckled lightly. “It seems naive to expect they would not guess that I came all the way from Liverpool simply to wish you a pleasant Twelfth Night.”

She smiled seductively. “It was a pleasant Twelfth Night, a very pleasant one.” She stroked the softness of his beard. “They knew before then, but not a word of it have they breathed to anyone. We are lucky to have such loyal friends.”

“Yes, at least they are loyal. Others won't be the same. There will be a continuation of the rumor Christopher spoke of.”

“Rumor? What rumor?”

His ebony eyebrows became a straight line across his forehead. “Mac kept me informed of the news of the shire when he came to Liverpool to deliver your messages. You must have heard the rumors that you were pregnant—”

Laughter lightly wafting from her interrupted him. As her hand took his to smooth her dress over her stomach, she said, “That is no rumor, Trevor.”

“The rumor says you are pregnant by a Spanish sailor you tried to save in the summer, Sybill.”

“Joaquin? How did anyone find out about that? Trevor, he was so ill from the effects of being lost at sea, he could not have bedded me, even if he had wanted to.”

One side of his mustache tilted up slightly. “That I know, my love. I know all the facts, but the rumor exists. Christopher will be glad to give them additional fuel to grow. You must have been seen entering the hut by someone who saw you placing flowers on that Spanish cur's grave. Damn him! He wanted to destroy us. Even after his death—”

“Trevor,” she pleaded, “don't speak that way of the dead. It isn't Joaquin's fault his name is being used to defame me. Perhaps it will help to let others think that. It will keep the truth from being known.”

He snorted. “How long do you think you can hid our love, Sybill? Before your husband's death, we were watched.”

“And no one saw anything but that you offered me comfort when I was abused by my husband!”

“Damn all these Wythes,” he said too quietly. “So often I longed for him to be alive again, so I could make him suffer as he made us suffer. Do you know how much it hurt to see you subservient to that bastard?”

For a long minute, she did not answer. She leaned her head against his strong shoulder as his arms wrapped around her as they had so seldom in the past months. When she spoke, she did not hide the longing in her voice, “Trevor, I want to leave the Cloister, but I can't. Will you stay here with me?”

“As your estate manager?” He sighed, his rage gone. “Of course, sweetheart. I won't leave you when you need me.”

Tilting up her head, she asked, “As only my estate manager, Trevor?”

“For now, that is all I can be. Your husband is too recently dead and the child who must bear his name unborn.” He ran a finger along her cheek. “Be patient, Sybill. It's only a few months until the child is born. Then you will be able to give up your title if you wish to become mine.”

She answered him in the sweetest way she knew. “I love you, Trevor.”

“I love you, darling.” He grimaced. “That old goat!”

“Owen?”

He laughed. “How did you guess I meant your late, unmourned husband? ‘For services rendered beyond what would be expected for his position.' He was right about me enjoying those very special duties I performed for him, although I thought it was simply for our love. One thousand pounds is a high price for such.”