Sybill (45 page)

When she was seated, he leaned against the back of a chair and regarded her with amusement. She said nothing. That she looked very different than when she had last seen him was simply a fact of her pregnancy. Her abhorrence of him had not altered.

“Aren't you curious why I sent for you?” he asked with an insincere smile.

“I assumed you would tell me.”

Infuriated by her calm, he snarled, “Don't force me to kill you, Sybill!”

“That wasn't my intention. Nor is it yours. Our queen would not be displeased to assume ownership of this estate. More than Elizabeth loves the praise of her courtiers, she enjoys wealth. Thanks to Trevor's stewardship, Foxbridge Cloister would add significantly to her royal coffers.”

He started to snap an answer, but the sound of light footsteps approaching the steps into the room interrupted him. The frown distorting his even features became a triumphant smile. Seeing that expression, Sybill rose slowly. It meant trouble for her.

“No, don't leave, my lady,” he said. “This is the reason I sent for you.”

“I really am not interested in your childish games.”

He laughed. “This, my dear Lady Foxbridge, is not the least bit a game.”

His tall form blocked her view, so she could not see who stood on the steps. When he greeted someone pleasantly and held out his arm, Sybill knew it was a woman. That startled her, for he had made it clear during his last visit he wanted his stepmother. He turned to reveal a woman dressed in pale blue silk. Pompously he said, “I am sure you two don't recognize each other. Countess, this is Lady Foxbridge, Sybill Hampton Wythe.” His grin widened. “Sybill, this is your mother, Countess Northrop, Blair Corrigan.”

“Mother?” she whispered. Her hand reached for the chair, for she could not balance herself on suddenly weak legs. Her eyes could not miss the possessive expression on the other woman's face as she looked, not at her daughter, but at the luxuriously appointed room. The years had been kind to Blair Corrigan. Sybill's memory had not played her false. The countess was a beautiful woman.

As she went about the room, examining its wealth, the countess moved from one pose to another. The curls sweeping around her head were a lustrous black that glistened in the sunlight. Her lush curves, which had attracted Alfred Hampton, held Christopher's eyes. “You were right, Christopher darling. This is a wondrous place.” Her sultry voice contained a threat which she did not try to conceal. As she moved toward Sybill, the distinctive odor of wine exuded from her like a heavy cloud.

“Too wonderful to be wasted on Alfred Hampton's daughter,” he replied as if Sybill were not in the room.

“Now, now,” she said with the exact right amount of laugh to soften her command. “As much as I hate to admit it, she is my daughter as well.”

Christopher knew his part well. He took Blair's hand and raised it to his lips. “'Tis hard to believe a woman as beautiful as you can be her mother.”

She turned to look at Sybill for the first time. Despite Lord Foxbridge's effusive compliments, she knew her well-powdered beauty was dimmed by her daughter's natural loveliness. She appraised Sybill and saw that even if they had been the same age, it would be her daughter who would charm the men. Sybill had her father's gentleness, which had led to both of their downfalls. “My dear daughter, how—”

Sybill backed away from the outstretched arms. All her life she had wanted to know her mother. When she no longer cared, the woman had found her way into her life. “Go away!”

Christopher laughed. “Now, Sybill, that is no way to talk. She is, after all, your mother. If you can't be civil to her for that reason, remember another. She outranks you.”

“I don't care. This is my house. I want both of you out of here.”

A petulant expression marred Blair's face. What might have been charming decades ago was ludicrous. “Christopher, you told me it would be so easy.” She glared at the young woman. “She's just like her father, isn't she? So damn self-righteous! I could not tolerate that from him, nor will I from this slip of a child.”

“My father, despite his other faults, was a good parent,” Sybill responded. “That is more, madam, than I can say for you. You never had any interest in me, except the rare times when you came to call. Why? To ease your guilt at abandoning me?” Her knuckles eased their convulsive grip on the chair, as she went on in a calmer voice, “I don't want you in my life, and I don't want you in my child's life.”

A sneer tilted her lips in a caricature of a smile. “I had heard you were pregnant, Sybill. I'm sure
you
will be the perfect mother to your bastard. Christopher tells me you convinced his senile father that the child is his.”

“This is Owen's child.” She did not blink as she spoke the lie once more.

Blair waved her hand in Christopher's direction. “Leave us, my lord. We wish to catch up on the years since we have been together last.” Her mouth moued in a pout as she pondered, “You couldn't have been more than seven or eight.”

“There is nothing I wish to say to you, Countess.” Sybill moved away, but Christopher caught her arm. When she cried out in pain, he laughed and pressed her into a chair.

When he glanced at the older woman, she nodded. “Very well, my lord. Stay. I may need your assistance to keep her here to listen to the truth.” Sitting in the chair beside Sybill's, she went on, “You wish to know the truth, don't you, my dear daughter?”

“Not especially. I have no desire to hear you twisting the facts to try to excuse yourself from abandoning Father and me so you could marry a man with one foot in the grave.”

“No different from you, Sybill.” With a generous smile, she accepted the glass of wine Christopher offered her. Neither mentioned that he did not pour one for Sybill.

Hiding her anguish, she said smoothly, “Perhaps not, but I did not leave a man who loved me and my child. You ruined my father's life. I won't let you do that to me. Father did the best he could to raise me.”

“Alfred was a fool. He lived like a fool, and he died like one. All alone and penniless.”

“Not alone.” Sybill smiled for the first time. “Father had one thing to keep him from being alone. He had the love of his child. That, madam, you will never have. Who is the poorer at the final count?”

“How dare you? You are nothing!”

“Blair!” Christopher could not move quick enough to stop her beringed hand from striking Sybill.

Because she had not been prepared for her mother to react like this, Sybill could not avoid the hand. With a cry, she put her own palm over her cheek. When Christopher bent to check her reddened face, she pushed him away and rose. “Get out of my house, Countess! Although I can see you and Lord Foxbridge intend to act as if it is otherwise, this is my house. I don't want you here.”

Blair's face twisted. “You impudent brat! I don't take orders from you. You are only the wife of the late Lord Foxbridge. Your husband is dead.” She slipped her arm through Christopher's and gave him a coquettish glance. “You may have had the old lord, daughter, but I—”

“No!” Sybill's face blanched as she looked at the man who was smiling uneasily. The tangled threads connecting them together had been rejumbled when Christopher invited his stepmother's mother to share his bed. Backing away, Sybill wrapped her arms around her abdomen as if she could protect her child from the perversion. Neither of the others moved to block her, for she was not stepping toward the door.

“Don't be so shocked, Sybill. We are doing nothing wrong.” Blair laughed lightly, but her brows were close in anger. “After all, you must not be averse to a bit of illicit loving in the hedgerows. Did Owen know which one of his tenants sired that bastard? He always thought he could rule the world. That he hoped to have anyone believe that child was his is a joke.”

More than she hated her late husband, Sybill discovered she despised the woman she could not call her mother. Countess Northrop embodied everything Sybill had loathed about London. Lying, adulterous, self-serving. Her mother was all this, and Sybill wanted no part of her. “If you won't leave, I will!” she averred stoutly.

She could not reach the door before Christopher pulled away from Blair's sugary talons and stopped her. Gripping her arms, he stared down into her glistening eyes. “My dear Lady Foxbridge, you have not been excused.”

“Oh, let her go, Christopher,” commanded the older woman. “She is tiresome. I want another drink. Where do you keep the wine?” She glanced over her shoulder as if she could not believe he had not jumped immediately to answer her demands. “I said let her go pout in her rooms. Then she will see that she would be wiser to accede to our wishes.”

Sybill watched the man's face as he weighed his decision. He obviously did not want to end the cruelty to her, but he could not offend his patroness. Until he found a way to break his father's will, he must be dependent on someone like Blair Corrigan to provide him with the money he needed for his extravagant lifestyle.

As his hands dropped to his side, Sybill smiled superiorly. She did not have to voice her contempt. All the times he had belittled her father were coming back to haunt him. “If you will excuse me, dear son.”

He did not meet her eyes as he mumbled something unintelligible. While she walked down the trio of steps, she heard Countess Northrop repeat her orders in a more strident voice. Perhaps, if she was lucky, these two would entertain each other until Trevor could return.

Marshall was waiting at the base of the stairs. On the pretext of aiding her up the long flight, he took her arm and walked with her. Leaning over, he whispered, “Tell us what to do, my lady.”

“I have sent for Trevor.”

“Good.” A vindictive smile was out of place on his kind face. “And anything else?”

“Can we get a message to the sheriff?”

He snorted with disbelief at her naïveté. When she regarded him in shock, he said hastily, “Excuse me, my lady. It is just that Steen will not lift a hand to help you. The man would be afraid of alienating Lord Foxbridge and losing his livelihood.”

Fatigue lining her face, she nodded. Few beyond these walls would do anything to aid her. If Christopher proved victorious, he would make Sybill's allies pay dearly. There was nothing to do but wait until Mac Beckwith could contact Trevor and bring him here.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Sybill did not feel like joining the others for dinner, but had no energy to fight the order brought by a cowering servant. After she soothed the lad, she had Clara help her dress. She did not listen to her maid's pleas to ignore the edict. If Christopher had his chance to attempt to browbeat her, he would be satisfied and allow her to retire early.

When she reached the base of the stairs, a cacophony of voices grated on her ears. A man lounging in the doorway of the drawing room noticed her and called to his host. Christopher appeared instantly. His broad smile turned icy as he saw her with her chin raised in defiance. “Good evening,” he shouted jovially as he came toward her.

She fought her instinctive desire to flee. The drinking he had started with the countess must not have slowed all afternoon. His nearly colorless eyes glistened, and his words were slurred. He staggered. Catching himself, he laughed as he held out his arm. “Mother dear?”

Hesitating, she stared at him in reproach. In his months of exile, he had not changed. He chuckled and, taking her fingers painfully, pinned them to his sleeve. He kept his pace slow as he led her into the drawing room. With a gracious sweep of his hand, he sat her on the pale green, petit-point chair.

Sybill accepted a silver goblet which was placed directly in her face. Sipping slowly, she appraised her circumstances. Only one of Christopher's friends she did not recognize from his last visit at the Cloister. The others appeared as dissolute as they had been during the rampage that had taken her and Trevor months to repair. A frown flitted across her lips as she saw she was the only female. She realized how closely she must guard her true feelings when Christopher spoke.

“If you are looking for your mother, I can tell you that you won't be afflicted with her any longer. She is more tiresome than her daughter, so I sent her back to London.”

“You did what?”

He laughed at her astonishment. “Moulton decided he did not want to stay in the country, so I sent the countess with him. They will have a grand time.” He grinned at his cronies. “After all, Moulton always enjoys tumbling a rich woman, no matter her age.”

Sybill flushed at his crude words. Although she hated Blair Corrigan, she did not like to hear her mother insulted. “That is enough, Christopher!”

“Aye, on that you are correct.” He raised his wine goblet high in a silent toast before draining it. “I had enough of Blair. Something my father missed, although he had nearly everything else I ever wanted.” Gazing at the portraits over the fireplace, he sneered at the one of his father. “You old bastard, you denied me everything I wanted! I can tell you that Blair Corrigan is not the only thing you failed where I succeeded, Father.”

“Christopher, please …” Her voice trailed off as he whirled to glare at her. She had never seen such jealous rage as what transfigured his face. It terrified her.

He started to step toward her. She cringed, pulling away from his hatred. “No, my dear, dear Sybill, your mother won't be the only thing Father wanted in vain.” He ran his fingers along her bare arm.

“Stop it,” she pleaded. “Owen was your father. Have some respect for him.”

“Respect?” he cried. “I will show you what kind of respect he deserves.”

When he drew a heavy chair to the edge of the hearth, his friends hooted with delight. From beneath his doublet, he drew a blade. He tilted it so the glint of the candlelight sparkled off it with an eye-hurting glare.