Sybill (6 page)

“This is my home also,” he replied with the reasonable attitude she was discovering hid his strongest anger.

“I know that. What I meant is what are you doing
here
?”

“I forgot to tell you earlier that Lord Foxbridge has told me I must complete your introduction to the estate.” He did not have to add that only Owen Wythe's insistence made him agree to escort her again.

“When?”

“Whenever it is convenient for you, Miss Hampton.”

Biting her lip, she thought for a moment. “I have to meet with Marshall in an hour. Perhaps in the early part of the afternoon.”

“Yes, miss. That will be fine.”

When he turned to go, he was shocked to feel her hand on his sleeve. He brushed it off, but she said, “Trevor, wait a minute.”

He spun to face her. His copy of a court obeisance would have been comical if the situation had been less serious. It was simply insulting. “Excuse me, Miss Hampton. Do I need your permission to leave the royal presence?”

“If you want to trade insults, we can,” she replied quietly. “However, the circumstances being as they are, I thought it might be better to call a truce. We are going to be spending time together. I don't think we need to be clawing at each other's throats all the time.”

Silently he regarded her, and she knew her rational request would be ignored. This hatred Trevor had for her blinded him. Obstinately, she refused to lower her eyes and glared back at him. She had done all she could. More than once in the past fortnight, she had made overtures to end this disagreement so they could live in harmony.

“Very well,” she said finally. They could not stand there all day and fire sparks at each other with their eyes. She hated to be the one to speak first, but she was tired of arguing. “You have made your opinion of me obvious, sir. However, it is Owen's request that you take me riding today.”

“And because it is Lord Foxbridge's request, I will honor it, Miss Hampton.”

“Thank you,” she said coolly. “I will see you after midday at the stable. Good morning, sir.”

Automatically he replied, “Good morning, Miss Hampton.” As she closed the door, his scowl deepened to cause his mustache to droop like frost-withered cornstalks. If nothing else, he had to respect her persistence in wooing him into believing her sham.

Damn Lord Foxbridge's stubborn nature! If he would stop trying to convince them to like each other, they could live with only the inevitable interruption her presence would create. Owen Wythe was not prepared to let that happen. He wanted to be sure they were friends.

Sybill stood with her back against the door and fumed. Never in her life had kind words been thrown back into her face so viciously. When a knock against the wood vibrated in her back, she turned and ripped the door open.

“What do you want now—Oh!”

The maid in the corridor took a step backward to protect herself from the rage on Miss Sybill's face. When she heard the lady's apology, she nodded quickly. Whatever disturbed Miss Sybill, it was not her. Clara was pleased, for she did not think she would like to face that wrath.

With a bobbing curtsy, she said, “M'Lord Foxbridge asked me to remind you of an appointment with him this morning.”

“This morning?” She sighed. “I forgot. Please tell him I will be down immediately. Never mind,” she added hastily. “I will go down now.”

Sybill was surprised to see Owen waiting at the bottom of the stairs. His kind smile was not dimmed by her tardy arrival. He took her hand from the railing and drew her down the last few steps. “I am so sorry, Owen. I was busy with Trevor, and I—”

“Nonsense,” he said with a laugh. An odd expression crossed his face as he asked, “How does he treat you?”

She dampened her lips before she replied. Until she was sure of her accusation, she could not speak it. She had asked subtle questions and found no sign of mismanagement. Although it irritated her that Trevor appeared to be as honestly interested in Owen's welfare as he acted, she could not let her feelings convince her to speak foolishly. “He respects my knowledge of managing a household. I think we shall find it fairly comfortable to work together.” She smiled, trying to convince herself the words were not lies.

Owen placed her hand on his velvet sleeve as he walked toward the door. “I'm glad to hear that, my dear Sybill. Trevor has been with me several years, and I have come to depend on his common sense. I hope he'll be with me for many years, as you will be.”

A spasm of fear raced through her. She did not like the possessive sound in his voice. Looking at his time-lined face, she saw his bland expression had been replaced by one which added to her fright. She wanted to step away, but his hand over hers on his arm tightened to imprison her.

“You are a charming child, Sybill,” he continued softly. “You have your father's love of life, but you have not yet tested its many adventures.”

“Owen—”

He ignored her distress. Lifting her captured hand to his lips, he kissed it lightly as his eyes bore into her. “Yes, you are yet a child, dreaming a child's fantasies, believing totally in the uncompromising colors of truth. It will be delightful to have you beside me as you grow into your womanhood, Sybill.” Releasing her hand, he patted her cheek as he had so often. “I'm alienated from my son, but I have you with me.”

Sybill did not know what to say. This was not the first time Owen had spoken of her being with him forever. In the beginning, she could pretend she had misunderstood his fervor as he regarded her. Most of the time, he acted as her kindly uncle. Only on occasion did he show that he wanted far more than her companionship.

Her concerns about how to respond were needless. Owen took over the conversation as he walked with her to view the awakening gardens. Despite his return to the friendly posture he had shown upon her arrival, she used the first excuse she could to escape him. Seeking a haven in her room, she bolted the door so she did not have to worry about an intrusion from Kate. Her life was being flung out of control. When the invitation came from Foxbridge Cloister, she had been sure it would be a mistake to accept it. Now she was even more sure of that, but she was effectively the captive of one man who wanted, her to replace his lost child and another who detested her. She longed to go home, but her only choice was to dress to go to the stable.

The ride began in silence. Sybill could not think of anything to say that would not be thrown back into her face. Sitting with her back rod-straight, she tried to dampen her unhappiness by enjoying the beauty of the spring day.

Once winter had been convinced to leave western England, the warm weather swiftly brought blossoms to the trees and the fresh aroma of early flowers. Birds flocked to sing in the hedgerows and called from their nests in the marsh grass. Along the road, the mud was drying into a rocklike hardness. By the middle of summer, it would be a powder to rise in a dusty cloud. She watched as workers prepared the fields for planting. Although she wanted to ask questions about what would be sowed in which field, she was sure she would be snapped at in response.

After an hour of the wordless journey, Trevor motioned for her to pull her horse to the side of the road. She followed him into the shade of some spring green trees. Her eyes widened when he dismounted and held up his hands to her.

She placed her hands on his shoulders and leaned forward to slide from the saddle. As his broad hands gripped her at the waist, she was shocked by the strong, increasingly familiar reaction hurtling through her. No touch ever had elicited such a response from her center. The stressful tightness in her stomach altered abruptly to a flutter of anticipation.

Fiercely she told herself to stop being so foolish. Despite Trevor Breton being intensely appealing with a dark handsomeness which she found impossible to ignore, he despised her. She could easily imagine his jeers if he discovered how the caress of his hands warmed her.

“Thank you,” she said coolly. Inwardly she congratulated herself on her ability to act as if everything were normal. She was grateful the brim of her beaver hat hid any betraying blush on her overheated cheeks. Such coloring she could not blame on the spring sunshine.

“My pleasure, Miss Hampton.”

“Can't you say something to me just once without it reeking of sarcasm?” she demanded, more angry at herself than at him. She could not imagine why this man's touch wrenched away all her self-defenses.

“Why?” He took the reins of both horses and walked them to a nearby bush. Tying them to the briars, he returned to where she stood. He asked again, “Why should I be pleasant to you?”

“I am Owen's guest.”

“You are his ward!” He laughed as he saw her wince. “Simply because you are Lord Foxbridge's pampered pet, I do not have to like you.”

Hurt by his vicious words, she put her hands on her waist and glowered at him. “Not liking me would be a decided improvement on the present situation. Of course it really doesn't matter to me whether you like me or not! I am not the one who hired you.” She raised her riding crop to emphasize her point. “Just remember—”

He grasped the small whip. When she moved backward in shock, he put his arm around her waist and kept her motionless. Twisting the wooden handle from her fingers, he threw it onto the ground. His fingers caught her cheeks in his viselike grip, and he forced her to look up at him. “I will tell you this only once, Miss Hampton. I won't allow you to threaten me or Foxbridge Cloister. Your coy games haven't fooled me. Play the strumpet if you wish, but do it elsewhere. Lord Foxbridge has few years left. I don't wish you to shorten those years with your pranks.”

She tried to speak, but no intelligible words emerged past her lips, distorted by his grip. Rage gave her a strength she normally did not possess. She ripped her head out of his hand. Pushing on him, she broke his hold around her. Her chest heaved with the enormity of her efforts, but she was free. “You misguided misanthrope!” she spat.

Coldly he laughed. “I don't hate everyone, Miss Hampton. Just pretty ladies who try to gain a title by seducing men older than their fathers. I can see you don't intend to be like your father and end up with nothing.”

“I don't want to listen to you! I don't want to hear your insults to my father. He was a good man, not wise in the ways of financial dealings perhaps, but he was a good man. He was not—not—”

Trevor did not finish the sentence. From her expression, he could tell she was honestly outraged. He refused to believe what his eyes showed him. “Don't you know what Alfred Hampton did for a living? Don't you ever wonder where your mother is?”

“My mother is dead! Father told me she died when I was born. He always was very sad when he spoke of her. He loved her so much. I think that is the reason he never remarried.” Her chin rose in pride as she stated, “My father was a courtier at the court of Queen Elizabeth. He was renowned for his wit and his charm. If that is a crime, sir, then he was guilty to the highest degree.”

The fury which had controlled him from the moment he heard this woman was invading Foxbridge Cloister ebbed. She meant her words sincerely. How she had stayed so innocent in that house was a great mystery. It seemed Hampton had been determined his daughter would never learn of his sordid life while he was alive. Suddenly he discovered he did not want to be the one to tell her the truth. Swallowing the bile filling his mouth, he smiled as realistically as he could.

“Forgive me, Sybill.”

She frowned, as he used her given name, not trusting this abrupt amiability. Gazing up into his eyes as black as a windowless room, she felt a quiver within her. “Forgive you? After all you have said? You ask quite a bit.”

“I can forgive you for accusing me of cheating Lord Foxbridge. Now that you have checked so thoroughly, you know that is not the case.” He smiled as she blushed. “If I can forgive you for that defamation, can you be any less benevolent?”

She bent to retrieve her riding crop. Clutching it in her fingers to keep them from trembling, she answered, “Are you saying you don't wish to be my enemy, Mr. Breton?”

“Trevor.” He sighed as he regarded her stiff features. This was his fault. If he had taken the time to check into Sybill Hampton's past, he would have learned immediately what he was being taught too late. Softly he said, as he closed the distance between them, “You were right from the beginning. There's no need for us to spat like two cats. Can we be friends?”

“I don't know,” she answered with her characteristic honesty. “You have said many things which are unforgivable. I do know I can work with you to help Owen. I am in debt to him for offering me a home when I had no other.”

“Sybill, I can only say I am sorry.”

As his hands settled on her shoulders, she tried to move away. “Sir, you are overstepping the bounds of propriety.” Her stilted words covered the uneven beat of her heart.

He felt as if someone had punched him in the gut. Only a blow like that would take his breath away as harshly as her genteel reprimand. Taking his hands from her, he looked into her uneasy face. “Why was Foxbridge Cloister the only place open to you? You must have many friends.”

“Friends?” She sighed as she gazed out at the sea visible through the trees. “I have no friends, although I had many offers.” When he began to speak, she held up her hand. “Don't ask. None were of the type a lady can accept, Trevor. More than a dozen men called on me to invite me to live with them, but only Owen did not require me to sleep with him for the roof over my head. Do you wonder now why I came out here to this desolate place instead of staying in London?”

“I am sorry.”

“Why? Because you thought I am no different than what they guessed me to be?”

Trevor did not reply. Instead he suggested they continue with their ride. As they walked to where the horses were, he was careful not to come close enough to brush her sleeve. When he lifted her onto her horse, he was amazed at how easily she fit into his arms. She did not meet his eyes as he remounted, so he could not guess at her feelings. His own blared through his head as if they were being trumpeted to announce the queen.