Sybill (23 page)

“My friends,” began Owen in his most sonorous voice, “I want to thank you for coming. This lovely young lady by my side you all must know as my dear ward, Sybill Hampton. Although it was her father's tragic demise which brought her into my life, I must admit she has captivated all within the walls of Foxbridge Cloister.” He squeezed the fingers of her hand resting on his arm. “Wanting to keep her here always, I commissioned Gerard Sievers to do her portrait. Tonight we shall enjoy the result, which can be but a reflection of her true beauty. Marshall?”

“Aye, m'lord.” The butler tugged on the rope.

The concealing material drifted away to expose the canvas beneath to the collective gasps of admiration from the guests. Sybill's eyes widened as she saw the work which she had waited to view for so long. Mr. Sievers deserved his reputation. Not only had he captured the lifelike shape of her features, but he had caught the glow of the morning light on her hair. A puppy-sized Goldenrod rested at her feet, gazing up with adoration. She did not look at her pet, but at something just beyond the edge of the painting. The wistful expression spoke of a young woman on the threshold of first love, pining for some treat she had yet to sample.

Applause erupted throughout the room. The guests swarmed around them to congratulate Owen on his excellent choice of painter. Fear swelled through her as she listened to the men speaking in only slightly subtle words of Sybill's future with Lord Foxbridge. Feeling suffocated by the assumption that she soon would be Lady Foxbridge, she extracted herself from the crowd with a flimsy excuse. She gratefully took the glass of wine someone handed her and gulped a large portion of it.

“It is lovely, but then Sievers had such fine material to work with,” came a comment in a velvet-rich voice over her shoulder.

She turned slowly. The high ruff restricted her vision, but she knew, even before he spoke, that Trevor stood behind her. His slow smile slipped along his lips as, with his dark gaze, he caressed her sensuously.

“It is flattering.”

“Is that an attempt to have me compliment you and tell you that I agree with Lord Foxbridge that the original far surpasses the copy?” His hand raised of its own will to touch her, but he stopped before he paraded their love publicly. “I admit he made Goldenrod look far more sedate than I have ever seen that mongrel appear in real life.”

With a laugh, she took a calmer sip “That I will agree with. I was surprised when he attended the sittings more willingly than I did.”

“Sybill, I must ask you something quickly.” His voice had lost his teasing tone. “Where have you been the last two days? The only time I have seen you was on the shore road. You were talking to Mac Beckwith.”

“I have been busy with this party and everything.” She smiled and patted his arm. “Don't worry. This will be over in a few hours. Then I will have far more time for—for going over the accounts with you.”

The flicker of anger in Trevor's eyes had warned her Owen was approaching. The lord's increasingly possessive attitude was as irritating as her uncomfortable collar and urged her to react in the same manner. She wanted to ripoff her bonds and flee to the sweet haven of Trevor's arms.

No suggestion of the emotions boiling within him were audible when Trevor spoke. “Good evening, m'lord. I hope you don't mind me joining the festivities. I must admit a great curiosity about this masterpiece.”

“Of course you're welcome, Trevor.” He accepted a glass of wine from a tray carried by a maidservant. “It's a fabulous painting, isn't it?”

“As you said, you have Sybill immortalized in Foxbridge Cloister.”

Owen slipped his arm around her waist as he said, “I hope I won't need that painting as the sole reminder of my dear Sybill's lovely face lighting the passages of this house. The Cloister was so dank until she arrived.”

“This is my home now,” she said uneasily. “And I do thank you for all you have done for me.”

“Nonsense! 'Tis you who have brought so much into my life.”

Uncomfortably aware of the many ears listening to the course of this conversation, Sybill switched the topic. She was becoming more adroit with these verbal acrobatics. When Trevor excused himself, she nodded. The time dragged as she played the gracious hostess. In the early hours past midnight, she finally sought her bed to wrap herself in her dreams of the future.

Trevor was astonished when Sybill came to the library shortly after midday. Lord Foxbridge was still asleep. He had expected Sybill would be late rising also, but from the pile of documents in her hands, he suspected she had started working at her normal, early hour.

“Can you stop what you are doing?” she asked.

“This can wait. What do you have there?”

She glanced at the papers before she dropped them to the desktop. “These, too, can wait. It is something else. I have something I have to do, and I was wondering if you would come with me.”

Putting the stopper into the ink bottle, he rose to his feet. He stretched to relieve his aching muscles. When he felt her eyes, he grinned with sudden, surprising self-consciousness. He wore the same outfit he had to the party the previous evening. Then he had seen the admiration in her eyes and knew he wanted more of that. He took her hand and led her to the door. Noting her outfit, which accented her form so perfectly, he teased, “I assume we are riding.”

“Yes.” She grinned impishly. “But not far.”

Although he tried to convince her to tell him what she had planned, she continued only to smile and urged him to be patient. Soon he was caught up in her good humor and realized he would not get the truth until she was ready to tell him.

They rode from the Cloister in a wave of dust. As they passed sheared fields, the hints of autumn put a crisp edge on the air. The leaves were variegated with the colors that would brighten the hillsides in the brief days before the dull months of winter. When they turned onto the shore road, Trevor was sure of their destination. He said nothing until they arrived in the clearing where the small hut huddled against the breeze. After he dismounted, he aided Sybill from her horse. When he felt a quiver of some barely suppressed emotion ripple through her, he wondered why. Although they needed to talk, there had been no need to ride to find privacy.

“What are we doing here?” he asked for what seemed like the hundredth time as she handed him the reins of her horse.

Lightly, she replied, “I lost something here while we were caring for Joaquin. Would you help me look for it?”

“Of course.” He was clearly confused. He wanted answers, but she walked quickly toward the hut. He was not going to shout his questions at her back.

Sybill stepped aside as Trevor entered the hut. Closing the door, she dropped the bar into place. She felt his hand on her arm, but she brushed past him to find the lantern. Easily she lit it. When she heard his gasp of astonishment, she smiled with pleasure.

“Lord in heaven, Sybill! How did you do this?” His eyes could not believe the change in the rustic hut. Rugs covered the dirt floors, and a table and two chairs were placed under the shuttered windows. Dishes and candles sat on the cleaned mantel. Where the pallet had rested, a wide bed stood. Fresh linens were visible beneath the covers. He touched the walnut footboard as if to convince himself that what his eyes were seeing was the truth. “You did this?”

“With some help.”

“But—”

Her laughter interrupted him, and he smiled. He was acting like a virginal bride on her wedding night, wondering why the guests were joking beyond the bedroom door. When Sybill walked toward him, he drew her into his arms.

“I have never been patient,” she teased as she put up her fingers to touch his lips. The ravenous desire to feel them against her was overpowering. “I am tired of the time or the place being wrong, so I fixed both. Here is the place, and nobody expects us at the Cloister until the evening meal.” As her fingers dropped to the top button of his doublet, she rumpled the material beneath them. He started to speak, but she kissed him lightly. She took his hands in hers and sat on the bed. Staring up into his astonished face, she whispered, “Love me, Trevor. Heal the emptiness within me.”

For an eternal second, he regarded her sweet half-smile as he tried to believe what he was hearing. While he had been trying to devise an elaborate plan to find a private bower, she had simply been making preparations for this tryst. Knowing Sybill as well as he did now, this should not have been a surprise.

Putting his hands on her shoulders, he drew her to her feet. When she started to protest, he smiled and brought her into his arms. Her words faded into a murmur of joy as his lips found hers. Easily he released the hooks along the front of her gown's bodice. There were only a dozen holding the dress together. He gently peeled back the material to reveal her chemise and petticoats beneath the heavy overdress. When he pushed it along her arms, it dropped with a dull sound to the floor.

When she heard his murmur of admiration, she pressed close to feel the warmth of his body no longer blocked by the thick velvet of her gown. Easily her fingers undid the buttons of his doublet to allow it to gap open. She sighed as she placed her face against the breadth of his chest. The soft matting of hair, as dark as his beard, welcomed her.

She stepped out of her petticoats when they fluttered to the floor. A smile brightened her face as he took her hands and stepped backward. His eyes moving along her very visible form left a streak of heat in their wake.

“My love, my love, you are so beautiful.” His voice was hushed as he viewed her slender curves. The shadows of her body were outlined through the silk of her chemise.

Suddenly he pulled her close to him. With a gasp, she discovered the gentle caresses of the past were only a prelude for his eager touch. As his mouth explored the length of her neck, the textures of his skin teased her through the thinness of her underclothes. She closed her eyes to sink deeper into the paradise of his kisses.

“Trevor!”

He laughed lightly at her astonishment with her own reaction to his hand smoothing the material over the curve of her breast. Through the chemise no smoother than her skin, he felt her longing to share with him what she had offered no other man. A flash of hunger reeled through him at that thought.

He scooped her up into his arms and dropped her with a laugh onto the thick, feather bed. As she rose to lean on one elbow, he stripped off his doublet. It fell unnoticed to the floor amid her cast-off clothes. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he untied his gartered stockings.

“No, let me,” came a soft voice near his ear.

“Sybill …”

She paid no attention to the entreaty in his voice as she slid off the bed and knelt on the floor. Gently she removed his short boots. Then she rolled his stockings along the length of his muscular legs. She leaned her face against their strength, sapped by the power of her own desire. At the touch of a hand on her head, her eyes rose to meet his.

Taking her hands, he brought her to stand between his knees. He said nothing as he reached up to slide the lace strap of her camisole along her shoulder. When it lay loose against her arm, he did the same with the other side. The front of the chemise dropped to reveal more of the splendid curves which had drawn his eyes from the beginning.

With her eyes unswerving from his face, she continued what he had begun. Slowly the silk moved along her until it was puddled on the floor at her feet. When she saw his unconcealed craving to accept what she longed to share with him, she leaned forward to meet his mouth with her own.

Voraciously he kissed her. His tongue darted into her mouth, and she cried out with the emotions she could no longer control. When he moved to explore the hidden secrets in the valley between her breasts, a moist aura engulfed her, warming her with feelings she wanted to feel again and again. The spiral of his tongue led him to the tip of one breast. Taunting, daring her to surrender, he brought it into his mouth to surround it with his hunger.

“Please,” she whispered breathlessly.

He took her face in his hands. As beautiful as she was in his dreams, those images were dimmed as he gazed at her face softened by the passion within her. “Please what, my love?” His quiet laugh was cool against her damp skin, where he had tested its various flavors.

“My knees aren't working. Hold me up.”

Standing, he lifted her into his arms once more. Gently he placed her amid the thick pillows on the bed, which was the perfect size for two lovers. Her eyes closed in supreme bliss as she held her arms out for him.

“One moment. Let me get rid of these.”

She forced her glazed eyes open and smiled as she watched him remove his breeches. A sharp breath escaped her lips as she saw him naked before her. Before she realized what she was doing, her fingers reached out to stroke the hard line of his leg. She had never imagined any man could make her quiver without touching her. When he moved to join her, she gasped again as he reclined over her. His gentle kisses were diminished by the overwhelming sensation of his body against hers. As his hands swept along her, she feared she would be flung away from him by the power of her passion. She needed no urging to caress him. From the first moment she had been near him, she knew the joy of touching him. The sinews beneath his skin moved with leonine grace as he traced a path of rapture along her.

He boldly sought to find the source of her burning soul. As her body became inflamed with the wildfire he was fanning aloft, she murmured his name over and over. She could find no other words in her dazzled mind. The ecstasy rapidly became so sweet, she wondered if she could contain it within her without bursting apart. When she heard him whisper her name, she gazed up into his loving face. Placing her hands on either side of it, she drew his mouth to hers. As their lips touched, she drifted farther into her world of enchantment.