Sybill (32 page)

“Yes,” she whispered.

“Good!” Shoving her away, he went to the door. “If Christopher discovers this before I have the ultimate pleasure of informing him, you will be very sorry to have deprived me of that joy.”

“Don't threaten me!” Without pausing to think, she grabbed her heavy silver-inlaid hairbrush and threw it at him. As it crashed into the stone not far from his head, it broke into two pieces to clatter to the floor, twisted and ruined. Her eyes widened as she saw his murderous rage.

When he stepped toward her, she did not raise her hands to ward him off. Instead she wrapped them around her to protect the one she loved. At her motion, he paused. A strangled expression erased his fury. Only when she heard the door slam did she look up to see she was alone. Wearily she groped for the chair. How long would Owen delay before doing something truly insane? It could not be much longer.

“Lady Foxbridge?”

She smiled weakly as she heard concern in Clara's voice. “I am fine. My brush is broken. Would you mind cleaning that mess before you put out my things for the night? Do not delay and allow Kate to be cruel to you again.” She stood, gripping the chair as the room whirled crazily around her.

Clara watched uneasily as Lady Foxbridge went unsteadily across the chamber. She could not understand why the lord would screech at his wife when she had been injured in an accident this afternoon. With a shiver of the fear which followed her at the Cloister, she bent to pick up the pieces of the once-lovely brush.

By the time Sybill reached the ground floor, her knees had ceased shaking. Only strength of will would defeat Owen as he continued to taunt her with his superior position. She could not keep this baby from being born. All she could do was maintain her precarious spot in this household.

The unusual sound of strange voices flowed along the hallway to snare her and suck her into the miasma exuded by the hatred in the dining room. Straightening the rounded collar of her gown, she took a deep breath. It was time to enter the lair of the beast and face what awaited her.

All conversation died as she appeared in the doorway. As if he had never seen her before, Christopher smiled an eager welcome. The bruise on her forehead was vivid in the candlelight, but it seemed only to amuse him more. “What a lovely surprise to meet such a beautiful stepmother.” His lips as they caressed her fingers were far too heated. “I cannot believe we did not meet in London. Certainly I would not have forgotten someone as lovely as you. I met Alfred so often at court.”

Stiffly she said, “I was busy managing my father's household.”

“As you now do for my father.” His eyes slid along her elaborate gown, and his rage was a dark void in him. His father begrudged him a tuppence, but was spending lavishly on his new wife. With what this dress alone must have cost, he could live for a month in style. His smile returned as he decided his father had spent wisely adorning his new toy. She was a beauty and wasted on his elderly father. As his eyes surveyed the shapes of her body, he wondered if he could convince Alfred Hampton's daughter to entertain him as well.

Sybill recognized the hunger in his gaze and drew away. When Owen motioned to her, she went to her husband, although she would have preferred seeking Trevor's arms. As complicated as her life had become, she did not need to add more twists to it by having her stepson lusting for her.

Owen's arm encircled her shoulders, and she glanced up at him and quickly away. She could not show him how abhorrent his touch was. Through terrifying lessons, she had learned he would punish her severely for showing her revulsion.

It was to Trevor her anguished gaze instinctively went. He felt her eyes and turned to meet them. As Owen had said on their wedding night, Trevor was having a difficult time hiding his joy with the news of her pregnancy. She wanted to ask him why he was here. Owen must have changed his mind about allowing his estate manager to dine with them. She feared his presence was only the harbinger of more woe. She relaxed as she saw the strength on his loving face. Her soft smile flashed in his direction for the briefest second. Nothing would harm her while Trevor was at Foxbridge Cloister.

Christopher's three companions broke the silence. As they spoke of gossip of people she did not know, Sybill clung to her calm. Except for Trevor's love, it was her sole weapon. Not even as a last resort could she betray the man she loved and the existence of the child within her. A glass was pressed into her hands, but she did not raise it to her lips. After the scene in her room, she did not intend to be lulled by the false comfort of the wine into believing Owen thought that incident finished.

Her husband was called away to confer with Marshall about some detail. Not wanting to talk to anyone but Trevor, and not daring to speak to him, she moved to stand by the hearth. That she would not be allowed her time alone she realized as soon as she heard the hollow sound of cork heels on the floor behind her. “So you do not miss the gaiety of London?” came a voice so close its passage teased her hair.

“No.”

“You actually like this place?”

“Yes.”

Christopher laughed at her terse replies. Placing his hand on her sleeve, out of view from the others, he said softly, “I should apologize for treating you so roughly.”

“You should, but you aren't going to apologize.” She tried to shrug off his fingers, but he refused to relinquish her arm.

“My dear mother, you are very wise.”

“Go away,” she hissed. “Leave me alone. I want nothing to do with you!”

His hand stroked her arm eagerly. “But, Sybill, I want something from you. Don't you tire of an old man's caresses?”

“He is your father!” Involuntarily she faced him. She could not hide her shock at his candid offer. “Owen also is my husband, Mr. Wythe. If you will excuse me, please.”

Although he wanted to keep her, he saw his father was looking for her. Jealousy blared like a trumpet through him. Sybill, who breathed sensuality, belonged to an old man who could not entertain her as she should be entertained. He was tired of his father being in control of everything.

“Shall we sit down, my dear?”

“Of course, Owen,” she replied correctly. She would play his compliant puppet unless he pushed her too far.

He seated her on his right at the head of the table. Christopher urged one of his friends to sit next to his father. He claimed the chair on Sybill's right. When his father glared at him, he merely smiled as if he wanted to do his friend a great honor by allowing him to sit beside Lord Foxbridge.

When all the shuffling of seats was completed, Sybill glanced along the table quickly to see where Trevor had been placed. Despite her best efforts, she gasped when she saw he had been given a seat at the edge of the candlelight. There were two empty chairs between him and the others. Even across that distance, she caught his rapid wink. Just having Trevor here, although he was far from her, was better than trying to deal with the Wythes and their friends alone.

She exerted all her charm on Christopher's four companions. She recognized them instantly as young peers short on money and long on the desire to spend the inheritances they had yet to gain. Flattery was the best way to bring them to do her bidding. As the meal was served and eaten in the most formal style, both Owen and his son frowned while she ignored them. She acted awed by the boasts of the young men eager to win her favor. Wide blue eyes and softly parted lips suggested an invitation they yearned to accept.

While the plates were being cleared before dessert was served, she looked once more at where Trevor had been sitting. As he tilted his wineglass in her direction in a subtle salute, she smiled. He could see the falseness of her London facade, which had gained her four conquests between the serving of the meat and the final course.

Beside her, Christopher was determined to be included in the sparkling conversation that had centered around Sybill. “Father, there are a few advantages to being in this wasteland. You did not have to petition Elizabeth to wed as do the peers at court.”

“Because she could not wed Dudley, she wants no one else to sample the joys of connubial bliss.” Owen raised his glass. “Yet she is our Virgin Queen and has the wisdom to appoint brave men to keep the Spanish yoke from descending onto our neck.”

“Yes,” mused his son, “Dudley was her rare mistake. If Dudley's wife had not been murdered so sensationally, she might have married the Earl of Leicester and made him her king. A broken neck from a fall down a staircase in an empty house suggested murder too strongly.”

“He did not murder her!” asserted Sybill.

“What makes you so sure of an event which took place before you were born, my dear?”

She turned to face her husband. His eyes were reddened and his face flushed. Both were signs of overindulgence. She would face his abuse, no matter what she said or did. With nothing to lose, she decided to tell him exactly what she felt. “Robert Dudley may have loved Gloriana enough to wed her, but he was married to Anne. Although he pined within a marriage he did not want, he would not resort to murder to gain what he wanted. He knew his wife was sickly. If he waited patiently, he guessed Anne would do him a favor and die. Then he could have the one he truly wanted.”

Silence ached in their ears as her voice faded. She picked up her goblet and took a sip of the crystal beverage. It was so quiet in the room that the voices from the kitchen far along the passage could be heard. All eyes rested on Owen as he glared at his wife, who was proving to be far less tractable than he had expected. His reply was as tranquil as her words had been, but contained no less threat. “Yet Anne Dudley tragically died before her time. Dudley married another who gave him the heir he needed. Such a horrible tale, isn't it?”

“Yes,” she whispered. A month into their marriage, he knew she was waiting for him to die so she could marry the man she truly loved. At the same time, he warned her that if she acted foolishly he would see her dead and another unfortunate woman in her place.

The serving of dessert interrupted the uncomfortable conversation. “Thank you,” she said softly as a piece of cake was placed before her. She truly did not want to eat the dessert. Sweets did strange things to her stomach. She would leave it on her plate untouched.

“You do not like Mrs. Dailey's walnut cake?” Christopher asked softly as she did not reach for her spoon.

“I fear I overate already.”

He smiled. Like a snake, his blue eyes held hers. They did not blink as his hand settled on her knee. As if he was a well-favored lover, he slid his fingers beneath the thick material of her overskirt. They moved along the slender line of her leg, which he could feel easily through the fine linen of her petticoats. Suddenly he shrieked and leapt aside as wine sprayed over him. He grabbed a napkin and dabbed at the spots on his satin breeches.

“Oh, excuse me,” gushed Sybill. She held up her napkin. “Do you want to use this one, too? Forgive me, Christopher, for being so clumsy. I can't believe I could knock both of our glasses of wine over like that.” She rose and turned toward her husband. In the same sweetly innocent voice she said, “Owen, my dear, I fear I have soiled my gown. Will you excuse me?”

He regarded her steadily as he rose. She wondered how both father and son could share the delusion of thinking they could daunt her with a single glare. When he took her by the shoulders and jerked her into his embrace, she did not protest. Owen would learn he could not subdue her with his physical strength, despite the bruises he left on her. She heard the murmur of disquiet from Christopher's friends as her husband kissed her in the same vicious manner he had in the foyer. When she did not fight him, Owen released her.

“Good-night … for now, wife.”

“Good-night, Owen.” She would not allow him a chance to continue this in the privacy of their room. She intended to be locked in her room before he found his way upstairs. “Good-night, gentlemen.”

To their soft chorus of good nights, she walked toward the door. She risked a quick glance toward Trevor's seat and was surprised to see it empty. A flush of fear filled her. She would not have dared so much if she had realized he was not in the room. Her terror ebbed as she heard his voice as he emerged from the shadows carrying a tray. He placed the carafe of wine and six glasses on the table. As she left the room, she heard his silken voice urging the men to enjoy an after-dinner beverage.

As she climbed the stairs, Sybill wondered what the morrow would bring. Both of the wolves portrayed in the stained glass window were within the hall. Only one would emerge the victor, and she was not sure which it would be. All she wanted was to be left out of the battle between father and son.

The icy wind of the early afternoon cut through her thin cape, but Sybill did not mind as she watched Goldenrod cavort through the tired looking gardens. She took the stick the dog had retrieved and threw it as far as she could. Since the bouts of morning sickness had heralded the tremendous changes in her life, she had not had time with her pet. With the cold of the winter settling on the land the queasiness of her stomach had eased to a general fatigue.

Panting exuberantly, the dog dropped the foot-long branch at her feet. She bent and stared into innocuous brown eyes. So different were they from the other dark eyes she loved. Biting her lip, she buried her face in Goldenrod's abundant fur and wished for the love she was denied. The heavy breath of the dog was warm against her hair as she thought of Trevor. He had allowed no one to suspect he knew the paternity of her child.

Sometimes she thought Owen must be stupid to think he had fooled Trevor. Then, with a pulse of fear, she reminded herself that her husband was far from stupid. Owen knew the exact extent of Trevor's knowledge. As her husband made no attempt to hide that he cared for her only as the mother of his child, he found fault with everything his assistant did. Work that would have brought praise in the months past received only reprimands or silence.