Lacybourne Manor Page 37

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  Sibyl woke too early, feeling like she hadn’t slept. She was lethargic, headachy and most definitely cranky. And that was before she opened her eyes and saw she was alone in Colin’s gigantic bed.

  Colin never left her in bed without an embrace, a kiss, a caress or some loving gesture.

  Never.

  Fear coursed through her and she catapulted from the bed and ran to the bathroom looking for him. He wasn’t there and she noticed both Mallory and Bran were gone as well.

  Panic seized her and she flew from the room, down the hall. Visions of blood and knives and broken canes stampeded through her brain.

  She still had not had her tour of Lacybourne, she and Colin always too busy with other things, but she was becoming familiar with it all the same. She ran down the stairs to the Great Hall, her glance sliding past Beatrice and Royce on her way down.

  He wasn’t in the Great Hall either.

  Watery light was coming through the windows and the day was grey with drizzle. She searched the library, frantically paused in the dining room and then heard a deep man’s voice in the study.

  She threw open the door and burst in.

  Colin was standing behind the desk talking on the phone wearing faded jeans and a maroon, long-sleeved t-shirt that hugged the muscles of his chest and stomach tightly. His dark hair was still damp from a shower and he looked refreshed and nonchalant and, she vaguely noted, unbearably sexy.

  Mallory was lying flat out in front of his desk and Bran was picking a trail delicately across the scattered papers on the top.

  Colin’s head shot up at her entry.

  Mallory’s body jerked, he glanced over his doggie shoulder at her, gave her a soft welcoming “woof” and then settled contentedly back into to his usual morning-after-a-night’s-sleep nap.

  Bran rested his bottom on a bunch of papers and blinked at her with a twitch of his tail.

  “You scared me half to death!” Her voice was sharp and frenzied and she glowered at Colin.

  “I’ll call you back,” he muttered into the phone and pressed a button to disconnect without saying good-bye.

  “You scared me half to death,” she repeated when he’d tossed the cordless on his desk.

  “I –” he began.

  She quickly interrupted him by slamming the door behind her and whirling back around. “I woke up and you were gone, Mallory was gone, Bran was gone, everyone was gone!” she shouted.

  “Calm down, sweetheart,” Colin said gently, completely calm himself and, in the face of it, she went from irrational to insane.

  “Don’t tell me to calm down! You never leave me in bed without –”

  She stopped abruptly and lifted her hands to the sides of her hair, shifting the heavy masses away from her face and holding them up.

  “I thought something happened to you.” This came out as an accusation and after she voiced it, Sibyl glared at him as if it was entirely his fault.

  “I didn’t want to wake you,” Colin explained.

  “Well, I’d rather you wake me than have the living daylights frightened out of me first thing in the goddess-damned morning,” she snapped.

  His gaze dropped lazily to her thighs and she looked down, realising her hands in her hair brought the t-shirt up to show a hint of the lacy, lilac underwear her sister had cajoled her into buying.

  She dropped her arms instantly.

  “Come here.” Now his voice was pure silk, his eyes were warm and her bones showed signs of beginning to melt.

  Regardless of all that, it was still morning and she was still very grumpy.

  “No. My head’s pounding and I’m in a very bad mood.”

  He gave her one of his lazy smiles while noting, “You’re always in a bad mood in the morning.”

  “Stop being all teasing and sweet. I’m telling you, I’m not in the mood,” she warned.

  “Am I being teasing and sweet?” he asked, while, she noted, being teasing and sweet.

  In answer, she growled.

  “Sibyl, come here,” he ordered.

  “Why?” she shot back.

  “So I can help with your mood,” he tempted, his eyes, if possible, growing warmer.

  “How are you going to do that?” she queried warily, even as she moved forward. She didn’t allow him to answer because she knew by the look in his eye what the answer was. She tried to change the subject. “And who were you talking to on the phone?”

  “A private investigator.” Colin arms stole around her when she arrived within reaching distance and she lifted her hands to rest on his upper arms.

  At her wide-eyed look at his statement, he continued, “I’ve engaged him to put a team together to find the men from last night.”

  “The police –” she started.

  “I want them first,” Colin stated, the warmth in his eyes gone in a flash, they were glittering like shards of ice.

  “Colin.”

  “Quiet Sibyl, we’re not discussing this. I’m handling it. You’re not to interfere.”

  This was not what Sibyl wished to hear at the best of times but certainly not in the morning.

  Therefore her eyes narrowed dangerously. “I beg your pardon?”

  “They held a knife to your throat,” he reminded her curtly, clearly not used to explaining himself and only doing so because he knew she’d rocket to the moon on the fuel of her anger if he didn’t.

  “You can’t circumvent justice,” Sibyl pointed out impatiently. “The police will deal with them.”

  “The police can have them after I’m done with them.”

  Her eyes widened before she asked, “What do you mean to do?”

  “It’s none of your concern.”

  Sibyl stiffened to the approximate pliability of a two by four.

  “Excuse me?” she whispered angrily. “But my rich and powerful boyfriend is threatening vigilante justice and it’s none of my concern? I beg to differ.”

  His hands tightened on her waist and the ice shards in his eyes polarised. “One of them stood in front of me and held a knife to your throat while I was powerless to do a thing. He touched you, and no one touches you, no one but me. He yanked your goddamned hair, the most beautiful hair I’ve seen in my life, using it to cause you pain.” He was using his low, even voice and she knew he was very close to losing control.

  Sibyl also knew every minute, every sound, every word, everything he saw and experienced last night was seared into his memory. She knew it at his words. And last night for brief moments in time, Colin Morgan had been powerless. Men like Colin were not used to being powerless and it dawned on Sibyl, belatedly, that he did not like it.

  At all.

  He continued, “I’m going to find them, have a chat with them to express how unhappy the events of last night made me and then I’ll turn them over to the proper authorities.”

  “You won’t hurt them?” Sibyl asked quietly, hoping the lowering of her tone would soothe him.

  It didn’t.

  “Are you asking for mercy for a man who put a knife to your throat and has you wound up so tight you fly through the house in a panic when I do something innocent and absolutely normal, like leave you alone in bed?” he demanded in exasperation.

  Putting it that way, she had to admit, it sounded rather silly.

  She decided she better stop talking.

  He sighed an enormously patient sigh before saying, “I promise I won’t hurt them…” She began to smile, “unduly.” Her smile turned to a frown.

  “You frighten me when you’re like this,” she told him and his face shifted but he did not relent.

  “I’m trying to make it so you’ll never be frightened again,” Colin explained.

  “But –”

  He cut her off to inform her, “I’m going to do this, Sibyl, whether you like it or not, so I suggest you accept it because it’s going to happen.”

  She blinked at his words and his tone then muttered, “You’re ruthless.”


  At her comment, he leaned closer and his hands slid over her bottom and then suddenly down to grasp the backs of her thighs, lifting her up. She gave a shocked gasp and had to clamp her thighs around his hips and hastily grab his shoulders for support as he carried her to the desk.

  “Yes,” he agreed amiably, all his mood gone, “I am.”

  He settled her bottom on the desk and Bran scattered. Colin kept himself determinedly positioned between her legs as he tilted her chin up with one hand and his other hand drew lazy circle on the top of her thigh.

  “Now, what shall I do about your morning mood?” he asked conversationally, gently rubbing his thumb across her lower lip.

  “I take it we’re done talking,” she guessed.

  “Oh, we’re definitely done talking,” he stated, his voice sexy low and she knew what that meant and she also knew, acutely how it made her belly feel.

  “My family –” she started to say but his lips took hers in a slow, soft, mind-numbing kiss.

  When he was done, against her lips he murmured, “For a daughter born of Mags, you’re amazingly prissy.”

  Her eyes flared. “I am not prissy.”

  “Prove it,” he dared on a whisper.

  “You aren’t going to goad me into –”

  He moved into her and she was forced to lean back, resting her hands behind her on his desk as his hands slid inside the t-shirt and up the skin of her back, sending shivers through her against her will and he quieted her by kissing her. This was not soft or slow but hard and demanding and she couldn’t help but respond.

  So she did.

  Many minutes later, her breath coming fast, her hands buried in his hair, his lips at her neck, her body throbbing, his hands spread her legs further apart and his fingers expertly delved inside her panties.

  Her head rolled back.

  And there was a knock on the door.

  Her head snapped up.

  “Breakfast in five minutes,” Scarlett called jovially through the door.

  Sibyl made a trapped noise that, mid-way out of her throat, changed to a loud moan as Colin’s finger slid inside her just as his thumb hit her in a very good spot.

  “Colin,” she whispered, caught between mortification and desire, his head came up and he looked at her.

  “Hurry up, darling, breakfast is nearly ready.” He grinned wickedly but his eyes were dark and his voice was husky.

  “Aren’t you going to –?”

  “I’m going to watch.”

  “But –”

  “I like to watch. You’re beautiful always but you’re fucking breathtaking when you come.”

  She couldn’t help it, she melted at his words and his thumb, still at the right spot, starting pressing and rolling in circles as his finger inside moved out and was joined, delightfully when it returned, with another one. At their skilful manoeuvring, the throbs turned to jolts and she bucked against his hand as the incredible heat shot through her.

  “That’s it, sweetheart,” he encouraged when he knew she was close, his deep voice beyond husky straight to throaty, the sound of it undid her, her neck arched back again, she pulled in a ragged breath and let go.

  Still in the throes of her resplendent climax, he slid her off the desk and sat in his chair, pulling her into his lap so her legs were over the arm of the chair. Then with his hand cupping the back of her head, Colin buried her face in his neck and she clutched his shoulders as he held her trembling body and stroked the soft skin at the side of her breast with the other.

  “You’re ruthless,” Sibyl whispered again when she had the strength to speak and anyone could tell she didn’t really care.

  “Yes,” Colin agreed roughly, “I am.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Sibyl Bares Her Soul

  After breakfast, they all went to the hospital to visit Mrs. Byrne. They met her exhausted from her all night drive daughter, Angie, who shrugged off her fatigue at meeting the entirety of the legendary Godwin clan and the fabled Mr. Colin Morgan, the vision of the dead warrior, Royce.

  They were all delighted to hear that Mrs. Byrne was to be released that afternoon. She had a concussion but was told she was fine to go home if she rested, took it easy and had someone to watch over her.

  Sibyl thought she looked far better and much more herself than the night before. Scarlett read her chart and agreed, promising to stop in and check on her that evening and the next morning before going to Heathrow.

  Marian asked to talk to Sibyl privately and allowed (because she was given no choice) Colin to sit in on their discussion.

  When they were alone, Marian wasted no time and began her recitation of the “dark soul”, the name given by Esmeralda Crane to the unknown and never discovered murderer of Royce and Beatrice. Marian spoke of unconsummated true love, the power of consummation (which was the only comment she uttered that made Colin grin), protection spells and other powerful binding magic.

  Marian told them that just their being together put them in danger. That the dark soul could not countenance their relationship and certainly not their happiness and would stop at nothing, even murder, to drive them apart.

  She spoke of how the line of Crane Witches had known that the dark soul would follow Royce and Beatrice’s line and eventually threaten the reincarnated lovers once they found each other again. She was adamant that this was the person who nearly ran over them with the car outside the restaurant, shot Mallory, vandalised Sibyl’s cottage and attacked the three of them the night before.

  She did not know who it was but Marian felt them and knew they were there.

  The only way to break the curse was to consummate true love and, if Sibyl and Colin didn’t do it, then there would be two lovers down their line to whom this task would fall. It was fate, it was destiny and their story would be told again and again until the curse was lifted.

  It all came down to love.

  At this fervid pronouncement, Colin glanced her way but Sibyl kept her eyes carefully averted. She hadn’t shared her feelings for Colin with Colin mainly because she had no clue as to his. He certainly acted loving but being loving and being in love were two different things. With everything else going on, she couldn’t cope with being in love with a man, a wonderful (albeit hopelessly irritating) man, her soulmate, the one she’d been searching for a lifetime and having that love be one-sided.

  When no immediate assertion that true love was glimmering in the very air was made by either Colin or Sibyl, Marian demanded to settle protection spells on them the minute she felt up to it, which, by her estimation, was the very next afternoon when they arrived back from Heathrow.

  Sibyl dutifully promised to be at her house as Colin gazed at the two women, making no promises of his own, his expression carefully blank.

  After she’d given Marian’s cheek a kiss, Sibyl left with Colin to find her family.

  They walked down the hall together and she tried to act casual and steady her rapidly beating heart when Colin laced his fingers in hers.

  “You don’t believe her,” Sibyl noted as she watched him out of the corner of her eye.

  “It’s nonsense,” Colin stated firmly.

  She stopped, tugging at his hand to halt him too as she saw her family with Angie at the end of hall.

  “It makes sense,” she defended her friend.

  He shook his head slowly but his lips were twitching. “You think it makes sense that some unknown entity is stalking Beatrice and Royce’s souls through eternity?”

  “What do you think it is?” she demanded in exasperation.

  Before he spoke, Colin turned so that his back was to her waiting family and hiding her from them. “I don’t know what to think. I’m prepared to believe, just barely and only because of the dreams, that we’ve been drawn together by something that goes beyond lucky coincidence but not that some unknown person has murderous intent simply due to a longstanding curse.”

  She felt her stomach lurch hopefully at the words “lucky coi
ncidence’ but she hid it by querying, “Okay then, who do you think it is?”

  His shoulders stiffened and all humour fled. “Sibyl, you haven’t…” He stopped and dragged his hand through his hair in agitation and she saw, with some surprise, it was because he was trying to find the right words. After some thought, he continued, “I’ve not exactly led the life of a choirboy. My family is wealthy but the kind of wealth I have comes from…” He stopped again and finished shortly, “I’ve made enemies.”

  “You think it’s someone you’ve wronged who’s doing this? And, if so, why would they shoot Mallory and attack my toss pillows?” she asked.

  “Not someone I’ve wronged, I wouldn’t say I wronged anyone, though they might not think of it that way,” Colin answered.

  Losing patience, Sibyl cried, “You’re talking semantics and I’m talking decimated toss pillows!”

  His amusement came back as quickly as it faded; he put his hand to her jaw and muttered, “Sometimes, you’re too adorable for words.”

  Her eyes narrowed on him as she grumbled, “You can’t distract me with flattery.”

  “At least I tried,” he replied, still in fine humour and she glared as he turned around again, and, with a gentle pull on her hand, they headed back down the hall and she noted, later, that he never answered her.

  Apparently, she thought with disgust, he could distract her with flattery.

  Promising to see Angie the next afternoon, if not sooner when Scarlett checked on Marian, they all left. They went to Brightrose where Colin instructed everyone to pack in preparation for Heathrow the next day. He also demanded that Sibyl pack much more than an overnight bag.

  “Why?” she asked.

  “You’re moving into Lacybourne,” he answered, completely calmly.

  At his words, Sibyl’s eyes bugged out as her family drifted around them to take in what would undoubtedly be a fiery show.

  “I’m not,” she defied.

  “You are,” Colin stated.

  “I am not.” She nearly stamped her foot.

  “Until these men are caught, you’re staying at Lacybourne. The alarm hasn’t been installed at Brightrose and, even if it were, I don’t want you here by yourself… at all.”