Lacybourne Manor Page 38

  “I have a business here,” Sibyl pointed out.

  “We’ll move that to Lacybourne as well.”

  As her eyes were as wide as they could open, her brows shot up.

  “You’re… you can’t… I…” she spluttered then immediately digressed to an eight year old and turned her eyes to her father and whined, “Dad!”

  “He has a point,” Bertie said quietly.

  This time, her mouth dropped open.

  “Pack your bags Sibyl,” Colin ordered.

  She swung from Colin back to her father and tried again by repeating, “Dad!”

  “Pack them, Sibyl,” Bertie stated in the fatherly tone that, all her life, she could never oppose.

  “Bertie, I don’t think –” Mags decided to wade into the fray.

  “Quiet, Marguerite,” Bertie demanded.

  At that, all three women’s mouths dropped open (or, more to the point, two as Sibyl’s was already gaping).

  Even so, they stomped up the stairs with dire mutterings that consisted of such words as “overbearing”, “chauvinistic” and “tyrannical” but still, they packed.

  None of this affected Colin or Bertie in the slightest.

  Colin went to Lacybourne while they packed, taking Bertie with him and coming back with the BMW and the Mercedes. They packed the cars to the brim with bags, pet supplies, the food that might spoil in the fridge and all were hauled to Lacybourne.

  Then, as if the day couldn’t get worse, they arrived at Lacybourne to see it crowded with cars.

  It was National Trust Saturday at Lacybourne Manor.

  They dragged in their bags without incident, putting away the food and leaving the other luggage in the study which, since it was Colin’s personal office, was off-limits to National Trust visitors. Upon leaving again to head out to a late lunch, some of the tourists who’d been in the house stopped and gawked.

  “Oh my gawd!” a large American woman with dyed-black hair and nicely tailored clothing shrieked. “It’s the couple from the portraits.”

  “Brilliant,” Colin muttered, starting to assist Sibyl into the BMW and his tone stated he didn’t find it brilliant at all.

  “I thought you were dead!” the woman yelled, striding forward quickly. “Inside, they said you were murdered… oh… my… gawd!” Her voice rose even further as she turned to a harried, embarrassed-looking man beside her. “They said they’d come back to life. Oh… my… gawd, Harold, look at them. They’ve been reincarnated!”

  More people were now peering at them, some of them curiously, others, who had also been inside the house and seen the portraits, excitedly.

  “Did you come to visit the portraits?” the woman asked.

  “They live here,” Mags offered proudly.

  Colin cursed eloquently under his breath and Sibyl’s eyes sent icicles shafting toward her mother.

  “Oh… my… gawd,” the American woman breathed before shouting, “It’s magic!”

  Colin practically shoved Sibyl into the BMW and once her feet cleared the door, he closed it cleanly and prowled to the other side while Mags, Bertie and Scarlett slid into the back.

  Colin took them to the village next to Clevedon, to a lovely, small café nestled into pretty woods at the back of a garden centre. As the day stayed cold and misty, they were forced inside to sit amongst the brightly painted tables and gaily blinking fairy lights. The food there was delicious and, after they’d finished, Bertie cleared his throat.

  “We’ve been talking and we’ve come to some decisions,” he announced and everyone’s eyes turned to him. “Scarlett and I have to get back but seeing as things are... well, the way they are,” he paused hesitantly before he let the bomb drop, “Mags feels she ought to stay.”

  Sibyl looked at Colin who, she was surprised to see after the recent incident at Lacybourne, had no reaction whatsoever to this news.

  Her gaze slid away from Colin and the rest of the family glanced at each other then finally Bertie asked, “If that’s all right with you, Colin.”

  Colin looked first at Bertie then directly at Mags. “You’re welcome at Lacybourne for as long as you wish to stay.”

  Mags beamed then instantly offered, “I’ll take the bedroom the farthest away. Give you both some privacy.”

  Sibyl glanced at the ceiling, praying to the goddess for patience which, luckily, the goddess bestowed on her and the rest of the day went without incident.

  * * * * *

  Late in the evening, after their visit to Mrs. Byrne and Angie, dinner and everyone was in bed, Sibyl found (not surprisingly) she was unable to sleep. Listening to Colin’s even breathing, she gently slid out of his arms, out of bed and pulled on the plaid dressing gown her father had discarded years before but she’d saved from the Goodwill bag and she’d used ever since.

  She stepped over Mallory whose body was twitching, running after something in his sleep that he would never chase when he was awake and went to stand by the window. In order to be quiet and not disturb Colin, she carefully opened the drapes and stared out into the moonless night. Her eyes adjusted to the dim light from the streetlamps that barely filtered through the heavy tree line and tall shrubbery at the edge of the estate.

  She could see the outlines of the trees and thought of Royce and Beatrice dying hideous, bloody deaths somewhere out there hundreds of years ago.

  She hadn’t been back to see Royce in her dreams in weeks. Now, she wished to go back, was desperate to go back so she could talk to him, warn him, tell him what awaited him and Beatrice. If she was able to convince him, she could stop the curse before it started. Even though she wanted it, her nights were dreamless and, it seemed, she realised with a heavy heart, Royce was lost to her.

  “Sibyl, get away from the window.” Colin’s low voice startled her, she jumped and turned toward the bed.

  “I didn’t know you were awake,” she whispered as if he was still asleep.

  The covers snapped back, he knifed out of bed, took a great stride toward her (a distance that would take her at least three), snatched her wrist and yanked her back to the side of the bed. He then went to the window and slapped the curtains shut.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, watching him.

  “Has it occurred to you that someone out there wants to hurt you, me or both of us and standing by the window in the dead of night gives them a clean shot?” he asked in return, his tone sharp.

  The thought jarred her to her senses and she replied quietly, “I didn’t think.”

  “Sometimes you don’t,” he muttered this on a weary sigh and she was stunned to hear that this was said non-judgementally, devoid of insult or even mild annoyance (well, perhaps, there was mild annoyance but it was very mild annoyance).

  And, because of that, because he understood that failing of hers and accepted it (with only very mild annoyance), Sibyl very nearly blurted out right then and there that she loved him.

  But, luckily, before she could, Colin pulled her back into bed with him and settled himself behind her, his arm wrapped around her and his body pressed down her length.

  Then he asked, “Why were you up?”

  His deep, velvet voice rumbled through her and she decided she loved that too.

  “I couldn’t sleep,” she explained.

  “I gathered that,” he muttered drily in return.

  She smiled and she decided she loved that about him too and she didn’t even know what that was.

  Then she whispered, “My family is leaving tomorrow and it makes me sad.”

  “Your mother is staying,” Colin offered in consolation but his arm tightened comfortingly and his breath stirred her hair and her love bloomed even more. That thing inside her she thought was long since ash, she knew now, was alive and flourishing.

  “My mother is staying tomorrow and that makes me worried,” she replied.

  She felt his body shake gently with his chuckle and her smile deepened at the thought that she was able to make him laugh and she decided
she loved that too.

  “At least things will be more interesting with her around,” Colin remarked.

  He had that right and he likely didn’t even know how right he was.

  But he would find out.

  “I think we can barely cope with things getting much more interesting,” Sibyl countered.

  Colin made no response.

  With his silence, she settled deeper into him and nestled her bottom into his groin. When she’d done this, finally, she relaxed.

  But when he next spoke, all relaxation fled.

  “Now, why don’t you tell me why you really couldn’t sleep?”

  Her eyes grew round in the dark.

  “How did you…?” she started.

  He cut her off before she could finish. “You’re an immensely bad liar.”

  She tensed for a moment then heaved a sigh but kept her silence.

  Maybe (she hoped) she could wait him out.

  “I asked you a question,” he reminded her.

  Apparently, she couldn’t wait him out.

  Sibyl remained silent. She’d avoided the “Royce Discussion” so far, she wasn’t going to court it now.

  His hand shifted to cup her breast.

  “Do I need to make you talk?” His voice was silky smooth and utterly dangerous.

  She felt whirls of desire, and dread, spread through her both at the same time. The last time he did that… well, she didn’t want to think of that.

  “No.”

  “Then let’s have it.”

  She hesitated and then said quietly, “I was thinking of Royce.”

  It was his turn to tense but he did it better than her, mainly because his hand was still cupping her breast and the reflexive action caused his grip to tighten splendidly.

  It didn’t last long before he released her, moved and turned away. She felt some confusion at his retreat before the dim light on the bedside table came on.

  By the time Colin came back to her, she’d rolled onto her back and he looked down at her from his position on his elbow.

  “Why did you do that?” she queried.

  “I want to see your eyes,” he answered simply.

  “I’d rather talk in the dark,” she informed him honestly.

  Actually, Sibyl didn’t want to talk at all but, since apparently she couldn’t avoid it, she would vastly have preferred to say what she was had to say in the dark.

  “I don’t particularly care,” Colin returned.

  She gasped at his words. His face was hard and unyielding and she couldn’t understand it.

  “I don’t know why this is such a big deal to you,” she grumbled, feeling her anger build and trying to control it.

  “You don’t?”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “You kissed him.”

  “It was you.”

  His face went from hard to stony and his voice was a dangerous rumble when he reminded her, “It wasn’t me.”

  “Okay, then, it wasn’t you but I didn’t kiss him,” she tried and his eyebrows shot up so she finished, “He kissed me.”

  “It made you cry.” It was an accusation and somehow she was stung by it.

  Because of that, she retaliated, “Well, it was beautiful. Beautiful enough to…” She saw his jaw clamp and the now-familiar, telltale muscle leap. “Colin, it was you…”

  “It wasn’t me and we both bloody well know it,” he bit out.

  She stared at him and then brought her hands up to her face, pressing her fingers into her forehead and beginning to count to ten.

  He interrupted her at three.

  “Put your hands down, Sibyl.”

  She did, quickly, and just as quickly she shot upright, making him rear back to avoid her smashing into him. She hauled the sheet up to her chest, even though she was still wearing her father’s robe but somehow she felt vulnerable and needed its protection.

  She wasn’t comfortable and she wasn’t happy.

  She was scared.

  More scared than when she walked to her front door and saw Mallory’s motionless body, more scared than when the knife was at her throat, more scared than anytime in her life.

  Part anger and part desire to have her cards on the table and find out what he felt for her drove her to say, “Okay, Colin, you want to know, I’ll tell you.”

  She turned to him and found that he’d sat up in the bed as well and she had to tilt her head up to look at him. Something made her pause, something that was missing, something that made her fear she couldn’t trust him with this, her deepest secret.

  But she’d started and now, she couldn’t stop.

  “All my life,” she began, her voice soft, “I knew in my heart, knew without a doubt, that I was destined to be with someone. That some great force, bigger than any human or deity, was going to guide me to that man. I told my family and all my friends. I had boyfriends but I knew none of them was him so I didn’t get attached, couldn’t, because I had to be free when he found me or when I found him.”

  She took in a ragged breath and realised she was having trouble breathing. She pulled in all her courage and forged ahead.

  “The years passed and he never came. Then I realised he probably wouldn’t. Every day he didn’t come, it broke my heart a little more. That’s why I moved to England. Because I was always at peace here, at Brightrose especially, I knew somewhere deep inside me that this was my place. And if I couldn’t have him at least I’d be home.”

  She realised she was relating all of this to Colin’s bare chest and she glanced at him and saw he was utterly still and, even at her glance, he remained completely silent.

  His eyes, however, were very alive, so active she felt they were reaching out absorbing her.

  She tried to ignore it, shifted her gaze to the bed and continued.

  “A part of me still believed but I was beginning to lose faith.”

  She stopped.

  This was the hard part. Her breath was coming rapidly and she pulled one in deeply and let it out through her nose.

  “Go on,” Colin urged, his voice back to velvet and her eyes flew to his to find them warm and searching.

  “Then I dreamed of you.”

  His eyes darkened and his hand instantly lifted to cup her jaw tenderly.

  “Sibyl,” he murmured.

  She shook her head but didn’t dislodge his hand as it slid into her hair, lifting some of its massive weight away from her shoulder.

  “I was sure, after that dream, that you were the man I’d been looking for all my life, even though I’d never met you. But it was terrifying because, Colin, in my dream, your throat is slit.”

  His hand gently fisted in her hair, he leaned into her and rested his forehead against hers. “You never told me that.”

  “It’s true,” she whispered. “I called Mags the minute I dreamed it. She thought it meant I desperately needed a lover.”

  She watched his lips turn up.

  “Then I met you, Colin, and you were so angry with me, you hated me and I didn’t know why, all I wanted to do was see your house.”

  His lips turned down, his hand moved from her hair to glide down her back and pull her to him but she resisted, leaning slightly away, she tilted her head further back to look at him.

  “The next time I saw you, you were lovely, you were… wonderful.”

  The smile came back but froze at her next words. “Then you offered me fifty thousand pounds to sleep with you and I lost all faith that I’d ever find that man.”

  “God, Sibyl,” he groaned, his voice full of regret and she felt tears begin to prick the backs of her eyes.

  “And all that time and after, I dreamed of Royce. He was Beatrice’s true love, her soulmate, he looked at her as if the world shined through her. I wanted that for me and, in the dreams, I had it. And in the Summer House that afternoon, I saw it in his eyes as he looked at me.”

  This time, his whole body froze, as did the hand at the small of her back. Then, she felt it clen
ch into a fist.

  Still, she kept speaking. “It was our private moment, his and mine, the only one we’d ever have and, even though he wasn’t kissing me but the memory of Beatrice, it was still the most beautiful thing I’d ever experienced and I was happy to have that fleeting moment than nothing at all. And that’s why I didn’t share it with you, because it was mine… his and mine.”

  He stared at her, his face and frame barely controlling some emotion she couldn’t fathom and then he looked away as if he couldn’t bear the sight of her anymore. His arm moved away from her and she felt his awful retreat and the first hint of panic.

  And she realised that now was the time, perhaps the only time, and no matter what his response, she had to take it. Anything but have him pull away.

  Her voice so low, so quiet, it was hardly even a whisper, she said, “Then I fell in love with you.”

  His head snapped back around and she took a fragmented breath and looked him in the eye.

  “If you can believe, it was that damned minibus,” she said on a shaky grin. “I watched you dealing with the driver and your… you… it was just magnificent. Maybe it was before then, I know it started before then but it was then when I knew. And everything since clicked into place, piece by piece. I realised after every moment I spent with you, you were the one I’ve been waiting for my whole life, not some long-dead warrior.”

  When she told him he was the one she’d been waiting for, the rest of her words were said through his swift, gentle, violent snatching of her into his arms. A movement that nearly stole her breath and, as she finished speaking, he shoved her roughly back on the bed.

  And then, Colin made love to her and it was like nothing they’d ever shared. It was full of fierceness and pounding intensity as if he wanted to use his hands, mouth and body to brand her as his, as if, since he couldn’t make a physical mark on her body, then he’d make one on her soul.

  And he did.

  Proving her right, moments before they both climaxed, he growled, “You’re mine.”

  She nodded, lost in her love for him and the desire throbbing through her body.

  “You belong to me.” His body pounded deeper inside her than he’d ever been and tears of love sprang to her eyes.