Lacybourne Manor Read online

  “Every night,” Paul confirmed happily and nodded his head sloppily.

  Not thinking, Sibyl grabbed her own drink and, in the tight space allowed by Colin and the bar, she whirled around then pushed him back, her hand on his chest.

  One step, two then she got up on tiptoe, leaned toward his ear and whispered fiercely, “That man is an alcoholic!”

  “I can hear you,” Paul sing-songed and Sibyl closed her eyes in distress.

  When she opened them, Colin Morgan was grinning at her.

  Grinning at her.

  And if she thought his voice sounded lethal several minutes before, it was nothing compared to the entirely different killer wattage of his grin.

  She mentally shrugged off her highly pleasant reaction to his grin, put her hand back to his chest and pushed him back again, this time she pushed him around the side of the bar. She was so determined, she didn’t process the fact that he let her do this.

  “You have to do something!” she demanded when they’d stopped well away from Paul.

  “About what?” Colin was watching her like Steve had watched her earlier, as if she was the most fascinating creature in the world. Except, when Colin did it, she felt a warmth seep into her belly that she did not feel when Steve did it.

  “About Paul,” she explained, her voice showing her aggravation at his obtuseness just as it hid her reaction to his proximity. “If he comes here every night and gets that inebriated, he’s clearly an alcoholic. You can’t keep serving him.”

  The deadly-delicious grin was back. “He’s our best customer.”

  Sibyl was appalled.

  “Mr. Morgan, that is just… completely just…” she was at a loss for words then she found them, “morally irresponsible.”

  The grin turned into a full-fledged, white smile, the wattage amping up so high, Sibyl was nearly dazzled.

  Although he was barely a foot from her, he leaned in closer.

  “Morally irresponsible?” he repeated.

  She could swear his tone was teasing.

  Teasing!

  Was this the man who had held her hostage, forced her to undress in front of him, accosted her in his entryway and shouted and cursed at her in his library?

  Yes, she reminded herself, it was.

  She straightened her shoulders.

  “We must look after our neighbours,” she lectured.

  “Really?” he asked, his eyes dancing and not with the jumping lights in the club.

  “Yes, especially you,” Sibyl informed him.

  For some unknown reason, he was walking around her and she had to turn in a staccato pirouette to follow him.

  “Especially me?” he asked, stopped abruptly and took a quick step forward in a way that was predatory. This caused her to take a step back and, when she did so, she hit a wall. His hand came up to rest beside her head and he leaned into her again. She had the wall of the club to her back, him to her front (close to her front) and his arm imprisoning her on the right.

  She was trapped.

  Her mind screamed for flight but she stood her ground. “Yes, especially you. As the owner of this club –”

  “Part owner,” he interrupted her, still smiling as if she was highly entertaining.

  “Part owner,” she amended quickly and steeled herself against that smile and the annoyance she felt at his obvious amusement. “You have responsibilities.”

  “Yes,” he admitted. “You’re absolutely correct. I’m responsible for keeping the money coming in.”

  She spluttered at this outrageous, yet teasing remark then saved herself by taking a deep breath. “You also have a responsibility to your patrons.”

  He leaned closer then stopped but if he came further forward, even an inch, he’d be kissing her.

  She held her breath.

  Colin stared into her eyes.

  Then he said, “Paul doesn’t drive drunk. He has a standing order for a taxi to pick him up at midnight every night. He’s a wealthy businessman who doesn’t touch a drop during the day, I know because I have dealings with him. He has a wife who’s an inveterate cheat and consummate liar who spends money almost as fast as he can make it and he buys a drink for every attractive woman who enters this club. He’s a decent man, most of the time, considering, and is mostly harmless.”

  Sibyl was shocked he knew so much about Paul. She was further stunned that he took the time to explain this to her, calmly and rationally. She’d never had dealings with a calm, rational Colin Morgan. She didn’t like it because she did like it and that played havoc on her very soul.

  “Well good,” she decided for her sanity their conversation was over. “Now that’s sorted, I’m leaving.”

  “Excellent,” he announced. “I’ll take you home.”

  The hand by her head dropped and his long, strong fingers closed around her upper arm.

  Alarmed, she blurted, “What?”

  Colin looked down at her. “Would you like me to take you back to the medic?”

  Sibyl glanced across the bar and through the crush of people and caught sight of Steve who was drinking from the pint he’d been delivered. He looked content and at ease and as if he’d completely forgotten he’d come with a date.

  Sibyl had no desire whatsoever to return to Steve.

  Her gaze dropped to the floor.

  “I’ll get a taxi,” she announced.

  “Don’t be absurd, you live five minutes from me,” Colin returned.

  This was true. And a taxi from Bristol to Clevedon would cost her thirty pounds. Not that she didn’t have thirty pounds but she could think of a great number of things she’d prefer to spend her hard earned money on.

  “I’ll get a bus,” she decided.

  Obviously, he disagreed. Without a word, he turned and then started moving forward, taking her with him. Divesting her of her drink, he deposited it on the bar without breaking stride, the whole time he brought her along with him with a firm but gentle hand on her arm.

  “Mr. Morgan –” she began, looking at him and having to quicken her pace to keep up with his casual advance.

  “My name is Colin,” he said distractedly and stopped. She was about to open her mouth to say something but looked around as to why they stopped.

  They were standing by Steve and his group of friends. Colin’s hand had dropped but not away from her. His arm slid around her and settled tightly around her waist, not, she noted not-so-vaguely, as if she was a trophy to show off. Instead, his hold was proprietary, blatantly so. Colin Morgan was claiming her right in front of her date, an aggressive, ruthless move that stole her breath and any words she might have been able to utter.

  Steve’s friends noticed Colin and Sibyl first and their open-mouthed stares made Steve turn around.

  “I’m taking Ms. Godwin home,” Colin announced the minute he had Steve’s attention. Before Steve could put into words the angry, stunned surprise on his face, Colin guided Sibyl out the door.

  Sibyl moved with him mostly in order not to make a scene.

  When they were outside the club and walking down the pavement was when she asked angrily, “Well that… that… I don’t even know what that was. Why did you do that?”

  “I would guess he’d eventually go looking for you, I saved him the trouble.” Colin had dropped his arm from around her waist but caught her hand in his as they walked.

  She was too taken aback by his behaviour to recognise the familiar intimacy of his hand holding hers while guiding her down the pavement. Before this dawned on her, he turned into a car park that was two doors down from the club and she was forced to admit to a secret relief that she wouldn’t have to trek for miles to get to his car (even when she didn’t quite understand how she’d managed to get herself in the awkward position of accepting a ride from him in the first place).

  He strode purposefully, and she noticed distractedly, with immense masculine grace, towards a gleaming, black, sporty, convertible Mercedes, all the while holding her hand.

&n
bsp; She stared at the car in horror.

  “You own a Mercedes?” she breathed.

  He had stopped at the passenger side and dropped her hand. At her comment, he looked at her sharply.

  In an about turn of everything she’d experienced a week ago at Lacybourne, that entire night he’d been regarding her with amusement and even, possibly (if she could credit it) admiration.

  Now, however, he was staring at her with an expression of distaste, something about him with which she was far more familiar.

  He also did not answer, possibly because the answer was obvious.

  He unlocked the doors with an expensive-sounding “bleep” and, without a word, he pulled hers open, guiding her in before closing it with more force than he needed to use.

  Once he’d settled into his seat, started the car and expertly reversed, she couldn’t help herself, she’d lived too long in Mags’s house to let it go, she had to say, “What kind of gas mileage does this car get?”

  “I’ve no idea.” His voice suddenly sounded bored.

  Sibyl ignored his tone and persevered. “Mr. Morgan, I know it’s none of my business and I dislike people who lecture about this kind of thing, but as this is a sports car, you should know that it’s likely it burns fuel like nobody’s business. In this day and age, considering the state of the environment, everyone should have a car with fuel economy. You should consider a hybrid at the very least.”

  Even though he was driving, she felt his body go somehow still.

  After a moment, in a voice not bored in the slightest, he asked, “I beg your pardon?”

  Sibyl felt like an idiot, lecturing him on fuel economy and decided to stand down.

  “It’s none of my business,” she muttered.

  “Sibyl,” he said her name for the first time and she felt the effect of it physically, almost as if the sound of her name on his lips, uttered in his rich baritone, pulsated through her body, and she caught her breath. He continued without noticing her extreme, and bizarre, reaction. “This is a high performance vehicle. The fuel economy is excellent. You can save yourself from worrying that you will be tainted with guilt-by-association by riding in my car. I’m not unduly destroying the environment.”

  Sibyl was inordinately pleased his tone held no anger or even the slightest hint of it (not to mention the fact that he wasn’t “unduly” damaging the ozone layer).

  “That was rude. I apologise. My mother is an environmental activist and sometimes it spills over, but, um… that said, I agree with Mom that we should all do our bit.”

  He didn’t respond and she tried not to look at him but instead felt the lovely, smooth nearly soundless ride of his “high performance vehicle”. She’d never ridden in a Mercedes (all her cars, and her family’s, were jalopies that they rode into the ground before buying other, used, jalopies) and she had to admit (even though she would never tell Mags), she enjoyed it.

  Colin deftly negotiated the difficult Bristol roads and entered the A38 at Cumberland Basin and Sibyl stared at the beautifully lit Clifton Suspension Bridge as they passed by.

  “Why him?” Colin’s voice came at her suddenly and she jumped. Even the short drive in his smooth car had lulled her into a strange relaxation.

  “Sorry?”

  “The medic.”

  She sighed as she understood his question. It was none of his business. Furthermore, they (especially Sibyl) were both forgetting that he had an unreasonable loathing of her and the last time they’d spent any time together he made sure she knew it (well, most of the time).

  “He asked me,” was all she said and hoped he would let the matter drop.

  “There is no way in hell a woman like you should be on the arm of a man like that,” Colin remarked with deep meaning and supreme finality.

  He exited the A38 and headed around Long Ashton toward Clevedon.

  She should have stayed silent. For sanity’s sake, she knew that. Rationally, logically and all good things that meant peace of mind, she understood that with certainty.

  However, she didn’t stay silent.

  “And what type of man should I be on the arm of, as you put it?”

  “Me,” he answered boldly and she gasped, realising, without a doubt, she’d entered the Alternate Colin Morgan Universe.

  He ignored her gasp. “If you were with me, you would not buy your own drinks. You would not be sent off to buy mine. I would most likely not let you out of my sight. We would definitely not be in a club. And you certainly would not, under any circumstances, leave with another man.”

  Regardless of the edge of chauvinism that tainted his statements, something started fluttering in her stomach, something not entirely unpleasant, indeed, something alarmingly pleasant, and she did her utmost to ignore it.

  “If you were an ass like Steve, then you wouldn’t have a choice.”

  He didn’t reply which, in itself, was an eloquent statement.

  Feeling the need to be safely out of Alternate but Somehow Entirely More Disarming Colin Morgan Universe, she reminded him, “However, the last time I saw you, you forced me to undress in front of you.”

  He didn’t hesitate. “Would you have done what you were told if I left?”

  She felt her body jolt at his uncanny perception into her somewhat stubborn nature.

  But unfortunately, everything she was would not allow her to lie.

  “No,” she admitted and chanced a glance at him. She saw the flash of white from his teeth and she made a grumpy noise and looked out the window.

  He chuckled.

  She decided not to speak to him anymore.

  He was not, however, finished speaking to her.

  “You were freezing yourself to death, which was a fool thing to do, and you looked about as comfortable as if you were lying on a sacrificial slab.”

  “I could hardly make myself comfortable when I was being held hostage!” she snapped, instantly forgetting her vow to stay silent.

  “You weren’t being held hostage.”

  “Could I leave?” she demanded.

  “No,” he stated implacably.

  She threw up her arms as if that settled her point. “You see! I was a hostage.”

  This time, it was no chuckle but a quiet, amused laugh.

  Therefore she stated crossly, “I fail to see how anything about that entire evening was funny. I just wanted to see your house. You confiscated my license and called the police to check on me.”

  “I had my reasons.”

  “Yes? And what were those?” she asked, her voice short and angry and she was glad, no thrilled of these reminders. Rescuer Colin was not nearly as easy to deal with as Lunatic Colin.

  “You honestly don’t know?” he asked back, surprise edging his voice.

  “Well, it felt like you thought Mrs. Byrne and I were going to steal your favourite hi fi, which was not a pleasant feeling. Though I think at the time she said it she was living in cloud coo coo land, considering your reaction to my arrival at your home, she told me the day before you’d likely give me a personal tour of the house.”

  “Maybe I’ll do that,” he murmured as if to himself.

  “Thank you, but no,” Sibyl replied quickly. “I’m never going to Lacybourne Manor again. I think I may even avoid National Trust properties altogether,” she declared dramatically then ruined it by going back on her word in case the goddess heard her statement and held her to it so she made a few exceptions. “Except Tyntesfield, naturally. And Dunster Castle, which is one of my favourites. And Durham Park, of course.” She wracked her brain to think of anything else she’d missed. “Oh! And Avebury, you get parking for free there if you’re a National Trust member.”

  “You can’t possibly be real.” The warm, laughing tone in his voice made her head snap around to look at him and she saw the smile was there, full force.

  “I am real, Mr. Morgan, it is you, or at least tonight’s you, that I find hard to believe is real.”

  They were slowing down and she r
ealised he was on the short, but secluded, drive to her cottage. How he knew where she lived, she couldn’t fathom, unless he memorised the address on her license which was undoubtedly what he did.

  Colin stopped outside the door and pulled up the handbrake. Then he turned to her and, by the dim lights of the dash, she could see the deep intensity of his eyes.

  “I’m definitely real,” he told her.

  “Which is the real you?” she asked in return. “Crazy, angry man at Lacybourne or rescuer guy in Bristol?”

  “Both,” he answered, she saw the flash of his teeth and she fought the insane urge to smile back at him or throw herself into his arms, or both.

  Instead, she retreated into flippancy which was a far safer place to be. “Great. Multiple personalities. Perhaps I should do an intervention.”

  On that, she unclicked her seatbelt and hastily exited the lovely car. She heard the purring, well-tuned motor stop and his car door opening and slamming shut. Even so, she didn’t hesitate, walked directly to the front door, slid in the ancient key and opened it. Mallory bounded out with great, if unusual, enthusiasm and went tearing toward Colin.

  “Mallory!” she shouted but Mallory would not be deterred.

  “Stop,” Colin ordered, his voice commanding but not harsh and Mallory skidded to a halt and stopped within inches of the man then leaned her muzzle forward and licked his hand.

  Sibyl’s eyes went skyward in exasperation. Though, she had to admit, if anyone deserved snarling, cranky Mallory tonight, it was definitely defunct-date Steve.

  Colin walked toward her as she reached in and turned on the light switch that her father had rigged to light several of the lamps around the cottage, making traversing it easy upon entry with one single switch. This caused the whole glade around the front of the cottage to be diffused with soft, dim light.

  Mallory followed Colin to Sibyl, snuffled Sibyl’s hand in belated greeting and then moseyed off into the night to do his business.

  And suddenly Sibyl felt awkward as Colin stood looking down at her. She stared up at him, noting it was rather strange doing so. Being quite tall herself, and also wearing high heels, she would normally be eye-to-eye or looking down at the majority of people, even men.