Sybille's Lord (4 page)

Chapter Four

Thom
stood in the shadows of the mews behind the house. Apart from the trundle of
carriage wheels over cobbles in the square at the end of the quiet lane, the
only other noises were a couple of cats fighting in one of the gardens behind
him, and the watch who called the hour.

Somewhere
a door opened and banged and Thom grinned to himself at the extravagant
compliments he overheard delivered in a broad cockney accent.
 
Evidently, whoever was leaving had enjoyed
himself. A few yards away, a door opened in the wall and a man emerged
whistling jauntily. Thom stood still, knowing that in his long dark cloak and
muffler, he was nigh on invisible. Having often scouted for the crown both at
home and on the continent, he knew the best way to stay unnoticed was not to
draw anyone’s attention. The lad—he looked like a groom—walked past him, and
into some stables. Thom glanced up at the shuttered window of Sybille’s room
for the umpteenth time. What the devil took so long?

By
the time the shutters opened and the casement moved, Thom wondered if he would
be rooted to the spot. Twice he’d heard doors open, but no one else had passed
him. Thom glanced up and down the mews, and moved quietly the five or six yards
to a green painted gate set in a high stone wall. It was a matter of seconds to
unlock it with his trusty metal pin, open it and slip into the pretty garden
next to the kitchen yard of Birch House.

Mijo
was well known for her green fingers, due she always said from grubbing around
to find food on her escape across France. The garden was testimony to her
skills, wherever they arose from. Night flowers scented the air, their perfume
heady and teasing his senses. The moon danced in and out of the clouds and cast
long shifting shadows over the closely clipped lawns and created the perfect atmosphere
to move around unseen. Thom was so intent on reaching his destination he
scarcely noticed his surroundings as he reached the corner of the house without
being spotted and stood, back to the wall, and listened for a moment.

Nothing,
not even a cat going about its business.

Thom
put his hand to the door behind him and found the handle. As he guessed, it was
unlocked. Servants rarely thought to lock the door into the scullery, as it was
in constant use. Indeed after the last person left at night, he’d wager it
would only be a matter of a couple of hours before the first person reentered
via it, just before dawn. He opened the door and slipped inside, then offered
up a mental note of thanks to Arthur and Dare who had both unwittingly supplied
the information Thom needed to access the upper story successfully. He didn’t
need to use the ivy-clad wall to climb up to the window. That had been said to
keep Sybille’s attention in that direction, and not from her bathing chamber.

He’d
supposed the stairs would be similar to those in his own house four streets
away, and he was correct. In fact, all things considered, the basic layout of the
two houses were not that different, although his was perhaps twice the size. In
this area of town, the streets mimicked each other.

Thom
took great care to ensure anyone following him would have considerable trouble
in doing so and make enough noise for him to escape. A pail of water, and
several noisy metal objects placed in strategic areas took care of that.
Eventually he stood barefoot in Sybille’s bathing chamber.

A
faint pall of rose scented steam hung in the air and he realized why she had
taken so long to say the coast was clear. Obviously, for whatever reason, she’d
had a bath, and therefore it seemed likely her maid had only just left. Thom
closed his mind to the erotic scenes that flashed before his eyes, and opened
the window slightly. The fresh air was welcome on his heated flesh. He shook
his head in amusement at how such a thought could affect him so, as he put his
discarded boots underneath the aperture—just in case he had to get away in a
hurry. Then he walked silently across the room to a door on the other side. It
was ajar and a faint light came from behind it.

On
stockinged feet, Thom walked through the gap and into a cozy bedchamber.

“Shut
the door please, it’s draughty. Oh and please do the casement as well. I didn’t
think you’d trust the ivy, but I didn’t lock the window, just in case.” Sybille
put her finger between two pages, and glanced up from the book she was reading.
Curled up in an oversized armchair with a blanket over her shoulders she looked
confortable and not at all like the worried, apprehensive female he’d been with
earlier.

Thom
narrowed his eyes. Was this a trap? A con, perhaps, designed to get him into a
compromising position? He looked toward the door, and checked the lock was on
and the bolt shot over. Why she would feel the need, though, he had no idea.

Sybille
saw where he stared and sighed. “It’s locked and bolted. The rooms either side
and across the corridor are, at present empty, so unless I pull the bell rope
and Rogers hatchets the door down, no one can get in. You see, my lord, I trust
you.”

Thom
bowed. “Then of course, I trust you.” He chose not to mention that anyone who
engaged to enter her domain via the servant’s stairs might well come a cropper.
Hopefully it would not come to that. “What did you want to ask me?”

Sybille
put her book onto the table, swathed the blanket around her more securely, and
stood up. “It’s not easy.”

“Life
never is,” Thom said with a shrug. “For example getting in here like a cat
burglar. It’s a wonder you didn’t ask me to come down the chimney like a sweep’s
boy.”

“You’d
get stuck.” Sybille looked at his shoulders and blushed. “I’m sorry, but I despaired
of ever getting the opportunity to ask for your help without someone
overhearing.”

For
‘someone’ he rather thought she meant her maman.

“Well
I’m here now, and if anyone did overhear or see me, the repercussions would be
to neither of our liking,” Thom said bracingly. “I have no inclination to be
leg shackled unwillingly, nor I think do you?”

Sybille’s
cheeks went from red to ashen.

“Exactly.”
Thom had no intention of telling her how willing he intended her to be, before
he leg shackled her, as he so charmingly had put it. “Therefore, perhaps you reveal
all and tell me what you need.” He had no inclination to explain what his plans
were.

Sybille
paced across the room and bit her lip. “Oh sit down,” she said with a half-smile,
and waved toward the chair she’d just vacated. “You make the room look untidy.”

Thom
laughed. “I can’t, there’s only one chair.”

“So?
Sit in it and let me pace. I think better on the move.” Sybille resumed her
pacing.

Each
time she turned to retrace her steps the blanket billowed out and gave Thom a
tantalizing glimpse of pale pink silk and, peeking from under the floating
material, a well-turned ankle and bare feet. He’d prefer more of that and less
of grey wool. However beggars couldn’t be choosers and he’d enjoy what perks he
could get.

“Did
you get my letter?” Sybille stopped in front of him and stared at his face. “I
sent it first thing with the pot boy.”

“Yes,
but I didn’t receive it until it was too late to act immediately.” A lie but
Thom had wanted her to be needy and not defensive. He knew enough of her to
understand how her mind worked.

She
groaned and resumed her route march across the carpet. “I knew I should have
slipped out to deliver it myself.”

“You
should not, and you will promise me you will never do such a thing,” Thom said
sharply. “
That
would be heinous in
the eyes of the ton.” He took hold of her arm, over the blanket, as she walked
by. “Sybille, by all that’s holy, stop moving now and sit down. I can
not
sit if you don’t. As, strangely, I’m
considered by some to be a gentlemen, and even by those who consider I’m not
and instead say I’m beyond redemption, I have to remaining standing while you
do. The ton would be aghast if I was so rude.”

“What?”
Sybille looked startled. “The ton aren’t here.”

“Nevertheless…”

“What
do… oh right. But then you will have to stand anyway. That’s not right either.
I can’t talk to you like that. I’d get a crick in my neck apart from anything
else.”

“Then
we’ll compromise.” Thom moved quickly, swept her off her feet, ignored her
squeak and tried to ignore how she wound her arms around his neck for
stability. The blanket slipped and fell toward the floor. Sybille made a grab
for it and missed. Thom kicked it to one side.

“My
lord, what on earth are you doing? My blanket. Put me down at once.” Thom suppressed
a grin. She didn’t sound very sure that what she said was what she wanted.

“Of
course.” He resisted the urge to copy her earlier perambulations so he could
hold her thus for a while longer, walked the three steps needed, sat in the chair
and settled her on his lap. “You are down.”

“I’m
not. I’m on your knee.” Sybille wriggled and tried to lever herself upward.

His
staff responded with interest. Well it would, with her delectable arse rubbing
over it. Thom would have called her on her actions, or acted upon them, if he
thought she had any idea what her movements were doing to him. As he was nigh
on certain she didn’t, he forbore to say anything other than, “Sit still, woman,
or you’ll do me an injury.” Maybe he shouldn’t have let the blanket be
discarded so easily.

Sybille
promptly stopped moving, and allowed him to settle her once more. “I will?
How…oh.” She put her hands to her cheeks. “Your…your…”

“My…?”
Not so innocent then.
Thom rather
thought that could work in his favor. “Yes, my…?”

Sybille
tapped his arm and shook her head in what he hoped was mock exasperation. The
movement set her curls dancing and under the soft layers of silk her bosom heaved.
Thom ached to slide the silk off them and touch and taste. His staff reacted to
his thoughts and he willed it to soften and remain quiescent. He was only
partially successful.

“Yes,
your…” She opened her eyes wide. “And do not play the innocent, my lord. You
know what I mean.”

“I
do? Yes true,” Thom added hastily as her eyes narrowed. Not many people knew of
or saw Sybille Birch’s temper but Thom had been forewarned. “I apologize, I was
teasing, and now is not the time. So, sit still there’s a good girl, let my
body be still also, and tell me what is going on. Why do you need my help?”

“The
helped you offered,” Sybille said. “Why did you offer?”

He’d
hoped she wouldn’t ask him that.

Chapter Five

“I
thought,” he said carefully. “You looked worried.”

He did?
Sybille’s heart thumped. She had
been certain she’d stayed her normal cheerful self. Apart from around Bankfoot
that was. There, it was nigh on impossible. After all, who could be cheerful
when their skin crawled and they felt like a beetle about to be squashed
underfoot?

“You,
you’ve lost a certain sparkle in your eyes,” Thom said slowly. “Arthur also noticed
it. I remarked on it to him. He either has no idea why, or chose not to tell me
what it’s all about?” He let his voice rise to indicate he would like an
answer. “I wrote to you, and now you have answered. Nevertheless, I can do nothing
until I know just what’s going on.” He rested his chin on her head, not hard
but just enough to let her know what he did.

The
heat from his body permeated her flimsy nightrail and gown, and both excited
and comforted her. His male scent surrounded her, and Sybille was conscious
that sitting there in his arms made all her cares fall away. It gave her hope
that maybe everything would work out well. First though, she had to share her
worries and predicament with him. It wasn’t going to be easy.

“If
I tell you the all, my lord, do you promise to keep what I divulge to yourself?
For it not only reflects badly on me, but in a way, my parents.”

Thom’s
arms tightened on her and she was sure she felt his lips touch her hair.

“Nothing
said or done in this room will be shared without your permission.”

“Then.”
Sybille took a deep breath and stared at the glowing embers in the fireplace. “Do
you believe in curses?”

Sybille’s
first thought was you could have heard a pin drop. Then, that their heartbeats
were in time with each other. And finally, why on earth didn’t he say
something?

She
counted the seconds off in her head. He was silent almost to her mental count
of thirty.

“I
believe in cursing. I can swear like the troopers I once commanded,” Thom said.
“But if you mean in the manner of a wart-ridden old crone stirring a cauldron,
and casting obnoxious and harmful spells, then no. Why do you ask?”

He
sounded puzzled, so she could only hope all her family history wasn’t known in
the ton. For surely if it was, Thom would have heard.

“You
know how my parents met?” She turned to look at him. His body moved under her.
Sybille was certain this was what she’d read about. Something she hadn’t
believed. Parts of a man couldn’t change shape and hardness, surely? Now
feeling a definite stirring in his nether regions she wasn’t so sure. She twisted
and squirmed a little more.

 
Definitely changing.
What on earth did that pamphlet say it could be called? Ah, a pego.
Such a strange name for something that feels like a log or a staff.
So does that mean other things will now
happen?

“Stop
wriggling woman,” Thom said peremptorily. “Or I will be…” He broke off and
groaned. “What
am
I saying? Good lord,
Sybille stay still. You
are
a witch.”

“I
am not,” Sybille retorted indignantly. “Wriggling
or
a witch. Let me up.”

Thom
tightened his arms around her and anchored her in place. “Be still. I like you
here. However, for both our peace of minds ’tis better you don’t awaken the
sleeping body.”

Sybille
remembered the word she’d read, and the somewhat startling diagram with it.

“You
mean your pego?”

 
Thom blinked, set her onto her feet, and stood
up next to her, close enough that if they both breathed out at the same time
their chests touched. His expression defied her to move as he looked down at her
upturned face, and grinned.

She
mistrusted the grin.

“And
what, my dear, do you know of a gentleman’s pego and its preferences?” He ran
his finger down her nose and tapped the tip. It tickled rather than stung and
she wrinkled it.

“Tell
me the all.” His tone demanded obedience.

“Nothing.”
Sybille had no intention of pandering to him.

He
laughed. “Hmm, shall I further your education?”

Yes please.
“No,” Sybille said breathlessly. “We
are straying off the point.”

“I’m
nowhere near the point.” Thom stared, rather obviously, at the area where her nightrail
gaped and left the top of one breast exposed.

Her
nipples puckered. Sybille colored at his gaze and curled her hands into her
sides to stop herself reducing the gap. She pondered over his statement. Point?

“You
beast.” She realized what he alluded to. Her nipples peaked the soft silk that
covered them. “That is not gentlemanly.”

“At
this moment in time, I don’t feel very gentlemanly. To be frank, I feel somewhat
of a letch, all hot and desirous to discover every little nuance with regards
to you.” He circled her wrists with his fingers. “No, don’t pull back. I can
control my lustful urges, but Sybille you
would
try the patience of a saint.” He drew her closer so they were body to
body, with his pego pressed up against her belly.

She
gasped.

“I…I
would? But I haven’t done anything.”

“That
is what saves you,” Thom said cryptically. “Now for goodness’ sake sit in the
chair, let me lean on the wall, and then.” His voice rose, and took on a more
forceful timbre. “Tell me what’s wrong and what I can do to help.”

****

If
he got out of her room without either disgracing himself or scaring the life
out of her it would be a miracle. Thom waited until she was occupied setting
her nightrail and robe about her, and discreetly adjusted his erection into a
less obvious position. He’d have to partake in a little self-help later, but for
now, discomfort would be his bedfellow.

 
He
smiled to himself.
I’d rather my
bedfellow be Sybille.

Sybille
looked across to him. He hated the worried look on her face, but for once he could—he
thought—say with confidence, he hadn’t put it there. Thom cast his mind back to
the last relevant conversation they had.

“Cursing?”
He prompted her. “As in epithets or spells?”

“Both
I imagine, once I tell you the all.” Her voice was morose. “When my maman
escaped from the Terror, she brought a bag of gold with her. It’s, look this is
sharing family secrets, my lord, and oh so embarrassing.” Sybille said rapidly.
“The gold is all that has kept our family going. My late uncle nigh on ruined
us.”

Thom
nodded. He remember how, many years before his father had remarked that Theo
had worked miracles with what little money—he assumed—Theo’s brother hadn’t
squandered.

 
“I recall my father commenting how well your father
coped after his brother died. He assumed, as I imagine all the ton did, your
papa played successfully on ‘change. That is not correct?”

Sybille
shook her head. “Not at first, though latterly I suppose he was moderately
successful. Maman’s loot as she calls it, was our salvation. Except it’s
cursed.”

“You
really believe that?” Thom asked her. “That an inanimate object, or objects are
cursed?”

“Maman
does.” Sybille cleared her throat. “'Pay the price. The heart of ye child
to be liftin’ the curse. Dare ye risk it?’” She smiled self-consciously. “That’s
it.”

“And
dare you?” Thom was intrigued. He’d never heard of that before.

“Not
yet. But we do need to repair our finances, so maybe one of us has to give our
heart to whatever or whoever. Not that any of us know what that is.”

He
nodded, his mind busy. “But that’s not all, is it?”

Sybille
shook her head. “Sadly, no. Oh, my lord, I’m in such a muddle.”

Thom
thought rapidly over the past few weeks, ever since he’d noticed her abstract
air and increasing pallor.

“Bankfoot.”
He guessed and was rewarded by her shudder. “He is enough to muddle anyone.”

“He
is a cad,” Sybille said in a low voice. “He looks at me as if I am a fly, and
he a spider with a web ready and he knows he will catch me. And I don’t want
him to.” She said something under her breath that Thom strained to hear.

Did she really mumble, ‘I‘d rather
die’?

“There
is no reason he should, surely?” Thom hesitated and decided to just ask her
outright. “Did your parents tell you I wish to offer for you?”

Sybille
looked straight at his eyes, and blinked twice. “Oh yes.” Then she burst into
tears.

“Hell,
it’s not such a horrendous thought is it?” Thom was horrified. “Do you want me
to rescind? After all it’s not generally known I offered. Only your maman and
papa, and you of course.” He fished in his pocket, drew out his handkerchief,
and handed it to her.

Sybille
took it, sniffed and used it loudly. Her nose was red and blocked, her cheeks
blotchy and her hair damp to her skull. When she cried, Thom realized, she did
so with no pretense. All the feelings he’d harbored for her grew in intensity.
So did his cock. Thom cursed—swear words not spells—under his breath. Now was
not the time to show his ardor.

“Sybille?”