Sybille's Lord (5 page)

Chapter Six

 
Now or never.
 
She took an enervating, and surreptitious sniff
of his handkerchief. It was his scent that surrounded her and gave her strength.
Sybille realized that for weeks she’d associated lavender and spice with Thom. On
him it wasn’t feminine at all. She held the linen toward him.

”Ah
no, keep it, I have others.”

Was
it wrong to be pleased? To know she had a little bit of him close, even if she
harbored few thoughts it would ever be more.
Not after
… She blocked the depressing thought.

Several
weeks before, Sybille had been overjoyed, if a little wary when her parents had
told her Thom wished to offer for her, but it was up to her to say if she’d
treat his suit favorably. Mijo and Theo had always agreed any decision so
important was up to the person concerned, not them.

“For
you know, my love, I do think he could develop more of a tendre for you if he
allowed himself to,” Mijo had said. “He truly admires you, and it would be up
to you to nurture that tendresse and see it blossom.”

Sybille
couldn’t even discern whether Thom might have a slight fondness for her. He paid
no more attention to her than any other young lady in the ton, perhaps less. It
wasn’t enough. She’d been non-committal, and merely promised to think about it.
Which she had, frequently. Even though his attention had not seemed to be any
more determined than before he approached her parents. If anything Sybille
sometimes thought it less. If she hadn’t noticed a glint and a determination
when he looked at her and thought no one looking, and the way his jaw
tightened, she could have thought him indifferent to her to the point of
dislike, and her parents mistaken in his intentions.

“I
know and I promised I would think of it,” she said to Mijo on several occasions.
“Which, when I have time, I will do so.”

“Ahem.”
So engrossed in her thoughts, she’d forgotten Thom. “Why not agree now? As your
affianced I could protect and help you.”

“As
my friend you can do the same thing,” Sybille answered swiftly. “Is your help dependent
on my answering your offer in the affirmative?‘

 
“Good heavens, no.” Thom sounded horrified and
Sybille was immediately ashamed of her unworthy thoughts. He wouldn’t act like
that. “You wound me, my dear.” There was no twinkle in his eye, just a
painful—to her—bleakness.

“Oh
lud, I’m sorry.” She stood up and put her hand on his arm in entreaty. “Thomas.”

He
shook her hand off as if it was contagious. Sybille realized she might have
just lost a friend.
My big mouth, when
will I learn to think before I speak?

“My
lord, forgive me. If I say I’m overwrought, it’s an understatement. And I have to
admit to being foolish. That is something that will sit badly with me.” She
rolled her shoulders. “I hate being in the wrong.”

“Don’t
we all?” His voice was once more level, but to her shame and dismay it held
none of his usual friendliness
 
“And you
have nothing to be forgiven for. Why should you trust me? What have I given to
you to ensure that?”

“Ah
Thomas, so much, and I didn’t realize.” If only she’d accepted he was honestly
open to help her perhaps she wouldn’t be in this mess now. “I truly am sorry.
If you think about it, I must trust you or else I would not be here.”

“Thom,
never Thomas,” Thom said emphatically. “When I hear that, I expect my tutor to appear
and give me five of the best.”

The
look on his face as he screwed his eyes up was priceless. She giggled as she guessed
he meant her to. It seemed he didn’t hold grudges. “Thom then. Right, bear with
me. I need to go back many years. To when Maman and Papa wed. He gave her a
magnificent string of pearls as a betrothal gift. They loop around her neck
twice and still reach to her…” She took a deep breath, “To around her navel.”

 
Thom nodded.

Sybille
guessed he had seen Mijo in the pearls and noticed how they led the eyes downward.
To where, her sister Tessa had told her, some gentlemen of a poetic bent would
say, was her pearl of beauty.

“A
fine string,” he said non-committally. A strange note, almost one of studied
indifference, alerted her.

“You
know something about the string?” she asked. It was difficult to know how to
phrase the question without giving too much away. In case he was sounding her
out.

“It’s
fake,” Thom said matter-of-factly. “I’m sorry.”

Her
jaw dropped. “You knew?”

“I
knew.” His eyes darkened and she looked away rather than see what expression
was on his face.

“Oh
lud, does everyone in the ton know?” Sybille couldn’t begin to think how her
parents would feel if their deception was general knowledge.

“No
one except me, I would think, unless your parents have chosen to confide in
someone else. Why?”

She
waved her hands in the air. Thom ducked one long fingernail. “I’m not the
messenger, don’t harm me.”

“Oh.
Sorry.” She’d missed his cheek by inches. “Why? Because it would kill my
parents.”

“Don’t
be dramatic. After all they have been through? Give them some credit.”

 
“I do, but you don’t understand.” Damn the
pathetic, whiny tone.

“Try
me,” he said, inviting her confidences. “I do not tell tales. I’ve known of its
provenance for long enough. Remember also, it is a very good fake. There is no
need to worry. No one will tell unless they had it tested.”

He
smiled reassuringly. Sybille gritted her teeth. Little did he know it did the
very opposite. “I hope you’re right and no one tests it then. However I have to
worry.
 
Sadly, you’re mistaken.”

Thom
raised one sculpted eyebrow. Sybille saw the long lashes show dark on his
eyelid and scowled. It was so unfair a man should have such a natural beauty
aid and she had to resort to charcoal.

“Why?”

 
Oh how she’d hoped never to have to admit her
failure. “Because it’s now in the hands of that cad Bankfoot.”

Sybille
watched, fascinated as Thom started, and his fingers clenched into his fists,
just once.

“Ah.
Then I agree we may have a problem.” He took three strides across the room and
swung round to face her.

“What
in Hades—” His voice rose to a roar.

Sybille
put her finger over her mouth in a ‘be quiet’ gesture. “Hush, do you want
everyone to hear you?”

He
scowled but moderated his voice.
 
“You
said the nearby rooms are vacant.”

“They
are but you shouted loud enough to wake the Francomes in the house three doors
down, let alone this household.”

“Then
if you do not want the street to be privy to our conversation, tell me, what
pray, is bloody Bankfoot doing with it? For that matter, why the hell did your
papa not let me replace it with the real string? Stubborn...” Thom shook his
head and took a deep breath, which stretched his shirt and pantaloons to their
limit. “Right… why do I wonder what you have to do with this mess? Perhaps you’d
better tell me. Sit down again. Do not move.” He pointed to the chair. “And
talk.”

“Then
don’t tower over me,” Sybille said. “Sit on the bed, or the floor, or get the
stool from my bathing chamber. But don’t stand there like an avenging angel.”

He
snorted. “That’s the first time I’ve been called an angel. It’s usually a
devil.”

“Angel,
devil, what does it matter,” Sybille said impatiently. Now she’d garnered the
courage to tell him the story she wanted to get on with it. “Just please do as
I’ve asked.”

With
a grin she could only think of as belonging to the devil himself—wicked and
evil but with a hint of a challenge—Thom sat on the end of her bed and lifted
one stocking-clad foot to rest on the knee of his other leg. Sybille’s mouth
was dry, and she swallowed. Why
was
his stance a challenge?

“It’s
not often I sit on a lady’s bed fully clothed. It’s a novelty I’m not inclined
to repeat too often.”

 
You’re not fully clothed,” Sybille said. “You
have no boots on.”

 
“It’s still several layers too much. Right,
before the thread of our conversation goes awry again—talk.”

****

His
cock ached, and as he looked at her worried expression so did his heart. Thom
had long known he favored Sybille and had a fondness for her he’d never experienced
with anyone else, but this emotion went beyond that. To be sat here, in an
intimate room, with a lady in such filmy clothes and not to take advantage of
it was unusual.

Would
a lady who had invited him to her room, not
expect
to be taken advantage of?

 
Ah, the difficulties.

Sybille
cleared her throat. “Thom? Did you hear me? I said this does not show me in a
good light.”

The
candles behind her gave lie to the statement but he knew it was not the time to
flirt. However he couldn’t let her comment go unremarked upon.

“I
could say, I beg to differ, the light shows you to perfection.”

She
giggled nervously. “I er…”

“Oh
you do…. perfectly.” He winked and then sobered. “I‘m sorry, Sybille, I couldn’t
resist teasing you. Go on.”

“Promise
me, you won’t interrupt. I know I’ve been an idiot, and yes, I know you said if
I needed help you were there, but this, this was something that I thought no
one knew about, and I could take care of.”

“But
you couldn’t?” He kept his voice low, unemotional and not threatening.

“Sadly,
no. But what else could I do?”

Stupid woman still hasn’t told me
about what.

“As
you haven’t divulged what you did how can I comment?” He looked around the
room. “Do you have anything to drink in here? I think we might need it.”

“Water?”

“I
was thinking more along the lines of brandy.”

“In
a lady’s bedchamber?” Try as he assumed she might to keep her face straight,
her lips twitched.

“Ah
well,” he sighed theatrically. “Shall I go downstairs and find a decanter?”

“Noooo.”
Her voice was squeaky. “You can’t do that. Wait one moment. Men.” She shook her
head, and got up again.

Her
jack in the box activity was making him dizzy.

“Can’t
cope without a glass in their hand.” She went on, as she walked to the window
and lifted the cushions that padded the wooden bench below the casement. “I
wonder how the country doesn’t go to rack and ruin.” There was no malice in her
words and Thom stifled a laugh. For some reason she seemed to be determined to
get a rise from him. She’d got that all right, but probably not the rise she
expected. His pego had risen and was demanding to be noticed. Thom lifted his
legs. It was not about to get what it wanted. Her derriere faced him, perfectly
outlined by the thin layers of silk, which caressed it. His hands itched to aid
the material with its efforts.

“I
can easily manage without a glass.”

“Just
as well. Aha.” Sybille straightened up, impatiently pushed the tendrils of hair
that had escaped from her plait behind her ears, and waved a dusty bottle in
the air. “Dare gave this to me to hide, and I presume he forgot about it. His
loss, our gain. Well yours, I’ve never acquired the taste.”

She
stood up and handed the bottle to Thom. He dusted the bottle, and searched in
vain for a label. “Smuggled?”

“Probably.
He didn’t say.”

Thom
nodded as he pulled out the cork with his teeth. “Go on with your story. Oh and
bring me your tooth mug.”

“I
thought you said you didn’t need a glass. Anyway it holds my toothbrush.”

“Sybille.”
His voice was silky smooth, as he held onto his temper by the finest of
threads. “Are you deliberately trying to goad me? Because, believe me you are
succeeding. Take out your toothbrush. Rinse the mug if needed, bring it back
and hand it to me. Sit down again. And shut up.”

She
opened her mouth several times, but didn’t utter a word. Perhaps his state of
mind got through to her, as eventually she nodded and walked into her bathing
chamber without speaking. Within seconds she returned and held the pottery mug
out to him.

He
admired the elegant lines. “Jones, Watt, Doulton?”

“Yes
why?”

“No
reason. I like Doulton’s work.” Thom poured a generous measure of brandy into
the glass and held it to her. She took it without comment and stared at the
contents as if were poison.

“I
told you I don’t like brandy.”

“A
pity.” He clinked the bottle on the side of her mug. “Your health?”

“Pardon?”

Your
health.” Thom indicated her drink and took a generous swallow from the bottle.
The warm oaky liquid slid down his throat, like a welcome friend. Still she
hadn’t moved. With an exasperated sigh, Thom put down the bottle, and moved
closer to Sybille.