Sybill

by Ferguson, Jo Ann

  “My dear wife,” he whispered before he placed his mouth against hers very lightly.

  Cheers broke out in the room. For the staff, this wedding seemed the perfect solution. The lord had been lonely for years, since his wife died, and Sybill needed a home. Together they would bring happiness to the Cloister.

  Sybill drifted through the wedding feast only half aware of what she said or to whom she spoke. She did not doubt that any errors she made would be laughingly dismissed as those of a bride nervously facing her wedding night. She ate only because she recalled Mrs. Beckwith’s words always to think first of her child. The wonderful food prepared by Mrs. Dailey’s staff tasted like cold ashes in her mouth. Listening to the toasts, she wished it were someone else they were fêting.

  Her hand in Owen’s trembled when he led her to the master suite. During the day, she had watched as Clara made all the trips with Sybill’s possessions from the rooms which once had been hers to the ones she would share with her husband.

  Her husband! She wanted to deny the words, but it was too late. All her errors must be faced tonight. It would have been so easy if she had been the woman Trevor accused her of being. Then she would have let Owen think the baby was his. As he would. Trevor would not guess it was his child, for he had trusted her to tell him the truth.

  When the doors of the master suite closed behind them, she watched her husband walk to the door of the main bedroom. He held out his hand to her. “Come with me, Sybill.”

  Dampening her dry lips, she obediently went toward him. He was her husband. She had promised to love him and be his wife for as long as they both lived. That she loved another man was something she had to forget.

  Owen smiled as he took her fingers and raised them to his lips. “My dear Sybill, I know you are very aware of what awaits you beyond this door.”

  “I am your wife, Owen.”

  His hands brushed her curls from her face as he had so often. She fought to keep from flinching. Her eyes closed as he leaned toward her, but he kissed her gently on the cheek. “Tell me the truth.”

  “About what?” She did not mean to be coy, but she had so many secrets to hide.

  “You and Breton are lovers, aren’t you?”

  “Owen!” she gasped. It was the last question she had anticipated when they stood hand-in-hand at the door to their bedroom.

  He took her face in his hands and tilted it back so he could see her distress. “If it helps, Sybill, I know the truth. You have been lovers since early fall, haven’t you?”

  She lowered her eyes and nodded her head. As she felt his hands slip to her shoulders, she wondered why he had not asked her this before they had taken their vows. If he knew, she could not understand why he had insisted that she marry him.

  “When will your child be born?” he asked in a purely conversational tone.

  “How—?” Her face turned gray with shock. Putting out a hand to the doorjamb, she fought the nausea rising through her.

  He laughed as he walked toward the hearth. Easily he sat in his favorite chair and motioned for her to take another. “I assume Breton doesn’t know. He has no signs of the exultant, expectant father.”

  “No, Owen. He does not know.” She dropped to her knees by his chair. With her hands on its arm, she looked with supplication into his face. “He hates me.”

  “Hates you? That seems odd. Is that why he took your virginity from you?”

  Her blush betrayed her. Burying her face in her arms, she leaned against his knees and began to cry. “I’m sorry, Owen. I should have told you before—”

  Taking her face in his time-wrinkled hands, he drew it up so he could see her shattered features. “But, my dear, I wouldn’t have wanted to marry you if you weren’t in this condition.”

  “I beg your pardon?” she gasped.

  “I need you pregnant. Why do you think I pushed you and Trevor together from the beginning, my dear?”

  “From the beginning? From the time I arrived?”

  “Do you think I invited a penniless maiden to my home out of generosity?” He chuckled shortly as his eyes moved along her. “That is one thing I knew. You were a virgin. Your father bragged of that to me when I saw him last, and he told me how he was going to approach your mother to gain you a titled husband.”

  “My mother? My mother is dead!”

  A mysterious grin tugged at his lips as he asked only, “Is she?”

  She stared at him in disbelief. “I don’t understand.”

  “You never did.” He laughed loudly, his eyes glittering with delight. “I didn’t think Alfred Hampton’s daughter would be unwilling to enjoy a little entertainment with a very handsome, virile man like Breton. Yet you were different than what I expected. A true lady. I began to despair that you would never surrender to him.”

  “But why?” Her eyes beseeched him to tell her this was all a joke. “Why would you want me to be Trevor’s, then marry me?” Her voice broke as she whispered, “I don’t understand.”

  “I need an heir to supplant Christopher.” His hand pressed possessively against her abdomen. “This child will be known as mine, although we alone will know the truth.”

  Fearful of the change in him, she started to rise. His hand on her arm became a manacle holding her to his chair. With a gasp of pain, she dropped back to her knees. His arm swept around her and drew her mouth under his. There was nothing fatherly about his kiss. Involuntarily, she tried to pull away as his tongue invaded her mouth. While one hand held to the chair, the other caressed the curves of her body, settling on the gentle roundness of her breast.

  Against her lips, he murmured, “Sybill, you are so desirable. I remember when your mother was your age, and how I yearned to possess her. If I had, then you might have been my daughter instead of my wife.”

  “My mother?” she gasped and pulled away. “You knew my mother?”

  “Not as well as I wished.” His finger traced the line of her high cheekbones before dropping once more to caress her. With a sigh of regret, he murmured, “I can’t bed you as I would wish. It was not Edith who suffered most from the riding accident, but me. It stripped me of my ability to share your sweet body. Yet you have given me what I need.”

  “You mean you married me only because you guessed I was pregnant?” Sybill was growing more and more confused. It did not seem possible this was happening. She had fought the demons of her conscience, which had urged her to tell Owen of her condition before she married him. The guilt, the bitterness, the self-hatred had been for naught. He wanted her exactly as she was.

  He smiled, but did not answer her question. Kissing her lightly on the lips, he released her. “Go to bed, dear wife. The second bedroom has been prepared for your use. It was a lovely wedding, and I know you must be exhausted. We must make sure you take especially good care of yourself.” His hand caressed her stomach. “I do not want my child harmed in any way, Sybill.”

  Not knowing what else to do, she did as he ordered. She realized she had never been in the room which would be hers for the rest of her married life. She had not expected she would be sleeping alone. As her fingers settled on the latch, Owen spoke a final command. She spun to face him in horror. “Of course, my dear, you must never tell Breton the truth. If anyone was to suspect the child is not mine, it would be necessary to rid Foxbridge Cloister of your ex-lover. You would not wish to see him dead.” He smiled coldly. “I trust I need not warn you that there will be no resumption of that affair.”

  His cruelly calculated words triggered her rage. More frigidly than she had ever spoken to him, she stated, “I am aware of my place, Owen.”

  With his laughter ringing in her ears, she raced into her room and slammed the door. Dropping the bar in place, she did the same on the door connecting the two bedrooms. Then she sank onto the wide bed. She buried her face in the pillows as she sobbed out her betrayal. Once again she was being used as she had been from the beginning. Never had anyone wanted her for herself, but simply for what she could
offer in the games she could not begin to understand.

  Trevor rose to leave the library when Sybill entered it next morning. She did not move from the doorway, so he had to pause or shove her aside. He chose the former. “Good morning, my lady. If you will excuse me, I have work to do.”

  “Please, Trevor,” she said softly. She closed the door to shut off the noise from the corridor. “Do not leave yet. I must speak with you.”

  “Is that an edict from the lady of Foxbridge Cloister?” he snapped. “If that is so, then I must stay.” He bowed deeply.

  She knew he was hurting when he acted sarcastically as he had shortly after her arrival. The reflection of his pain ripped through her. If only she could explain the reason why she had done as she had. She had had no choice. “Why did you leave early?” she blurted.

  Black fire blazed in his eyes. “Your husband decided suddenly to send me to Liverpool before I went to London.”

  “Owen gave you that order?” She recalled his irate words to Mr. Mallory.

  “How many husbands do you have, my lady?”

  Not daring to touch him, but longing to soothe his aching heart, she whispered, “Trevor, I am sorry. Owen lied to me. He knew—” She paused and began again, “If it could have been any other way, I—”

  Angrily, he interrupted, “But you are Lady Foxbridge. Sybill Wythe, the fine Lady Foxbridge. Isn’t that what you wanted? To think I believed you when you told me you were different from that whore you called your father. You just used me until a better offer came your way. All you Hamptons are eager to sell yourself for what you want.”

  “No, Trevor, it wasn’t like that.”

  “No?” He flung out his hands. “When your husband dies, Foxbridge Cloister may belong to you. Sleeping with an old man is not too dear a price to pay to obtain this, is it?”

  “That’s not why I married Owen.”

  “Then why, Sybill? Why did you marry him?” he demanded.

  Her husband’s threats rang in her ears as she started to tell him the truth. Knowing that by leaving the essential fact out, her story sounded inane, she said, “I received that note from you—”

  “I told you that I wrote you no note!”

  “I know that now, but I didn’t at the time. It said you were marrying another woman to give her child a name and never returning to Foxbridge Cloister.”

  “And you believed that?”

  Earnestly she whispered, “I believed you would want your child to bear your name. You would do what you thought you should even if it broke both our hearts. Believing that, I knew I had to marry Owen.”

  “But why? It was not simply a choice between Lord Foxbridge and me. There are many men who would be eager to wed you, even without a guarantee of a dowry and maidenhood.”

  “Trevor, I was scared. I was confused. I thought my life was over when I read that you would not be part of it any longer.” She held out her hands to him. “My love, I did not care what happened to me when I thought you were gone. I admit what I did was stupid, but—Oh, I cannot explain.”

  Taking her outstretched hands, he pulled her tight to him. His mouth covered hers. The never-forgotten pulse of passion swelled through her. Her arms swept around his shoulders as she pressed her body, hungry for his touch, close to him. Pushing the high collar of her chemise aside, he let his lips caress the soft skin of her neck before teasing her ear in the way she loved. At the same time, his hands were reacquainting themselves with her warm curves.

  When he felt her breath rapid in his mouth, he fought his own desires to love her again as he wanted. Instead he pushed her away. As she stared at him in anguish, he felt a sword-sharp pain through his middle. He forced himself to remember that the sweet innocence had been just another performance by that consummate actress, Sybill Hampton.

  Fiercely, to cover his own pain, he demanded, “Did your husband kiss you like that last night, Sybill? Did his fingers upon you bring you the rapture you knew in my arms? Did you think once of my loving while you shared his bed?”

  “No, never speak of that!” When she saw the deepening rage on his volatile features, she knew he had misread her concern. He thought she cared only that her husband did not learn of their love. Because she could not explain, she could not tell him that Owen knew all too well exactly what they had shared.

  “I think this conversation is completed. Excuse me, my lady!”

  “Trevor!” she called after him, but he did not pause as he left the room.

  She sank onto one of the benches and knew her life was slowly being destroyed. Married to a man who wanted only to use her as an instrument of revenge against his son, loving a man who must never learn he was the father of the child resting beneath her heart.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Get out!”

  Kate quelled before the man’s wrath. She dipped as much as her bulk allowed. “Yes, m’lord.” As the door closed, Sybill glanced up from her book. The soft patter of rain exhausted the wind’s force against the windows. She sat on a settee amid a mound of cushions. With her feet drawn up beneath her silken wrap, she was an appealing sight until her expression altered into a malicious grin. “What’s wrong, Owen? Your spy becoming more of a problem than she is worth?” She laughed. “It certainly did not take you long to buy Kate’s affections.”

  With a snarl, he turned on her. His gentle Sybill had become a shrew. “I did not have to buy her affections, as you so coarsely put it, wife. You are normally so quick-witted, I am surprised you have not guessed the truth. Did you not notice the coincidence that your father took her into his employ after my last visit to London?”

  “You ordered Father to hire Kate?” She sat straighter. This explained many things, such as why Alfred Hampton had not dismissed a servant he clearly disliked. One thing her father had wanted was tranquillity. Kate thrived on disquiet. It had been a constant struggle.

  “Of course, my dear.” He patted her cheek, but she jerked her head away. In the privacy of their suite, she refused to accept the intimate indignities she must allow before his household. “When I was in London, I met you. What a charming child you were! So pretty, so intelligent! The perfect one to give me the child I needed.”

  “Even then …?” She could not finish. Her fingers tightened on the cover of the book until it bent with a soft creak of protest.

  He laughed. “All I had to do was be sure you remained untouched and unwed until you were old enough to bear a child safely. I came home and promoted Trevor from his position as a lowly clerk in the shipyards to my estate manager. With his obsessive attitude toward his work, I kept him busy until I could arrange for you to come to Foxbridge Cloister.”

  “No!” Instantly she understood what he was saying. All his manipulations had twisted their lives into his control. One of his plots had worked with deadly precision. She rose and backed away from his knowing smile. In disbelief, she shook her head.

  Crossing the room, he poured two glasses of wine from the decanter that was always on the table by the window overlooking the sea. He brought one to Sybill. “Take it, my dear. I think you could use something to calm you.”

  As if it were not her own, she watched her hand rise to take the goblet. She needed her other hand to steady it as she brought it to her lips. Sipping, she found it impossible to swallow. She let the wine drip down her throat, which seemed as frozen as the rest of her.

  His pale eyes never left her ravaged face as he said lightly, “I suppose you are curious how I managed to arrange all this. It was simple. I lent your father a very large amount of money. Alfred always needed money, so it appeared to be simply a deal between friends.” He laughed in remembrance. “I considered it an investment in the future … or rather, in your future, Sybill. At the beginning of the year, I informed Alfred I wanted all the money returned with the interest he owed me.”

  “And,” she continued dully, “you made sure no one else would lend him any funds to cover the debt. As you influenced Father’s friends to turn t
heir backs on me.”

  “It was not difficult,” he bragged. “Gold buys many allies. When Alfred did the honorable thing and killed himself, he never suspected he had been used as he used so many.” He stepped toward her. “The only unknown was you, my dear. I began to despair that you would never succumb to young Breton. Then I followed you one day to your tryst by the seaside. I feared you saw me when you did not return directly to the Cloister. It was ingenious of him to arrange such a spot.”

  Putting the goblet on a table, she moved to the settee. She sat on its edge, her feet pressed against the floor to give her the impetus she would need if fleeing became necessary. “That was my idea, Owen. I was the one who arranged for the hut to be furnished, and I was the one who lured Trevor there.” Her eyebrows arched in sharp derision. “See? You were not so wrong. I am like my father. When I fell in love, I went after what I wanted.”

  “Enough of that!” he snapped.

  “Does it hurt you to hear that I love Trevor and that I always will?” Her cold laugh was a close approximation of his. “You tell me you guaranteed my father’s death, and I am supposed to feel nothing. Well, if it satisfies your sadism, I hurt. I hurt badly. I hope you feel as anguished when you realize that, although you may own me, my heart I gave to Trevor months ago.”

  He came to stand before her. Although she saw his hand raise, she did not think he would strike her. He valued the child within her too much. Her cry of agony filled the room as his hand impacted on her face. Gripping her arm, he tugged her to her feet. He shoved her across the floor and laughed as she slipped to her knees on the thick rug. “Leave me, Lady Foxbridge, until you have learned some manners.”

  Slowly she rose. Fury flashed sapphire in her eyes as she spat, “Me? You tell me that when—”

  He hit her again. The concussion rocked her off her feet, but she did not fall. She felt his arms around her. It was the final betrayal, for he kept her from dropping to the floor only because he did not want to risk the child. With a cry, she pushed herself out of his arms and fled from the sitting room. As had become a habit, she bolted her door. It could not keep out the horror which formed the framework of her life. Somehow she had to find a way to escape this.