Sybill

by Ferguson, Jo Ann

  Although she was tensed for what she expected would follow, Nicholas continued merely to kiss her and hold her as if she was made of the finest crystal. Like a treasured piece of art, he carefully and most tenderly examined her without doing anything to damage her.

  She was not fooled by his chivalrous behavior. She could not be mistaken about the yearning he held so closely in check. Nicholas wanted her. She could see it in every motion he made, but she did not want to be his. Her hands pushed against his chest to free herself from this unwanted embrace.

  Only when he chose was she able to step away. He picked up the gown she had dropped. Handing it to her, he said, “You are my wife, Rebecca. You are my Lady Foxbridge. I will be back in fifteen minutes. You had best be prepared for dinner, or you may learn how I treat my enemies.”

  Without waiting for her response, he walked to the door. When it closed with a distinctive click, she ran to the door. She breathed heavily with fear as she dropped the bar into place. She knew very little of this man who was her husband, but she had learned enough to know he would do as he pleased. If it meant returning immediately to rape her savagely, he would be surprised to learn that his wife was not the docile lass he expected her to be.

  Quickly she dressed. She brushed her hair back into the style she had worn to the wedding. Her chin rose defiantly as she tried not to think of the day’s events. The woman in the mirror appeared unchanged, but there was a hardness in her heart which had never been there before. Whether it was the core of her pain or the bitterness of learning how truly cruel another human being could be, she did not know. All she knew was that Nicholas would not find it easy to transform her into his lady. She would fight him every inch of the way as she waited for her darling Keith to come for her. When this marriage was dissolved, she would marry Keith immediately. Then they would resume the life they had lost.

  When a knock sounded, she asked, “Who’s there?”

  “It’s been fifteen minutes, Rebecca.”

  Even the sound of his stygian voice set her heart racing, but she would not let him know how much she feared him. “One moment.”

  Checking her appearance a final time in the mirror, she turned to the door. The key clanked loudly as she unlocked it. She lifted the latch, then turned away as if she was not concerned about the man entering the room.

  “You look lovely, sweetheart.”

  Her heart contracted as she heard the endearment that Keith had used so often. Her pain did not show as she looked at Nicholas. Her face was as cold as her voice. “Thank you, Nicholas.”

  Although she hated the man who stood in the room, she could not help admiring his appearance. His dark brown coat was designed in the most fashionable style with the front corners cut back nearly to the side seam in a half-circle shape ending at the split back. His waistcoat and breeches were of the palest tan, which made his full-sleeved white shirt and white stockings appear even brighter. The black of his shoes was only slightly less shiny than his silver shoe buckles. A ribbon of the same brown velvet as his coat tied back his unpowdered hair. His fine clothes put her simple frock to shame.

  He walked to her. Grasping her hand, he twirled her slowly to view her from every angle. “Yes, you look lovely, Rebecca. That dress is perfect for you.”

  “Stop it!” she cried, pulling away.

  “Excuse me? Stop what?” He was plainly baffled. “My dear Rebecca, you haven’t given me a chance to start anything.”

  Enraged, she repeated, “Stop it! Stop being so condescending. I know my dress is no match for your finery. You don’t have to remind me of that with your sarcastic compliments.”

  He fought to control his own anger as he wondered where the sweet Rebecca North had disappeared. Five years ago, she would have found his remarks delightful and would have patted his hand with the delicate touch which had reached past the delirium of his fever to help pull him back to health. He asked only, “Are you ready to go down?”

  Silently, she nodded. He picked up her fingers and raised them to his lips. There was no kindness in the motion, for his eyes reflected his true sentiments as they drilled deep into hers.

  Neither spoke as they went down the stairs and into the dining room, which was just off the front hall which served as the lobby. When he had seated her at one end of the single table, Nicholas excused himself brusquely. Her eyes followed him as he went into the taproom at the far end of the room.

  Rebecca was staring so intensely at her hands in her lap that she was startled when a male voice spoke to her. She looked up to see a man standing beside her. “Yes?” she asked.

  The man bowed slightly in her direction. He was an attractive man with light brown hair that curled on his forehead. His clothes were wrinkled slightly, so she guessed he was also a traveler taking shelter for the night in this wayside inn. “My dear lady, my name is Winfield Harding. I see you sitting here so alone.”

  As he paused, she said, “I am Rebecca Nor—I mean, Rebecca Wythe, sir.”

  “It would be a pity for such a lovely lady to dine alone. May I make you the offer of my company for dinner, Miss Wythe?”

  She was about to refuse when a hard voice sounded behind them. Fear crossed her mobile face as she saw Nicholas with a mug of beer and a glass of wine in his hands. She wondered how much of the conversation he had heard. Although she had no reason to feel guilty, she knew he would not see it that way. “This lady, who is Mrs. Wythe, is not alone, sir. If you would be so good as to step aside, I would like to join my wife for our evening repast.”

  Harding faced the man who was several inches taller than he. He glanced from the terror on the woman’s face to the anger on her husband’s. Wrongly, he translated it to mean she expected Wythe to demand satisfaction from him. With a quick apology, he scurried away before either could say anything else.

  “Here, Rebecca,” said Nicholas, tightly, as he placed the wineglass in front of her. “I trust there won’t be a repetition of this wherever we go. I admit an ignorance of exactly how you colonials deal with such things, but I don’t want my wife flirting with every man she meets.”

  “Me? Flirting?” she cried. “You are impossible, Nicholas Wythe! I was just sitting here when Mr. Harding came over. I didn’t want to take supper with him, and I do not want to take supper with you!”

  When she started to rise, he put his hand on her arm and tugged her back into her chair. A sharp pain ran along her shoulders from the forceful movement. She pulled away and rubbed her wrenched elbow. “Sit down, Rebecca!” he ordered.

  “I will stay only if you stop treating me as if I have no feelings. If you hate me so much, why are you dragging me away to England?”

  Taking a large sip from his tankard of beer, he replied much more calmly, “You refuse to understand, don’t you? I—oh, good evening.”

  She looked up to see the innkeeper. Mutely, she listened as the two of them discussed the evening’s offerings. While Nicholas ordered for her, she played with the stem of the goblet. She did not raise it to her lips. She did not want the wine to confuse her mind. All her wits would be necessary when she faced what must be later this evening.

  When the food arrived, she toyed with it in the same manner. Although she had not eaten all day, she was too nervous to enjoy her meal. If Nicholas spoke to her, she answered in monosyllables or not at all. Like a warm cloak on a midwinter night, she wrapped her misery around her to protect her from more hurt.

  How could she eat this food when she had spent so much time selecting the menu she had planned to prepare for Keith on this most special night? She pushed the food around on the plate. It was not until Nicholas put his hand under her elbow that she noticed that he had finished and was politely aiding her to her feet.

  As her eyes were caught by his, she could not stop the spasm of fear that raced across her face. They would be going back up to that empty room on the second floor which would be the site of their honeymoon. When she saw the rage erupting in his explosive, black eyes, her terro
r grew. Her imagination supplied too many sordid details of the lovemaking he would force her to endure.

  “Come along, Rebecca,” he said, quietly. “It’s been a long day for you. Tomorrow we have an equally long journey. I think you should go to bed now.”

  Without a mirror, she knew her face was colorless. Although she tried, she could not force any words past the blockage in her throat. Compliantly, she walked out of the dining room and up the stairs. The time she had dreaded all day had come. It would be best if she let him do as he wanted and had it over. Her best hope would be to give him the heir he obviously wanted as quickly as possible. Then, perhaps, he would do as other gentlemen did and take himself a mistress. That was her best and only hope.

  As they reached the door of their room, she said quietly to break the oppressive silence between them, “That was a delicious meal. Thank you.”

  Sarcastically, he replied, “How would you know if it was tasty? You didn’t take more than three bites during the whole meal.”

  She did not answer because she knew anything she might say would enrage him more. When he opened the door, she fought to keep her hands from trembling. He pushed the door open, and she stepped past him.

  As he closed the portal, his arm snaked around her waist and pulled her back to him. When he kissed her, she stood without moving. In a husky whisper, he asked, “Can’t you pretend to feel something when I hold you, Rebecca? In the carriage, when you awoke in my arms, I could feel the fire deep within you. Find a bit more of it to share with me now, sweetheart.”

  “No!” she gasped. “I cannot pretend anything. This afternoon was a mistake. I was dreaming you were—” She paused as she saw the rage increase on his scowling face. “All I can show you is how much I hate you, Nicholas Wythe.”

  “Hate?” With a harsh shove, he pushed her back against the bed. He laughed as she tried to scramble away from its lushness. Easily, he kept her from escaping him by putting his arms out on either side of her. Inexorably, he pressed her back onto the coverlet with the strength of his body.

  All fright she had known was eclipsed by what she experienced as he forced her clawing hands to her sides. As his lips explored her throat where her pulse beat rapidly, she wished herself away from this man. If she had known five years before that he would return to rape her, she would have let him die.

  He raised his head to look into her tear-filled eyes. He could read her thoughts as clearly as if she had written them across her forehead. It was time that Rebecca knew the truth. “Sweetheart, you shouldn’t hate me. I saved you from a marriage which would have made you miserable. You should thank me for what I did.”

  “Thank you?” She stood shakily. His nearness unnerved her far more than she had thought. “You think you know everything, don’t you? The all-wise lord of the manor! This time you are very, very wrong! Keith would have made me very happy. I love him, and he loves me.”

  Nicholas chuckled again as he rose. It would serve her right to learn the truth. “And marrying him would have made Hart very happy, right?”

  “What are you talking about?” Her eyes narrowed as she searched his face. She wondered what trickery he was up to. “Of course, it would have made Hart happy for me to marry Keith. They are friends. My brother would not have forced me to wed Keith or anyone else.”

  “It wasn’t just coincidence I was at the church today, dear wife. I have been spending the last few days doing some checking into what had been happening to you since we last met. Did you know that your brother owed your one-time fiance a great deal of money?”

  Confusion replaced the anger on her face. She did not like the track of this conversation. Already she could tell where he intended it to lead. “Hart owed money to Keith? What does that have to do with me? Their business dealings don’t include me.”

  “That is where you are very wrong, Rebecca.” His fingers came up to stroke her face with the gentleness of a lover. She was so astounded by what he was implying that she did not try to pull away from him. “Sweetheart, you are the one thing of value that your brother possessed that Bennett wanted. He did not want your cabin or your fine farm, for he did not want to be involved in the day-to-day work to maintain them. Instead he wanted the prettiest lass he had ever seen. You were the way Hart planned to clear the slate of his debts. I don’t know if you were lucky or not that Bennett decided that he wanted you for his wife and not simply as his mistress.”

  Wrenching herself away from the words he was twisting around her, she moved to the dressing table. In a whisper, she said, “I don’t believe you, Nicholas. Keith loves me. You heard what he said. He’s coming to get me.”

  “No, he won’t come. Hold onto your foolish dreams if they give you comfort, but don’t expect Bennett to chase you across the ocean to wrest you back from me. He doesn’t want you that much. There will be other women for him. I wish I could convince you that I’m telling you the truth. I would never lie to you, Rebecca. You saved my life. All I want to do is share that life with you.”

  As he had been speaking, he came to stand behind her. He put his hands on her shoulders, but when he felt her flinch, he drew them away. He knew there was no way he could tear down the wall she was erecting between them without breaking her will. Gently he kissed the top of her head again as he had in the carriage. “Good night, my dear. Sleep well.”

  As she had before, she turned to watch him go to the door. This time, she was not foolish enough to give him an opportunity to stay. Although she was curious as to why he was leaving and where he was going, all she said was, “Should I be ready by a certain time in the morning?”

  “By eight will be early enough, Rebecca.” He paused as he put his hand on the latch. “Don’t be foolish as to try to run away from me. Don’t force me to do something both of us will regret.”

  “Good night.” There was no emotion in her voice. She did not look at him as she turned to pick up her nightgown on the foot of the bed. Only when she heard the door close did she react. A half-sob escaped the depths of her aching heart.

  Rebecca stared at the nightclothes in her hands. Her fingers touched the delicate lace at the deep neckline and full cuffs as her eyes filled with tears. She should be wrapped in her darling’s arms as they shared the love they could give each other. With a sigh she told herself, with more than a touch of irony, that she was lucky to be sleeping alone.

  For a moment, Nicholas’ face filled her mind. He had changed very much in five years also. The stress of his wartime experiences had furrowed the face of the young man he had been when she had exchanged marital vows with him. At the time, his head had been so swathed in makeshift bandages that she had been unable to see the hair which matched his black eyes. Then she had not realized how incredibly handsome and diabolical he could appear.

  She did not understand why he was leaving her alone, although she was very thankful he was not with her. His desire for her was clear in the kisses which persisted despite her reluctance. It was obvious also in the way he touched her whenever he could. His jealousy when she talked to another man was an additional symptom of that frustrated yearning. If she had missed all other clues, she would have seen it in his eyes. Nicholas wanted very badly to make her his wife in more than name, but, for some reason, he was making no effort to force her to sleep with him.

  There was much she did not begin to understand about the man who was her husband. One minute he was as cold as a midwinter sunrise, the next he was asking her to respond to his kiss as if her feelings were of the utmost importance to him. He was a puzzle she did not want to solve. All she wanted was for her sweetheart to rescue her from this madness.

  She could not believe the account Nicholas had given her of why Hart had been so pleased to see Keith courting her. It was simply silly. Admittedly money had been scarce for the past few years, but neighbors helped one another. She could not conceive of the idea that her brother would sell her to settle his debts. With a frown, she undressed behind the screen. No, she did not believ
e a word of it. Nicholas was only defaming the two men she loved when they could not defend themselves.

  Rebecca pushed the heavy bench against the door. She was a prisoner in this room, but she was determined that Nicholas would be given no chance to change his mind. Only with the bench in front of the door would she be able to sleep tonight.

  When her head rested on the pillow, she hid her face in its freshly cleaned pillowcase. For all the long, dark hours of the night, she remained like that as she fought the demons of despair that longed to overwhelm and destroy her. She would not give in to them. She would fight Nicholas Wythe’s advances and await Keith’s arrival at Foxbridge Cloister, wherever that was.

  Chapter Three

  The carriage stopped by the pier shadowed by the great ship. The long overland journey was over, though they had a far more lengthy and tedious sojourn ahead of them. Last night the weary travelers had slept in another simple roadside inn. Again Rebecca had been left alone in her room. Although Nicholas had demanded a kiss before he had retired to sleep elsewhere, he had not pressed her in any other way.

  She continued to be confused by his bizarre actions. If he wanted to be her lover, she did not know why he waited. Sometimes she thought he despised her as much as she hated him, but if that had been the case, there was no sense in bringing her with him to England. He could have returned by himself with no one being the wiser. She would have married Keith, and Nicholas could have wed a woman who would not have spurned him.

  “Here we are, Rebecca,” he said, interrupting her thoughts.

  Looking out the window, she was awed by the sight of one of the large sailing ships that were most at home on the sea. The sails were still furled, so the masts were black fingers pointing skyward. Every bit of the rigging was silhouetted sharply against the blue sky. On the deck, she could see men straining with other ropes and doing jobs that were incomprehensible to her. She knew they had arrived with little time to spare before the raising of the anchor.