He was lovely and considerate and she’d never felt so desirable and appreciated. But she was conscious of the time. The lack of time.
Humphry had indicated he was ready to sire an heir. As his viscountess her most important role was to provide him with one. Her only role. It was why she’d lived with him for twenty years. Their marriage contract stipulated that in return for his protection and the lavish comforts he provided, she must be his vessel. If she reneged she was less than nothing. If she refused Humphry she risked losing everything.
It was the tread of footsteps in the passageway and the sound of her husband clearing his throat that provided the impetus for what she could not do alone.
They registered it at the same time, jerking apart.
“Pretend you’re asleep,” Stephen whispered, hastily pulling the covers up over her. “I’ll leave through the window.”
“No, it’s too dangerous,” she hissed but with a final kiss he was gone and she was left with the terror that if she had to live with the life of her young lover on her conscience then her own life was worth less than nothing.
The door opened. There was more noisy, self-conscious throat clearing. She smelled....
Whisky.
“Ah, you’re awake, Sybil.” Swaying, Humphry indicated the candle on the drawers as he placed his own next to it and removed his banyan as if this were his everyday ritual. His breathing was labored and she recoiled from the strong spirits on his breath.
“It’s not often you visit me, Humphry,” Sybil remarked, hoping her voice did not betray the fierce hammering of her heart. She concentrated on his large feet, which he was heaving onto the bed after the rest of him.
He grunted. “Tonight brought home how foolish I’ve been to allow my natural disinclination to prevent me from doing my duty.”
She twisted her face to look at him. Good God, he was smiling at her as if he didn’t realize how wounding his words were. Natural disinclination? Why, this was the most callous rebuttal of, not just her major role but her worth as a woman.
“You were very clever to play for time, Sybil.” He chuckled as he settled in beside her. His words were slightly slurred. “Now that Edgar is proving worse than we’d feared, I saw that whatever it cost me, I had to do my duty...get you with child.” A spasm crossed his face. “And there’s only one man who can do that.”
The touch of his hairy ankle against her leg made her jerk away. Whatever it cost me? he’d said. What about what it cost her?
She’d always been a good wife. A loyal wife but what about her loyalties to her own heart? To the man who valued her? Her young lover. Did they really count for nothing?
Humphry raised one eyebrow as he obviously registered her less than enthusiastic welcome. “Should I kiss you first?” he asked. He looked almost revolted by the idea. “To help you relax?”
Sybil raised her chin, inching every piece of herself away from even the warmth of his large body. “Actually, Humphry, tonight is not a good night for you to visit.” She was careful not to betray her rising fury. “I’m sorry if you’ve had to ply yourself with whisky just to make the idea of venturing in here even possible. The fact is, I have the most terrible megrim.”
He digested this in silence. Then, grumbling, heaved himself out of bed and put on his banyan, swaying almost dangerously and looking decidedly displeased. “Well, that’s grand timing. After all, it was you who suggested—”
“I suggested that unless you were content for Edgar to succeed you one of us had better do something about it,” Sybil cut him off. “However tonight is simply not convenient.”
If he hadn’t been foxed he might have questioned her unprecedented response, the crispness of her tone, her clear aversion to him. The fact that she would even reject him.
He stumbled as he gave the final, almost indignant tug to secure the tie of his banyan and it occurred to Sybil he may well not have been able to perform in any case. But the thought was too repugnant to dwell upon and she simply lay back on her pillows and nodded politely as he grunted his intention to depart.
The moment he was gone Sybil flew to the window.
Dear God, thank you for sparing Stephen, she whispered silently when she saw no sign of his broken body on the gravel far below.
She strained for a glimpse of him, anxiously scanning the broad expanse of lawn that disappeared towards the woods with the lake beyond, and her breath left her in a low, relieved sigh.
Right now nothing else was more important than ensuring no harm came to Stephen. She owed him everything. She put her hand to her chest where long-latent feelings of joy and hope had been brought to life. It was the greatest gift she’d ever been given.
* * * * *
The following day Sybil attended to her duties as lady of the manor, with her brain barely engaged on issuing orders for the rooms for tomorrow night’s guests to be made ready.
Humphry made his usual appearance at breakfast. Usual in that he’d been there every morning since his mistress had departed. He seemed unperturbed by the previous night’s exchange, merely nodding to her over his news sheet. Sybil’s heart weighed her down like a heavy stone.
“Young lady’s here to see you, my lord.”
Humphry raised his eyebrows at the message brought by Mary but Sybil did not miss the almost clandestine look in her direction before he replied, “Tell her I’ll see her in the drawing room.” He hesitated, adding to Sybil, “You must have more of the bacon, dear. It’s very good.”
Sybil was not going to be fobbed off like that but she waited a moment before making her own appearance in the drawing room two minutes later.
She was just in time to hear her husband say under his breath, “It was wrong of you to venture here, Larissa, but I shall come.” At her arrival the pair drew quickly apart.
He glanced at Sybil. “Miss Laurence is asking if I’d be patron of the new school in the village and I’ve agreed.”
Sybil nodded at the large-eyed creature who’d stared at them from the passing carriage on the way to their picnic spot a few days ago.
“A new school? What a novel idea.” Sybil smiled, inviting the young lady to sit, but Miss Laurence declined after a fleeting look at Humphry.
Her father.
Sybil watched the exchange. Anguish clawed at her and she longed to inform Humphry that she knew exactly who Miss Laurence was.
The girl was looking at her with interest. There was boldness, even dislike in those enormous green eyes of hers. Sybil felt like shouting, Yes, look around you! Look all you like! You think you’re the one who’s been hard done by through my husband’s philandering?
Instead she merely inclined her head, saying softly, “I should like to be informed of its progress...Miss Laurence.”
Humphry hadn’t even dared use her real name. Hazlett!
When she overheard Mary and Betty whispering in the cold room that Mrs. Hazlett had been seen in town disguised beneath a heavy veil and with her belly nearly as large as her brazenness, Sybil had to swallow down her rage and use every ounce of her inconsistent willpower to remain silent.
* * * * *
Stephen intercepted Sybil near the wall of the vegetable garden. She looked upset. One of the maids was scraping out a saucepan of gruel for the chickens so he beckoned her to follow him a short distance away and out of sight.
Although he had no claim on her, rage burned within him.
Roughly, he asked, “Tell me—” but she cut him off and her look was so sorrowful it took all his willpower not to seize her to his chest and be damned with the danger of exposure.
“Humphry was inebriated.” She turned her head away. “Nothing happened.” Changing the subject, she added, “Humphry’s ‘other’ daughter has just visited.”
He assumed a sympathetic expression but was overjoyed at the knowledge that Humphry hadn’t laid a finger on her. “Sybil, your husband has sired three side-slips with another woman. You owe him nothing. Certainly not your loyalty.” With a
surreptitious look over his shoulder, he ran his hands quickly over her curves. God, he loved her body. He couldn’t wait to have her naked and all his again. “Come into the beech wood with me.”
She shook her head. “Do not forget I am lady of the manor. I have a great deal to organize before tomorrow.”
“If you’re worried about conceiving I’ve already shown—”
“Stephen...no!” She sounded stricken.
“You didn’t enjoy last night? You want nothing more to do with me?” Now he was
the one stricken.
“Stephen, I’m consumed by you,” she whispered, gripping the lapels of his coat. “It terrifies me but our arrangement was because my husband could not sire an heir on me. If his enthusiasm to at least try has returned I’m in no position to refuse him.” A look of utter desolation crossed her face. “And... I cannot be sharing my bed with two men. I just can’t.”
Jealousy speared him. “You may already be with child,” he reminded her.
She closed her eyes. “Or I may not. Oh Stephen.” Her voice hitched. “I’m duty- bound to my husband.”
“You owe him nothing after the way he’s treated you.” He knew the defense was lame. That the law was on Lord Partington’s side and Sybil spoke the truth. But he couldn’t accept that he was losing her so soon.
At the sound of servants approaching, Sybil put out her hand to squeeze his shoulder as if that might comfort him. “I hate it as much as you,” she said. “However we must part now. I fear for you in case suspicion is even raised.”
“For me?” He gripped her wrists and put his lips to her palms, even though the voices were getting close. “Do not worry about the risks I take. I’m wild for you, Sybil,” he whispered between kisses. “I’d take any risk to be with you. We have two nights to be together. Let me be with you one more time? Please, my love?”
Closing her eyes, she wilted against him. “We dare not, Stephen. The risks are too great and...and...”
Miserably he finished for her, “And your husband has first claim on you.” He took a deep breath and tilted up her chin. He couldn’t believe this was the end. It was too soon. “Sybil, after I go away, regardless of whether you are with child, will you have me back? Can I see you again?” He swallowed past the lump in his throat. “I need you.” He looked at her helplessly. “Sybil, you make me the best I’ve ever been.”
* * * * *
Sybil stared at his departing back, barely attending to the scullery maid’s greeting. Her heart, which had weighed her down so heavy just moments before, was lighter though sorrow lurked in its depths.
For the first time in her life she felt like more than just a woman fulfilling her prescribed role.
For the first time in her life she felt truly loved.
Chapter Eleven
Humphry had made some veiled remarks alluding to his reasons for inviting the unknown Sir Archie and Lady Julia to the Grange. Something about “putting the boot on the other foot”.
He was no doubt amusing Lizzy Hazlett with the finer details while Sybil attended to the practicalities of having three houseguests. There was much work to do, such as organizing rooms to be made up, consulting with Cook to decide upon the menu, and the butler with regard to spirits and wine. Humphry was so rarely at the Grange she’d taken on most of the roles normally undertaken by the master of the house.
All the time her mind was half on Stephen, wondering what he was doing, what plans he was making for when he left.
How barren her life would be once he did.
It was while selecting some hothouse flowers in the conservatory that she spied Stephen through the glass. He was near the gardener’s hut, amidst a collection of jars. “Good lord, Stephen, you look like you’re participating in the black arts. Is this for tomorrow night?”
He regarded her seriously as he looked up from pushing a spider into a jar. A number were lined up and each contained large black spiders.
“Yes,” he said simply, and for a moment it looked as if he were about to take her hand.
Her heart shifted dangerously. The shrubs afforded a great deal of privacy. He could have extended some intimacy and how she wished he would. But he was being careful, obviously, after her rejection of his idea to slip away to the beech wood. Hadn’t she as good as said their affair was at an end?
“Let me introduce you. To the spiders,” he added. He sounded reserved. As if he were reluctant to let her closer and pain speared her. His eyes were wary but admiring. He looked like a young man in love might look if he feared rejection. “In this jar we have Lady Julia. See how large and glossy and self-satisfied she looks? She’s a prime article and she’ll gobble up her prey in a heartbeat, believe me.”
Sybil laughed. “It sounds as if you’re well acquainted with Lady Julia.” She peered into the jar. “She clearly doesn’t like the look of me. Look how she’s bared her fangs.”
“Ah, she’s jealous of you. She sees how it is. That I have eyes only for you and that no one else will do. Beware of Lady Julia. She will strike when you least expect it and her bite is lethal. Now here is Irresistible Araminta. She is quite innocent by Lady Julia’s standards but don’t be deceived. Her bite is just as lethal. She just hasn’t learned the art of sizing up her quarry. She makes mistakes. The gentleman spider who courts her may or may not come off second best. Lady Julia, on the other hand, is used to being victorious.”
Sybil looked longingly at Stephen’s strong, gentle hands and wished they clasped hers rather than the glass jar containing Irresistible Araminta.
“Ah, look!” Smiling, he held up another jar. “This is Miss Hetty. See how shyly she meets our eye? She’s not one to fear. She’ll not devour the man who wins her, like her bold sisters. We shall not put her forward in this contest for she’s too sweet to make a meal of anyone.”
“So that is how it works,” said Sybil and Stephen told her more about the large bet he’d lost involving spiders.
In almost all cases, he said, the female devoured the male after he’d impregnated her, adding that only males of unusually large size lived to tell the tale. He’d been convinced the puny male upon which he’d bet at Sir Archie’s and Lady Julia’s did not meet the criteria for survival.
Now Stephen was gathering the candidates for a repeat of the bet, which Humphry was promoting and which would take place—unbeknownst yet to Sir Archie and Lady Julia—in the Grange drawing room.
“Is there a Lady Sybil?” she asked.
He gave her an assessing look. “I’m not sure.” He looked into the next jar then shook his head. “No, this one’s deadly.” At the final jar, he lifted his head, saying uncertainly, “This one could perhaps be a Lady Sybil.”
Sybil moved closer. The irregular beating of her heart picked up speed.
He made no attempt to close the distance. Until he smiled and after holding her gaze for several long seconds, took her hand and brought it to his lips for a brief kiss.
Sybil had to force the words and her voice was unsteady as she whispered, “Why?” He lowered his face a fraction and whispered back, “She’s loyal and she’ll do anything to achieve what she thinks is right.” His lips were so close to hers. So close.
His eyes bored into her face as he went on in a murmur, “Even if it means hurting those she loves.”
Sybil breathed through the tightness of her chest. Trembling, desperate he’d follow up the kiss on the back of her hand with more, knowing she must not succumb if he did, she asked upon a thread of sound, “Do you think she will be victorious?”
Stephen studied the spider. Then her. “Victorious in what? Happiness? Are spiders ever truly happy?” Amusement crossed his features and he gave her hand a squeeze. “I think she’s set herself up for failure. Even in the best of situations she can’t succeed.” He drew in a deep breath. “But she can be happier than she is. She will of course have to submit to the male. That is her duty. It is the law of nature that she must procreate. Nature is depending upon her.”
He held her gaze. “But she has choices.”
Sybil made a derisive noise, which he silenced when he touched his forefinger to her lips.
“She is desirable.” He put his head closer and she closed her eyes, reveling in the warmth of his breath on her cheek. His words were like a caress. “So very desirable. She has suitors vying for her favors but she holds the trump card.”
Unconsciously, she leaned into him as he said softly, “The card of choice. She is in a position to choose the mate to sire her offspring...” His voice trailed off in a whisper full of desperate-making suggestiveness. “And who’s to know?”
Sybil swallowed. Then she gathered her wits and forced herself to smile, breaking the spell. “Poor, conflicted spider. If she is loyal there is only one choice to make.” She shrugged. “But I fear she is a foolish spider. I fear she has allowed her heart to get involved.” She bit her lip. “Doing the inevitable will be difficult.”
Stephen regarded her a long moment. Then he shrugged, releasing her hand. “So she plays the loyalty card.” Suddenly he was brisk. “Well, it had to end. You told me that. I just didn’t want to believe you.”
“In London—”
“You think I shall find someone else as soon as I get to London. You think I’ll forget you. I won’t,” he vowed almost angrily, tapping his heart. “I’ll never forget you.”
* * * * *
He slept badly that night.
Impotent rage made him thrash on his mattress as he attempted to conquer the demons that plagued him. Namely Lord Partington, to whom he owed a great debt of gratitude for staging the show that would see Sir Archie and Lady Julia given some of their own medicine. Furthermore, for welcoming him as the next heir before reluctantly conceding his patronage would have to take another form following the advent of Edgar.
When he awoke, he felt as if he’d been running all night from the hounds of hell. Emerging from his bedchamber, he cast around for Sybil, desperate to rest his eyes upon her, for that’s what it would be—a peaceful release as he allowed his gaze to dwell on something good and wholesome and real.
Her Gilded Prison (Daughters of Sin Book 1) Page 13