Sybille's Lord

by Raven McAllan

  They reached their prey. Sybille looked at him, entreaty uppermost in her expression.

  “So, Bankfoot, we meet again.” Thom’s voice was ugly. “I wonder why?”

  “Lady Sybille was about to dance the waltz with me,” Bankfoot stated. “Weren’t you, my lady?” He took her arm and Sybille winced. His fingers were pressed on hers so tightly they were white and Thom could see red marks develop where the man touched.

  Sybille shook her head. “I…”

  “Am promised to me,” Thom said smoothly. “Really, Bankfoot, you must give a lady a chance to answer, and accept it, be it to your taste or not.” He plucked Bankfoot’s hand from Sybille’s arm with a grip that was intended to hurt. Bankfoot’s lips curled back in a snarl.

  “Careful, Cornelius.” Thom knew the other man hated his given name. “Remember where we are.”

  “Remember who I am,” Bankfoot hissed. “How dare you?”

  “Dare I what? Speak to you of your behavior? Why not when it needs addressing? And you remember who I am. Your father may be of equal rank to me, but you so far are not.” He smiled at Sybille who had been watching the exchange with worried eyes. “Shall we?” He took her hand.

  Bankfoot took a step towards him, and Arthur moved. No one ever expected much of the normally quiet and unassuming man. However, as anyone who crossed him knew, he had a steely spine, and a determination for justice to be done at all times. You crossed him at your peril. “I wouldn’t if I were you,” Arthur said quietly. “You have only just returned to the ton after your sojourn abroad. I’m about to give you the benefit of the doubt and let you claim you might not have remembered how things are done. I’m sure you’d prefer a few hints from us rather than expulsion from others. Eh?” He smote Bankfoot so hard on the back that Bankfoot staggered.

  “Damn you,” Bankfoot said in a furious voice. “Damn you both to hell.”

  “Very likely,” Thom said. “But at least we’ll go there knowing it was for the very best of reasons.” He urged Sybille toward the dance floor. “We should move or the music will stop before we start. And that would be a pity, especially as I know your maman is feeling unwell and wants to leave immediately after it.”

  Sybille blinked and opened her mouth. As he couldn’t stop her from speaking in the way he would prefer—with a kiss—he nipped the skin on her forearm.

  ****

  Sybille jumped. “Wh…” The look in his eyes stopped her mid-word. “Ah yes, it’s so good of her to hold back long enough for us to enjoy our dance.”

  He nodded his approval of her words and she wondered what on earth was going on. Mijo hadn’t mentioned a headache. In fact she’d told Sybille to interact and look as if she was enjoying herself. However, that was before Sybille had been accosted by Bankfoot. So many machinations.

  She sighed and Thom glanced at her with a warning look. “Just smile, enjoy the waltz, and get ready to make your oh so sorrowful farewells. After all, who in their right mind would want to leave such delightful entertainment early,” he said in a droll voice. “Such a shame, but of course I will undertake to escort you and your maman home.”

  “So kind of you.” Sybille stopped talking as he spun her around the end of the room, and they retraced their progress back toward Mijo and Arthur. At a quick glance, she was thankful Bankfoot was nowhere to be seen. She loved to waltz even if she didn’t like the crushes she had to endure to get the enjoyment of the dance.

  “Oh it is. I am.”

  Sybille had no idea what he meant. “Pardon?”

  “Kind.” Thom elaborated. “I am kind. Now I believe you need to talk to me?”

  “Oh yes, but, where?” They both knew Almack’s or in the coach on the way home wasn’t the time or the place.

  “Can you leave the window of your bedchamber open? You are still in the room at the end of the corridor?”

  “Yes, but.” She stopped speaking abruptly as the music ceased and Thom bowed.

  Why, oh why, am I acting like a milksop maiden? I used to have more backbone. It best grow again soon.

  Sybille curtsied, her mind elsewhere. How did he know which room was hers, and how on earth would he access it? She blushed at the thought of having a man, especially such a handsome man, and one who made her heart beat so irregularly, in her room. How could she stay dressed and not alarm her maid? How could she be undressed and not alarm herself—or embarrass either of them? How mortifying if her attraction to him showed and he didn’t reciprocate.

  He wants to marry me, but that means no more than he thinks I’m fit for purpose. What if he sees me as merely a vessel for the continuation of his line? I couldn’t bear that.

  “Leave the worrying to me, just open the shutters and unlatch the window once your maid has left.” Thom’s lips hardly moved as he spoke. They had reached Mijo and Arthur, who both, Sybille noted, looked relieved to be at the door and about to escape. Mijo, Sybille realized was acting her head off and enjoying it. As her papa had left for Devon earlier that day, he was not there to give her ‘the look’, the one that made her fun loving maman calm down. Although as Theo said, if Mijo hadn’t had any acting talent, she would never have escaped Madame La Guillotine, and reached England, thence to marry Theo and bear him six children.

  “Ma cherie, I am so sorry.” Mijo winked briefly so only Sybille could see. “My head, it is throbbing. Do you mind if we leave?”

  “Not at all,” Sybille said promptly. Too promptly if the warning look Mijo shot her was anything to go by. “It is,” she added in a mournful tone, “sad, but I understand.”

  “You are a dutiful daughter.” Princess Lieven, one of the patronesses, had approached them without Sybille realizing. It was lucky Mijo had, and therefore signaled a warning for her daughter to beware. Sybille curtsied.

  “I try, Madame, although I’m sure Maman would say I don’t always succeed.”

  “Not at all,” Mijo replied. “You are always dutiful.” Sybille heard the unspoken words, “if not dutiful to me,” echo around in her mind.

  The carriage arrived and luckily put a halt to any conversation and the chance Sybille might say the wrong thing. What with fretting about the outcome of her missive, Thom’s intended visit, and Bankfoot’s unwanted, and indeed worrying attention, Sybille thought it should be her with the headache, not her mother. She was never more pleased to sink onto the padded squab of their town carriage next to Mijo and watch Arthur and Thom settle themselves opposite.

  Mijo sighed, and winced. Sybille narrowed her eyes. “Maman, how bad is your head?”

  “Bad enough to want to lie down in a darkened room. And you do not inform your papa. He will hear about it when he returns, of that I have no doubt.”

  Sybille looked involuntarily toward Thom, who nodded.

  “If you say so, Maman. As long as you promise me to take a powder.”

  “Of course. Ah we arrive.” Mijo allowed Arthur to help her out and waited as Thom performed the same service for Sybille.

  “My thanks, gentlemen. Do you need the carriage to take you to your destination?”

  Thom shook his head. “We’ll walk, it will blow the Almack’s cobwebs away.”

  He barely glanced at Sybille, but she knew his next words were directed at her. “Until we meet again, ladies. Hopefully it won’t be long.”

  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 t
he 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.