“You’re mine for five months,” he bit out, eyes blazing, face hard.
Gone was the desire to say she was sorry. Instead, she just glared.
“Is that understood?” he asked.
She continued to glare.
What would he do if she said no?
She really didn’t want to find out. Therefore, she nodded but she did it while still glaring.
Colin wasn’t finished. “And Sibyl, I don’t ever want to hear you say that again. Is that clear?”
She bit her bottom lip so hard, she tasted blood.
She wanted to say it, just because he hated it. Just because she needed to remind herself that it was true. Just because it made her feel she had a modicum of power, even though it was simply to goad him, even though she lost more every time the words left her mouth.
She counted to ten and struggled for control.
Then she nodded.
She was already in enough trouble as it was, all of her own doing and she hated that too.
“I’ll be back tonight at the same time,” he declared and then he was gone, shoving her off his body angrily, he left the bed and stalked, naked, out of the room.
The moment she lost sight of him, Mallory loped in and woofed.
“Well, that didn’t go very well,” she whispered to her dog brokenly.
And then, for what had to be the hundredth time in a week and a half, she cried.
It was then she realised that she’d agreed to five months of Colin and not only that, he wanted five months of her.
And she didn’t know what to make of that at all.
* * * * *
Colin was still furious with Sibyl when he parked in front of her house that evening.
He was angry because he didn’t like hearing her call herself a whore, in fact, he loathed it. Even though, for all intents and purposes, that was what she was, he vastly preferred not thinking about it and he certainly wasn’t going to allow her to throw it in his face.
It annoyed the hell out of him that she took his fifty thousand pounds and managed to make him feel guilty about it.
And he didn’t like that, in listening to her affectionate but obviously frustrated phone conversation with her mother, he became even more intrigued at the puzzle that was Sibyl.
Not to mention, he had the bizarre desire to meet her mother.
He didn’t like that she’d announced she “needed the money” which made him wonder what the money was for in the first place. She didn’t appear to lead a life of luxury and didn’t look or act the sort of woman who aspired to it. So, why did she need it?
He further didn’t like that after only one (albeit satisfyingly active) night, he, apparently, couldn’t get enough of her. He hadn’t stopped thinking about her and her incredible body all day. Even so, she wanted nothing to do with him and he had to take further advantage in order to force her to spend more time with him.
This, particularly, was a concept with which Colin was unfamiliar and he detested it.
What he did like was that he’d succeeded in securing three more months of last night out of her very poorly controlled temper.
He wasn’t entirely up on the code of practice of con artists and mercenaries, but he couldn’t imagine it included throwing enough attitude at your mark to make them want to toss you screaming from a window.
But Colin wasn’t about to argue with something that worked in his favour.
He knocked on the door and, within five seconds, heard Mallory careening towards it. Colin also knew when the dog arrived because he heard the loud thud and saw the door shake when the dog smashed into it.
This was so ridiculous, and humorous, it nearly made Colin smile.
However, he was so annoyed, he did not.
“Mallory! You’ll give yourself a head injury!” He heard Sibyl shout and, again, he nearly smiled. The dog was a menace (to himself) and Sibyl’s affectionate acceptance of it was one of the many pieces of what Colin considered Sibyl’s mystery. An mystery he spent a great deal of his day attempting, and failing, to solve.
The door swung open and she stood there not made up like last night but wearing a pair of tan cowboy boots, brown tweed trousers, a cream, long-sleeved, scoop-necked t-shirt, some kind of elaborate silver necklace, complicated, dangling silver earrings and her shining hair was tumbling about her face.
And she was just as stunning as she was in the magnificently sexy silk camisole and dramatic makeup of the night before
He looked at her carefully and couldn’t read her mood, her eyes were simply hazel.
“I’ll need a key,” he said by way of greeting.
What he wanted to do was scoop her in his arms and carry her up to her bed but he felt the need to control himself, felt the inexplicable need to control the situation in its entirety which included controlling Sibyl. He felt unprecedentedly out-of-control when it came to Sibyl and he wasn’t used to that.
At all.
And he didn’t like that either.
She stood, her hand on the door, regarding him warily. Then she nodded.
Then something perverse, something that didn’t even feel a part of him drove him to make that demand, “And I expect you to greet me with a kiss when you see me.”
Her mouth parted slightly in surprise and she hesitated a moment as mutiny played about her face and the hazel started to shift to the warning shade of green. Then she leaned forward and brushed her lips against his.
Before she could pull away, the devil that was controlling him made him say, “I know you can do better than that.”
Her head came up with a snap and he watched in grim fascination as her eyes, in the soft illumination from the lamps lit in the house, lost all hint of hazel and became blazing green.
Something about that pleased and irritated him at the same time.
She moved into him, her body touching his slightly then more as one hand came up to rest on his chest and the other hand slid into the hair at his nape. She tipped her head back and pressed her lips against his, he felt them open and he opened his in response. Then the tip of her tongue came out softly and touched his own.
He felt heat sweep through him at the touch of her tongue but before his arms could close around her, she ended the kiss and moved her head away.
Her hands still on him, her voice managing to be both warm and cold, she asked, “Is that better?”
In answer, he ordered, “Get your coat.”
She blinked at his sudden change, her hands falling away. “What?”
“Your coat,” he repeated.
He hadn’t even crossed the threshold. Nevertheless, she stepped away and grabbed a scarlet-coloured trench coat from a peg by the door and pulled it on. As she did, Colin turned on his heel and walked to his car.
He heard the dull thud of the heels of her cowboy boots as she rushed to catch up to him.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
He didn’t stop as he strode purposefully to the car and jerked open the passenger side door to help her inside.
“Dinner,” he answered curtly.
They didn’t say another word until after they were seated at the seafront restaurant in Clevedon and he ordered a gin and tonic. She ordered the extraordinary drink of vodka lemonade with a dash of lime cordial, a maraschino cherry and ended this litany with the instruction, “And lots of ice.”
Then she smiled at the waiter and Colin felt his chest seize.
She’d never, not once, smiled at him, except that very first moment where their eyes met in the storm while she was acting out Beatrice’s portrait.
Her smile, he noted in a vaguely dazed way, was arresting, sensational and the waiter nearly tripped over himself in a rush to do her bidding.
When her gaze slid to Colin’s he glared at her and didn’t know why. He knew he was still furious but why her smile would cause such a spectacular reaction made no sense to him.
Then he realised in that moment that he didn’t know a lot of thin
gs when it came to Sibyl, and his reaction to her, and he found that supremely annoying.
They studied their menus in silence and they ordered their meals after the drinks were brought to the table.
She spent a great deal of time pretending he wasn’t there and looking out the windows at the sea.
He spent that time watching her.
The waiter brought Colin’s steak and the bottle of wine Colin ordered. He also set some dish down in front of Sibyl that looked entirely concocted out of mushrooms.
Colin made no comment and Sibyl did the same.
They ate in silence.
When he was finished, he sat back in his chair, stretched his legs out in front of him, crossing them at the ankles, and continued to watch her while drinking his wine.
She valiantly attempted to finish her meal but then set her fork down and sat back herself, sipping her wine nervously, her eyes darting anywhere but to him.
“Do you want dessert?” he asked politely and she jumped in surprise at the sound of his voice.
She looked at him. The restaurant was illuminated with a romantic, candlelit ambiance so the lighting in the room was dim and therefore Colin couldn’t see the colour of her eyes.
She shook her head.
He took his money clip from the breast pocket of his suit jacket, peeled off enough notes to pay for dinner and tossed them on the table.
He stood and Sibyl stood too.
He moved behind her, took her coat from her chair and helped her put it on. He felt her body was stiff under his hands.
This annoyed him even further.
The waiter scurried to their table looking alarmed.
“Is there anything wrong?” he asked (Colin noticed, with still growing irritation, the waiter asked Sibyl, staring at her like a lovesick puppy).
“We’re leaving,” Colin answered in clipped tones.
“Everything was lovely, thank you,” Sibyl assured the waiter and smiled at him again.
Colin’s irritation grew even more at her smile, another smile not directed at him. Without another word, he grabbed her arm and pulled her out of the restaurant.
Once outside, she yanked her arm away and quickened her step in an attempt to avoid him, something that some force inside him was driving him not to allow. As they hit the pavement, Colin’s fingers curled around her upper arm just as he saw a flash from the headlamps of a car parked not two car lengths away. Without warning, the engine revved and the car shot forward.
Sibyl was a step ahead of him, ready to cross the road to get to the Mercedes, when the car came directly at her like it was aiming. Instinctively and swiftly, Colin dropped his hold of her but hooked his arm around her waist and snatched her from the street, pulling her into his body with such strength that her head crashed against his chin. He ignored the jolt of pain and at the same time took two deep steps backward. This meant the car narrowly missed them both as it flew passed, two of its tires up on the pavement, and kept going without braking.
He set Sibyl down in front of him but held her, the warmth of her back pressed tightly against his body, and he could feel her heavy breathing. His arm, which had been about her waist, had slid up and was closed around her ribcage, her fingers were clutching it as if she’d never let him go and he could feel her heart beating wildly. Both of their heads were turned, staring after the car for a long moment even after it disappeared before Sibyl lifted her hand to touch the back of her head distractedly where it had smashed against his chin.
“My goodness, he narrowly missed you. Are you all right?”
This came from an elderly lady who was rushing toward them and to Colin’s irritated surprise, it was Marian Byrne.
“Mrs. Byrne!” Sibyl gasped.
“Sibyl!” Marian Byrne replied and Sibyl broke free of his arm and gave the woman a tight embrace.
“Did you see that?” Sibyl exclaimed when she ended the embrace. She swung toward Colin, her evening’s silent treatment a memory. “That lunatic driver nearly hit us. It was like… it was like he was aiming at us.”
Colin stared at her then swung his head to where the car had gone, his thoughts racing.
She was correct. It seemed exactly as if the car was aiming at them.
Marian Byrne obviously agreed. “I saw it and it did look like he was aiming at you. My goodness gracious, goodness, goodness gracious,” Marian Byrne chanted, her voice filled with alarm.
Colin turned his head again and stared at Mrs. Byrne.
Regardless of what seemed to Colin like a telling coincidence – these two women tended to “run into” each other with alarming frequency – Marian Byrne looked genuinely distraught.
“Mrs. Byrne, you need to sit down.” Sibyl had moved toward the older woman and slid her arm around her. Carefully looking both ways, she guided Mrs. Byrne across the street to a bench under a streetlamp that faced the sea. Colin followed silently and watched as Sibyl crouched down next to the older woman once she was seated.
Sibyl looked up to him.
“Should we take her back to the restaurant, get her a drink?” she asked and in the light of the streetlamp he could see her face was awash with concern.
“I’m fine, I just need to take a few deep breaths,” Marian answered.
“Mrs. Byrne, why are you out tonight?” Sibyl voiced the question to which Colin wanted an answer. “It’s late. You should be home. What if you’d been in the path of that crazy man? You wouldn’t have been able to get out of his way,” she glanced hesitantly at Colin and whispered, “I nearly didn’t get out of the way,” and he realised that was the closest he would likely get to any expression of gratitude.
Marian gave a deep shudder and replied, “I’m restless. I think it’s this unseasonable weather. England is never this sunny and warm in March. At least not in my many years of experience.” She smiled wanly and her hand lifted to pat the hand that Sibyl was resting on her arm.
Finally Colin spoke. “I’ll take you home.”
“Oh no, Mr. Morgan, I live not a five minute walk from here, ten at the most.”
“I insist,” Colin said in a voice that seconded the words he uttered.
When Mrs. Byrne looked like she was going to protest, Sibyl moved closer to her, shifting awkwardly on her crouched legs. “Let Colin take you home, Mrs. Byrne. Please? For me?”
Sibyl smiled at the other woman and Colin noted this smile was not dazzling but faltering. She was still reacting to the near-miss with the car and it became clear, even though he had thought differently moments before, that both of these women had nothing to do with the events of that night.
Marian turned to Colin and gave in to Sibyl’s plea. “Thank you, Mr. Morgan, that would be very kind.”
Colin looked at Sibyl, his car was a two seater and she’d have to wait until he returned from this errand.
“Go to the restaurant,” he ordered curtly, “I’ll be back for you in ten minutes.”
Without a word in protest, she nodded and then gracefully stood. She helped Mrs. Byrne to the car and Colin waited to get in himself while he watched Sibyl, again with great care, her head swinging from side to side as she scanned the road, cross the street. He didn’t get into the car until he saw the restaurant door close safely behind her.
As he drove off, Marian Byrne gave him quick directions and then asked, “Are you quite all right, Mr. Morgan?”
He lied gruffly, “I’m fine.”
“That was a nasty scare,” she noted on a trembling sigh. “Drivers these days. So impatient. You must promise me you’ll be most careful.”
He nodded.
“I take it things with you and Sibyl are on a much better footing now?” she asked, her voice tentative and polite, she knew it was none of her business.
“That depends on how you look at it,” he replied honestly at the same time not giving her very much information.
“Well, Mr. Morgan, considering my tenure at your house and what I know of its history, I look at any time you s
pend with that delightful girl to be a very, very good thing, if you understand my meaning.”
His eyes slid to her briefly then back to the road.
“So you admit to arranging our meeting?” he enquired bluntly.
“Of course!” she confessed, her voice losing its tremble and becoming more cheerful. “I thought you’d figured that out on the night.”
“I did,” he told her then demanded, even though he thought he knew, “What was Sibyl’s part in it?”
“Oh, she has no idea.” Her tone was very cheerful now but her words rocked Colin to his core. “What I find most amusing is that she spent an entire night at Lacybourne, even had her little, shall we call it an ‘episode’?” She laughed softly to herself, finding this all very amusing, something which grated on Colin’s nerves. “Right underneath the portraits and never once spared them a glance. Have you told her yet?”
He hesitated.
“About Royce and Beatrice,” she prompted.
“No.”
“Oh my,” Mrs. Byrne sighed. “Are you going to tell her?”
“I don’t know.” And, at this news, he didn’t not only not know if he was going to tell Sibyl about Royce and Beatrice, he didn’t know why he didn’t know if he was going to tell her or why, if she was not in partnership with Mrs. Byrne, why Sibyl had taken the money and lastly, and most annoyingly, he realised he didn’t know much of anything.
And he didn’t like that either.
“Well, I won’t say a word,” she surprised him by assuring him and he surprised himself by believing her. “I’ll leave it in your hands.” Then she murmured, “It’s right here,” and motioned to an elegant, well-kept house on Victoria Road. “Thank you, Mr. Morgan, you’ve been very kind. No,” she said when he started to alight, “I’m quite fine, get back to Sibyl, she seems a bit shaken.”
For some reason, he did as he was told (though he waited for the elderly lady to make her way up her walk, enter her house and the light in the front room to come on) and, five minutes later, he pulled up at the restaurant, leaving the car to collect Sibyl who had seen him arrive and was walking from the restaurant to the car. He opened her door and made sure she was safely inside before he went to his side and they took off.
Lacybourne Manor Page 15