Sybille's Lord Page 11

  His guttural shout echoed around the room, as he thrust one last time and fell, chest heaving, onto her body.

  Sybille put her arms around him and stroked his hair. How long they stayed like that, still joined, she had no idea. She thought his staff softened in her, but she wasn’t sure. Was it the sort of thing you could ask? My dear, do you go limp in me once we have scaled the peaks? She would have sniggered except she didn’t want to disturb Thom.

  Eventually, just as she began to get cramp—in her big toe of all places—Thom stirred.

  “I‘m heavy, I‘m sorry, my dear.” He lifted his body, and his pego slid out of her with a gentle pop.

  Definitely softer. One thing less to enquire about. Thom rolled to one side, swung his legs over the edge of the daybed and stood up. He stretched his arms high above his head then pressed his hands to the small of his back.

  “We need a bigger bed. I worried we might fall off and end up in a bruised heap on the floor.”

  She giggled. “That would never do.”

  Thom looked down at her with a tender expression in his eyes.

  “You’re mine,” he said. “Planting my seed notwithstanding, I’m yours.”

  “Pla… ah yes. It’s true, there’s no way you can wriggle out of it now, is there?” Sybille twirled an imaginary moustache. “I have you in my clutches now, you cannot get away. Even if you want to.”

  Thom walked to the ewer and dampened a linen square. He came back to Sybille and washed her gently. His soft touch was loving, caring and, she decided, a reaffirmation of all they had shared.

  She sighed in pleasure. Even though she was exhausted, spent and with no energy, his touch aroused her. “I don’t want to,” she said drowsily. “Get away I mean. I never did, not really. But I had to know…” Her voice trailed off and she closed her eyes. She though she heard Thom speak to her, but really it was too much effort to concentrate on his words, let alone formulate her thoughts to answer him.

  Later.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Thom looked down at Sybille who sighed and curled onto her side. She was deeply asleep, and no doubt would be for as long as he let her. With a chuckle, he pulled the covers over her—there was enough time to give her the rest she no doubt needed, for he acknowledged he had pushed her hard and fast—and performed his own ablutions. By the time he’d dressed, shook out her gown and chemise to get rid of the worst of the wrinkles and tidied the gazebo as best he could, his tummy gave notice they hadn’t eaten yet.

  No doubt Sybille would be in the same state. Thom looked out of the window to check how far the sun had moved. Within a few minutes it would be on her face and no doubt wake her anyway, so he could have the food prepared, and not risk the wrath of a woman awoken from her sleep by a mere man for no apparent reason. His sister had warned him years before that on no account must a woman’s slumbers be disturbed.

  He knew now, of course there was exceptions to the rules, but that was with ladies who were savvy with the way the ton’s clandestine assignations worked. He wasn’t at all sure Sybille did.

  Within a few minutes, he was transfixed as she moved each limb in turn and stretched like a big cat. Then she opened her eyes and blinked owlishly at him.

  “Hello, what time is it?” Her voice was sleep fueled.

  “Food time. Here let me prop you up.” Thom tucked several cushions behind her and admired the picture she made.

  “You’re salivating as you look at me,” Sybille said. “As if I’m the food.”

  “You were the appetizer,” Thom said and kissed her neck. “Now we have ohh, champagne and chicken and game pie and…” On cue her tummy rumbled.

  “We have?” Sybille raised her eyebrows. “Then please lead me to it.”

  “No need. It’s here, ready.” He lifted a laden wooden tray onto her lap. “Help yourself. Don’t overeat though, or you will have no appetite for dinner.”

  She paused with her hand halfway to her mouth. The chicken leg it held wavered. “Pardon? Dinner? Oh sweet lord.” She waved the tiny joint in the direction of the window. “What time is it?” The tray across her knees wobbled and Thom put one hand out to steady it.

  “Around four.”

  “Four?” She screeched the word. “Good heavens we need to move. My parents will be expecting me back soon.” Sybille lifted her knees enough to make the contents of the tray shift and slide over the polished surface. “Here take that away and let me get up. Oh help, what do I tell my parents? Thom, we’ll be late back to town.”

  “There’s no need to rush. “Your parents think we are going on from here to visit my godmother, the Countess of Geddling.”

  “Is she expecting us?”

  He bowed his head. “Of course.”

  “Well then?” Sybille nudged the tray once more. This time he lifted it and watched in admiration as she slid, all long-limbed elegance across the bed, to stand, unselfconsciously, hand on hips, and glare at him.

  “Where does she live? How long have we got? Argh, my dress will not be suitable for an evening visit. How?”

  He shut her up by dropping the tray onto the bed, with scant regard for the contents and putting his hand across her mouth. “Do not nip my palm or I’ll put you over my knee.” Thom warned her. “She lives in Geddling Cross. Two hours’ drive from here. Your dress will be perfect.”

  Sybille looked at him as if he’d taken leave of all his senses. Small wonder really.

  “Are you mad?”

  “Not at all, my dear. It’s true she’s expecting us. However, not until tomorrow.”

  Sybille let her hands drop to her sides. “Tomorrow?” Her fingers twitched. He watched them warily. It was a well-known fact you could judge the mood of a Birch by the way they used their hands.

  “Tomorrow,” he confirmed. Her fingers twitched, just once. So far so good.

  “And tonight?”

  “That’s up to you. If you are agreeable, as you know, I have a well-equipped house not half a mile away, ready and waiting. Plus a valise your maman organized. She, I imagine, thinks we will return betrothed. It’s well known the Countess doesn’t travel, and I dote on her, and would want to bring you to be introduced.”

  “And if I don’t acquiesce?”

  He smiled. “The White Hart at the Cross has very comfortable rooms. Mrs. Tate would accompany you to act as lady’s maid.”

  “And you?”

  “Would stay here, and drive you back to town in the morning. Via my godmother.”

  “So, let me see.” She snagged the chicken leg again and nibbled the meat. “I have two choices. To spend the night with your housekeeper in an inn, or spend the night with you in a house?”

  “That’s the fit of it.” He looked at the jumbled contents of the tray, found a remarkably un-squashed piece of ham pie and took a hefty mouthful. It might only be a few hours to dinner, but on the other hand, it might be a lot longer. Especially if he had to search out Mrs. Tate.

  Sybille swallowed the remains of the poultry, put the leg bones on the side of the tray and drank some wine from her glass. “I have thought of a third option, my lord.” She lowered her eyes and peered at him from under her lashes.

  “Which is?”

  Her eyes twinkled. He mistrusted the cheeky grin she flashed at him. “You go to the inn.”

  “With Mrs. Tate? What a scandalous suggestion. Tate will be aghast.” Thom chuckled. And Sybille stuck her tongue out.

  “Hoyden.”

  “I know.” She sighed very theatrically. “What can I do to learn to be a lady?”

  Thom turned to the chair where he’d put her clothes and lifted up her chemise. “If you marry me you won’t need to. I love you as you are.” Would she realize he was genuine in his assertion?

  “That’s very powerful blackmail,” Sybille said with a smile. “Almost you tempt me.”

  “Only almost?” He watched her suppress a giggle. “I am desolate.” Thom took a step toward her.

  Sybille giggled an
d took a step back. He advanced, she retreated. One step at a time. Until Sybille hit the wall and had nowhere else to go.

  “Now what?” he asked, amused at their play.

  “Now I dress.” She twitched her chemise from his hands and slipped it over her head. “There, I was always told one must be appropriately dressed for whatever arose.” She spoiled the mimicry of one of the starchiest matrons of the ton, by very obviously raking his body with her glance, which lingered on his burgeoning staff.

  “And a chemise is that?” He looked at his pego. “My body tends to think you are overdressed for this occasion.”

  She put her hand over her mouth. “Your body needs to understand there is a time and a place for everything. This is no longer that time or that place.” She took a long, lingering look around the gazebo. “Sadly it will have to wait. If you are to act as my lady’s maid please help me into my gown, and do up the buttons. Then I will be appropriately dressed to converse with you.”

  “And?”

  She sighed very theatrically. “You know the answer, Thom. Take me home.”

  “Home?” He needed her to qualify what she meant.

  “Your home.”

  “Our home.”

  “If we vanquish Bankfoot. For if we don’t my family will be ruined, and I refuse to allow yours to become the same by association.”

  He reached for her dress, and in silence helped her into it and then did the tiny buttons up. Only after she had tidied her hair and was once more sitting in the chair as she watched him pull on his shirt, tuck it into his pantaloons and pull on his boots, did he speak.

  “Then we best get a move on and foil his plans. Because I cannot, will not, let you go.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  “How will we manage?” Several hours later bathed, fed and replete, Sybille leaned against a beautiful mahogany inlaid elbow cabinet in a cozy lounge as Thom prowled the room. He looked every inch the predator, and reminded her of one of the big cats her maman had taken her to see at the Royal Exchange. “How do we flush him out?”

  “We announce our betrothal.”

  “We can’t. If he produces the fake string we’re sunk. Everyone will know we didn’t have the real ones, and were in effect, duping them. Oh I know.” She held her hand up. “Many do it, but it is known they have the real ones safe. We never have. If Bankfoot produces the fakes and denounces us, the only way to save the situation would be to call his bluff. We cannot.” Why couldn’t he understand? “I will not let you sacrifice your family’s honor for mine.”

  “There will be no need for that. I have a plan. A long shot, I admit, but if we all play our part, it might work. We’ll discuss it tomorrow.”

  “Why not tonight?”

  His grin was wicked, as he ignored the plea in her eyes. “I have other plans for tonight.”

  “Ah.” She did her best to look haughtily disinterested, and when he merely did that annoying trait he had of raising one eyebrow, knew fine well she had failed.

  “Of course, they do not necessarily have to include you.”

  She waited. He walked to the mantle, picked up a Spode china plate and examined it as if he’d never seen it before. “Although I hope they will.” He didn’t look at her but kept his gaze on the plate in his hands. It was only because she looked closely she saw the faint tremor that racked him.

  It was the first time he’d displayed even a hint of vulnerability.

  Sybille suddenly realized how unfair she’d been to him. Taking, never giving. Hinting, never confirming.

  That behavior—her behavior—was nasty, and she was ashamed of herself. She pushed herself off the elbow cupboard, and smoothed down her dress. Mijo had chosen well and the dark rose silk was a perfect foil for her honey blonde hair. Sybille had of necessity dressed her tresses very simply, in a loose knot, which, as Thom had told her was perfect, and, “so much easier for me to unpin.”

  He watched her warily, as she walked across the room and took the plate from him. She placed it back on the shelf and took his hand in hers.

  “I hope they will as well.” She rested their joined hands on her cheek, his palm warm on her skin. “I’m sorry. I’ve been somewhat of a bitch. I’d like to say put it down to worry with regards to Bankfoot, but that is only part of it.” She stopped to consider how to explain her state of mind. “I was on the defensive. Wrong footed. I felt hemmed in.”

  “Is marriage to me such an abhorrent thought?” He stroked her cheek with their joined hands.

  Sybille took a deep breath. “It could be if it was a marriage of convenience. I could not stand to be wedded, bedded, increasing and discarded. I’ve seen how my parents love and live their lives together. We children were part of that. I swore I would never settle for less. Until you showed me the error of my thoughts, I hardly dared dream you would feel as I do.”

  His hand tightened on hers.

  “I didn’t think I would want it.” Honesty rang in his voice. “Then I realized that it was everything I want. When I offered for you, what I said was what I thought was true. I needed a wife. You would fit. Then as time went by, and you didn’t give me an answer, I accepted I wanted you, in every way. Just you, no one else. Then of course I had to prove that.” He was silent. “Have I? Have I shown you I love you and want you?”

  Sybille sobbed. It sounded so easy. However… “Oh yes, but…”

  “No buts, my love. Yes will do. And I’m not going to let you renege.” Thom lifted her into his arms, and spun her round until she was giddy. “Consider yourself properly betrothed. Shall we celebrate?” He put her down, but didn’t let go of her.

  Luckily. The room spun as she tried to stand, and she clutched the arms that held her. “Er, one moment.” She shut her eyes and then opened them cautiously. Nothing moved. Satisfied she wouldn’t disgrace herself and be sick, she nodded. “How?”

  “Oh I’m sure we can think of something.” He snagged a bottle of wine and two goblets, and with his arm over her shoulder, steered her toward the door. “Shall we see what we can come up with?”

  Several hours later, Sybille opened her eyes and realized she lay snuggled and sated next to Thom in a sumptuous four-poster. They had, she decided, indeed seen what they could come up with. Several times. In a myriad of ways. Who knew a cravat could have so many uses? Her body flooded with heat as she remembered how he’d covered her eyes and told her to use her senses and just feel.

  Even better were the scenes that flashed though her mind when he’d handed the now mangled cravat to her, and with a wicked grin, said simply, “your turn now.”

  She used it to tie his hands, an act that both surprised and excited her, and, she judged, him as well. Eventually, after he’d entered her in more ways than she’d thought possible, culminating with her on her knees and him behind her—no pamphlet she’d seen had talked about that—they had collapsed in a heap on the bed. Sweaty, happy, exhausted, and in her case, knowing it was perfect.

  It seemed Thom agreed.

  As he slid out of her, he rolled to one side, scooped her up and settled her in the crook of his arm. “That was everything…” He yawned. “All…I love…” He sighed, yawned again and snored.

  Sybille stifled the ready giggle that begged to be released. Mind you, he had worked hard, been incredibly inventive and…she yawned as well. Ten minutes wouldn’t matter.

  Those ten minutes had turned into many hours. She turned her head, and noticed the first rays of dawn were showing though the windows. They hadn’t even got around to closing the shutters before they’d tumbled onto the bed.

  Sybille moved her head cautiously and looked at the slumbering man who held her tight in his arms. He looked so innocent, which was a description she decided could never be used when he was awake. However, at that moment, she itched to see how long the expression or attitude would last. She reached behind her and used her forefinger to poke the easiest bit of flesh she could reach. His stomach.

  Thom jumped, grunted, snorted and sn
ored. Sybille wasn’t sure whether to laugh or shout in his ear. At least he hadn’t passed wind.

  She had no idea what time it was, around five or six she decided, and although not the time she would normally rise, even in the country, she wanted to talk. She wriggled around, and did her best to ignore the part of his anatomy that was once more making its presence known to her, by pressing on her rear.

  No, she amended her thoughts, needed to talk. To find out what happened next. She poked him again.

  “Stop wriggling woman, unless you want to wake every inch of me.” His voice was husky from sleep, and the grumbling note in it was patently false. “It’s barely daylight. Time for a snooze and then wake up and play. I need rest, you wore me out.” He didn’t sound at all concerned, more the opposite.

  “We need to talk,” Sybille said. She tried to twist around to look him in the eyes, but Thom merely sighed, yawned and tightened his grip.

  “Later, much later.”

  “No, now. I’ve been thinking.”

  “Oh lord,” Thom, and pressed a feather-light kiss on her neck. His breath was warm in the early morning air, and Sybille shivered.

  “Cold? I can help.” Thom purred the words. “I seem to have been woken up and now I’ve got an appetite.”

  She wriggled a little more. “Well, something’s woken up.”

  Thom had her on her back and had moved over her so fast she hardly had time to blink.

  “So shall we feed it?”

  Sybille opened her legs and welcomed him inside her. The warmth of his staff in her, his body around her and showing her what she meant to him, was oh so welcome. She met him thrust for thrust, reveling in the way his breath became increasingly choppy and his skin dotted in perspiration.

  Thom stiffened, the corded veins on his arms standing out as he did his best to stave off his climax. As her own climax crested and threatened to break, Sybille tightened her inner muscles and dug her heels into his back.

  “Syb… sweet lord, I can’t hold back.”