Sybille's Lord Read online

  The heat from his body permeated her flimsy nightrail and gown, and both excited and comforted her. His male scent surrounded her, and Sybille was conscious that sitting there in his arms made all her cares fall away. It gave her hope that maybe everything would work out well. First though, she had to share her worries and predicament with him. It wasn’t going to be easy.

  “If I tell you the all, my lord, do you promise to keep what I divulge to yourself? For it not only reflects badly on me, but in a way, my parents.”

  Thom’s arms tightened on her and she was sure she felt his lips touch her hair.

  “Nothing said or done in this room will be shared without your permission.”

  “Then.” Sybille took a deep breath and stared at the glowing embers in the fireplace. “Do you believe in curses?”

  Sybille’s first thought was you could have heard a pin drop. Then, that their heartbeats were in time with each other. And finally, why on earth didn’t he say something?

  She counted the seconds off in her head. He was silent almost to her mental count of thirty.

  “I believe in cursing. I can swear like the troopers I once commanded,” Thom said. “But if you mean in the manner of a wart-ridden old crone stirring a cauldron, and casting obnoxious and harmful spells, then no. Why do you ask?”

  He sounded puzzled, so she could only hope all her family history wasn’t known in the ton. For surely if it was, Thom would have heard.

  “You know how my parents met?” She turned to look at him. His body moved under her. Sybille was certain this was what she’d read about. Something she hadn’t believed. Parts of a man couldn’t change shape and hardness, surely? Now feeling a definite stirring in his nether regions she wasn’t so sure. She twisted and squirmed a little more.

  Definitely changing. What on earth did that pamphlet say it could be called? Ah, a pego. Such a strange name for something that feels like a log or a staff. So does that mean other things will now happen?

  “Stop wriggling woman,” Thom said peremptorily. “Or I will be…” He broke off and groaned. “What am I saying? Good lord, Sybille stay still. You are a witch.”

  “I am not,” Sybille retorted indignantly. “Wriggling or a witch. Let me up.”

  Thom tightened his arms around her and anchored her in place. “Be still. I like you here. However, for both our peace of minds ’tis better you don’t awaken the sleeping body.”

  Sybille remembered the word she’d read, and the somewhat startling diagram with it.

  “You mean your pego?”

  Thom blinked, set her onto her feet, and stood up next to her, close enough that if they both breathed out at the same time their chests touched. His expression defied her to move as he looked down at her upturned face, and grinned.

  She mistrusted the grin.

  “And what, my dear, do you know of a gentleman’s pego and its preferences?” He ran his finger down her nose and tapped the tip. It tickled rather than stung and she wrinkled it.

  “Tell me the all.” His tone demanded obedience.

  “Nothing.” Sybille had no intention of pandering to him.

  He laughed. “Hmm, shall I further your education?”

  Yes please. “No,” Sybille said breathlessly. “We are straying off the point.”

  “I’m nowhere near the point.” Thom stared, rather obviously, at the area where her nightrail gaped and left the top of one breast exposed.

  Her nipples puckered. Sybille colored at his gaze and curled her hands into her sides to stop herself reducing the gap. She pondered over his statement. Point?

  “You beast.” She realized what he alluded to. Her nipples peaked the soft silk that covered them. “That is not gentlemanly.”

  “At this moment in time, I don’t feel very gentlemanly. To be frank, I feel somewhat of a letch, all hot and desirous to discover every little nuance with regards to you.” He circled her wrists with his fingers. “No, don’t pull back. I can control my lustful urges, but Sybille you would try the patience of a saint.” He drew her closer so they were body to body, with his pego pressed up against her belly.

  She gasped.

  “I…I would? But I haven’t done anything.”

  “That is what saves you,” Thom said cryptically. “Now for goodness’ sake sit in the chair, let me lean on the wall, and then.” His voice rose, and took on a more forceful timbre. “Tell me what’s wrong and what I can do to help.”

  ****

  If he got out of her room without either disgracing himself or scaring the life out of her it would be a miracle. Thom waited until she was occupied setting her nightrail and robe about her, and discreetly adjusted his erection into a less obvious position. He’d have to partake in a little self-help later, but for now, discomfort would be his bedfellow.

  He smiled to himself. I’d rather my bedfellow be Sybille.

  Sybille looked across to him. He hated the worried look on her face, but for once he could—he thought—say with confidence, he hadn’t put it there. Thom cast his mind back to the last relevant conversation they had.

  “Cursing?” He prompted her. “As in epithets or spells?”

  “Both I imagine, once I tell you the all.” Her voice was morose. “When my maman escaped from the Terror, she brought a bag of gold with her. It’s, look this is sharing family secrets, my lord, and oh so embarrassing.” Sybille said rapidly. “The gold is all that has kept our family going. My late uncle nigh on ruined us.”

  Thom nodded. He remember how, many years before his father had remarked that Theo had worked miracles with what little money—he assumed—Theo’s brother hadn’t squandered.

  “I recall my father commenting how well your father coped after his brother died. He assumed, as I imagine all the ton did, your papa played successfully on ‘change. That is not correct?”

  Sybille shook her head. “Not at first, though latterly I suppose he was moderately successful. Maman’s loot as she calls it, was our salvation. Except it’s cursed.”

  “You really believe that?” Thom asked her. “That an inanimate object, or objects are cursed?”

  “Maman does.” Sybille cleared her throat. “'Pay the price. The heart of ye child to be liftin’ the curse. Dare ye risk it?’” She smiled self-consciously. “That’s it.”

  “And dare you?” Thom was intrigued. He’d never heard of that before.

  “Not yet. But we do need to repair our finances, so maybe one of us has to give our heart to whatever or whoever. Not that any of us know what that is.”

  He nodded, his mind busy. “But that’s not all, is it?”

  Sybille shook her head. “Sadly, no. Oh, my lord, I’m in such a muddle.”

  Thom thought rapidly over the past few weeks, ever since he’d noticed her abstract air and increasing pallor.

  “Bankfoot.” He guessed and was rewarded by her shudder. “He is enough to muddle anyone.”

  “He is a cad,” Sybille said in a low voice. “He looks at me as if I am a fly, and he a spider with a web ready and he knows he will catch me. And I don’t want him to.” She said something under her breath that Thom strained to hear.

  Did she really mumble, ‘I‘d rather die’?

  “There is no reason he should, surely?” Thom hesitated and decided to just ask her outright. “Did your parents tell you I wish to offer for you?”

  Sybille looked straight at his eyes, and blinked twice. “Oh yes.” Then she burst into tears.

  “Hell, it’s not such a horrendous thought is it?” Thom was horrified. “Do you want me to rescind? After all it’s not generally known I offered. Only your maman and papa, and you of course.” He fished in his pocket, drew out his handkerchief, and handed it to her.

  Sybille took it, sniffed and used it loudly. Her nose was red and blocked, her cheeks blotchy and her hair damp to her skull. When she cried, Thom realized, she did so with no pretense. All the feelings he’d harbored for her grew in intensity. So did his cock. Thom cursed—swear words no
t spells—under his breath. Now was not the time to show his ardor.

  “Sybille?”

  Chapter Six

  Now or never. She took an enervating, and surreptitious sniff of his handkerchief. It was his scent that surrounded her and gave her strength. Sybille realized that for weeks she’d associated lavender and spice with Thom. On him it wasn’t feminine at all. She held the linen toward him.

  ”Ah no, keep it, I have others.”

  Was it wrong to be pleased? To know she had a little bit of him close, even if she harbored few thoughts it would ever be more. Not after… She blocked the depressing thought.

  Several weeks before, Sybille had been overjoyed, if a little wary when her parents had told her Thom wished to offer for her, but it was up to her to say if she’d treat his suit favorably. Mijo and Theo had always agreed any decision so important was up to the person concerned, not them.

  “For you know, my love, I do think he could develop more of a tendre for you if he allowed himself to,” Mijo had said. “He truly admires you, and it would be up to you to nurture that tendresse and see it blossom.”

  Sybille couldn’t even discern whether Thom might have a slight fondness for her. He paid no more attention to her than any other young lady in the ton, perhaps less. It wasn’t enough. She’d been non-committal, and merely promised to think about it. Which she had, frequently. Even though his attention had not seemed to be any more determined than before he approached her parents. If anything Sybille sometimes thought it less. If she hadn’t noticed a glint and a determination when he looked at her and thought no one looking, and the way his jaw tightened, she could have thought him indifferent to her to the point of dislike, and her parents mistaken in his intentions.

  “I know and I promised I would think of it,” she said to Mijo on several occasions. “Which, when I have time, I will do so.”

  “Ahem.” So engrossed in her thoughts, she’d forgotten Thom. “Why not agree now? As your affianced I could protect and help you.”

  “As my friend you can do the same thing,” Sybille answered swiftly. “Is your help dependent on my answering your offer in the affirmative?‘

  “Good heavens, no.” Thom sounded horrified and Sybille was immediately ashamed of her unworthy thoughts. He wouldn’t act like that. “You wound me, my dear.” There was no twinkle in his eye, just a painful—to her—bleakness.

  “Oh lud, I’m sorry.” She stood up and put her hand on his arm in entreaty. “Thomas.”

  He shook her hand off as if it was contagious. Sybille realized she might have just lost a friend. My big mouth, when will I learn to think before I speak?

  “My lord, forgive me. If I say I’m overwrought, it’s an understatement. And I have to admit to being foolish. That is something that will sit badly with me.” She rolled her shoulders. “I hate being in the wrong.”

  “Don’t we all?” His voice was once more level, but to her shame and dismay it held none of his usual friendliness “And you have nothing to be forgiven for. Why should you trust me? What have I given to you to ensure that?”

  “Ah Thomas, so much, and I didn’t realize.” If only she’d accepted he was honestly open to help her perhaps she wouldn’t be in this mess now. “I truly am sorry. If you think about it, I must trust you or else I would not be here.”

  “Thom, never Thomas,” Thom said emphatically. “When I hear that, I expect my tutor to appear and give me five of the best.”

  The look on his face as he screwed his eyes up was priceless. She giggled as she guessed he meant her to. It seemed he didn’t hold grudges. “Thom then. Right, bear with me. I need to go back many years. To when Maman and Papa wed. He gave her a magnificent string of pearls as a betrothal gift. They loop around her neck twice and still reach to her…” She took a deep breath, “To around her navel.”

  Thom nodded.

  Sybille guessed he had seen Mijo in the pearls and noticed how they led the eyes downward. To where, her sister Tessa had told her, some gentlemen of a poetic bent would say, was her pearl of beauty.

  “A fine string,” he said non-committally. A strange note, almost one of studied indifference, alerted her.

  “You know something about the string?” she asked. It was difficult to know how to phrase the question without giving too much away. In case he was sounding her out.

  “It’s fake,” Thom said matter-of-factly. “I’m sorry.”

  Her jaw dropped. “You knew?”

  “I knew.” His eyes darkened and she looked away rather than see what expression was on his face.

  “Oh lud, does everyone in the ton know?” Sybille couldn’t begin to think how her parents would feel if their deception was general knowledge.

  “No one except me, I would think, unless your parents have chosen to confide in someone else. Why?”

  She waved her hands in the air. Thom ducked one long fingernail. “I’m not the messenger, don’t harm me.”

  “Oh. Sorry.” She’d missed his cheek by inches. “Why? Because it would kill my parents.”

  “Don’t be dramatic. After all they have been through? Give them some credit.”

  “I do, but you don’t understand.” Damn the pathetic, whiny tone.

  “Try me,” he said, inviting her confidences. “I do not tell tales. I’ve known of its provenance for long enough. Remember also, it is a very good fake. There is no need to worry. No one will tell unless they had it tested.”

  He smiled reassuringly. Sybille gritted her teeth. Little did he know it did the very opposite. “I hope you’re right and no one tests it then. However I have to worry. Sadly, you’re mistaken.”

  Thom raised one sculpted eyebrow. Sybille saw the long lashes show dark on his eyelid and scowled. It was so unfair a man should have such a natural beauty aid and she had to resort to charcoal.

  “Why?”

  Oh how she’d hoped never to have to admit her failure. “Because it’s now in the hands of that cad Bankfoot.”

  Sybille watched, fascinated as Thom started, and his fingers clenched into his fists, just once.

  “Ah. Then I agree we may have a problem.” He took three strides across the room and swung round to face her.

  “What in Hades—” His voice rose to a roar.

  Sybille put her finger over her mouth in a ‘be quiet’ gesture. “Hush, do you want everyone to hear you?”

  He scowled but moderated his voice. “You said the nearby rooms are vacant.”

  “They are but you shouted loud enough to wake the Francomes in the house three doors down, let alone this household.”

  “Then if you do not want the street to be privy to our conversation, tell me, what pray, is bloody Bankfoot doing with it? For that matter, why the hell did your papa not let me replace it with the real string? Stubborn...” Thom shook his head and took a deep breath, which stretched his shirt and pantaloons to their limit. “Right… why do I wonder what you have to do with this mess? Perhaps you’d better tell me. Sit down again. Do not move.” He pointed to the chair. “And talk.”

  “Then don’t tower over me,” Sybille said. “Sit on the bed, or the floor, or get the stool from my bathing chamber. But don’t stand there like an avenging angel.”

  He snorted. “That’s the first time I’ve been called an angel. It’s usually a devil.”

  “Angel, devil, what does it matter,” Sybille said impatiently. Now she’d garnered the courage to tell him the story she wanted to get on with it. “Just please do as I’ve asked.”

  With a grin she could only think of as belonging to the devil himself—wicked and evil but with a hint of a challenge—Thom sat on the end of her bed and lifted one stocking-clad foot to rest on the knee of his other leg. Sybille’s mouth was dry, and she swallowed. Why was his stance a challenge?

  “It’s not often I sit on a lady’s bed fully clothed. It’s a novelty I’m not inclined to repeat too often.”

  You’re not fully clothed,” Sybille said. “You have no boots on.”
/>
  “It’s still several layers too much. Right, before the thread of our conversation goes awry again—talk.”

  ****

  His cock ached, and as he looked at her worried expression so did his heart. Thom had long known he favored Sybille and had a fondness for her he’d never experienced with anyone else, but this emotion went beyond that. To be sat here, in an intimate room, with a lady in such filmy clothes and not to take advantage of it was unusual.

  Would a lady who had invited him to her room, not expect to be taken advantage of?

  Ah, the difficulties.

  Sybille cleared her throat. “Thom? Did you hear me? I said this does not show me in a good light.”

  The candles behind her gave lie to the statement but he knew it was not the time to flirt. However he couldn’t let her comment go unremarked upon.

  “I could say, I beg to differ, the light shows you to perfection.”

  She giggled nervously. “I er…”

  “Oh you do…. perfectly.” He winked and then sobered. “I‘m sorry, Sybille, I couldn’t resist teasing you. Go on.”

  “Promise me, you won’t interrupt. I know I’ve been an idiot, and yes, I know you said if I needed help you were there, but this, this was something that I thought no one knew about, and I could take care of.”

  “But you couldn’t?” He kept his voice low, unemotional and not threatening.

  “Sadly, no. But what else could I do?”

  Stupid woman still hasn’t told me about what.

  “As you haven’t divulged what you did how can I comment?” He looked around the room. “Do you have anything to drink in here? I think we might need it.”

  “Water?”

  “I was thinking more along the lines of brandy.”