Sybille's Lord Read online

  “What do you know of love nests, pray?” Thom asked her as he tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. The casual gesture made her shiver.

  I must know more. If such a small thing can affect me so much, surely we will hit it off in more extreme circumstances?

  “Sybille?”

  She’d been so intent on his touch she’d forgotten to answer his question.

  “Merely that some men have them, to, to pursue their amorous intentions without the eyes of the ton on them. Or in some cases, I hazard a guess, without the eyes of the husband of their mistress on them. I imagine though, such secret assignations are anything but, and it’s a case of discretion works. Yes I know, before you say anything, as an unmarried lady, I shouldn’t know of such things, but just because I’m not married it doesn’t mean my eyes and ears are defective.”

  Thom snorted. “That I can vouch for. Had it not occurred to you, that if you know about my love nest, so do others?”

  What an idiotic thing to say. “Well of course, otherwise how would I know? I assumed you would have a way of arriving at wherever it is by a circuitous route, and use it.”

  “Hmm.” He removed his hands from her rear and went toward the Tantalus, to select a bottle and wave it in her direction. “You?”

  She shook her head. She needed to keep her wits about her. As enjoyable as their repartee was, Sybille knew that if Thom made his mind up not to indulge her, nothing she could say or do would change his mind. And that she couldn’t stave her parents off for ever regarding the confirmation of a betrothal. Then it would be a notification to the Times, and the circus of wedding preparations. She’d be walking down the aisle before she had a chance to draw breath.

  Thom poured a generous measure of brandy into a goblet and swallowed it in two mouthfuls.

  “Give me a few days.” He put his glass down and picked up his cravat. Within a minute, he had it tied in a reasonable facsimile of the way it had been earlier, and retrieved his jacket and waistcoat from where he’d dropped them. Sybille wondered if he’d intended for them to land on the chair, instead of in a heap on the floor. She hoped so, and that maybe his emotions had overtaken his good sense. He buttoned his coat and smoothed his cravat. “I’ll be in touch. Meanwhile do not let yourself be in the vicinity of Bankfoot unless your parents are with you.”

  Sybille nodded. “That will be a pleasure. My lord, Thom, what about the pearls?”

  He shook his head and sighed. “You are as tenacious as a ferret on the scent of a rat. I’ll pick you up at eleven.” He kissed the back of her palm. “Now go to bed.”

  “And dream of you?” She spoke before she thought.

  His grin was wholly wicked. “Oh I do hope so.”

  He let himself out of the room before Sybille had time to reply.

  My big mouth. When will I learn? She doused all the lamps and made her way up the stairs to bed. Against Sybille’s instructions, Maybelle had waited up.

  Sybille scowled. “I told you to go to bed.”

  “And where would that leave you?” Maybelle asked as she took the pins out of Sybille’s hair and began to brush out the knots. “Undressing yourself, and no doubt mangling your laces as you did so. And who would have the problem of sorting them out eh? Much easier for me to make sure there was no need and save myself a job.”

  Sybille forbore to mention she was wearing a dress that slipped down over her shoulders and her chemise tied at the front. Maybelle had waited for her to find out if there was any news. Sybille didn’t proffer any, and she guessed that Maybelle decided discretion was the better part of valor and didn’t question her.

  Much to her surprise, Sybille dropped off as soon as she slipped between the covers, slept well without any dreams to disturb her slumber and only woke up when Maybelle brought in her morning chocolate.

  It was amazing what a good night’s sleep did to a person. Sybille felt energized and up for anything life—or Thom—might throw at her. She decided to ignore the fact that she certainly wasn’t up for anything Bankfoot might try to have in store. Thom would surely deal with him.

  She was dressed in a soft colored walking dress, and flicking through a book in the library when Stubbs announced Thom. He followed Stubbs into the room and his eyes lit up when he looked at her. Stubbs left and Thom walked across the room, like a long limbed predator, to come to a halt in front of Sybille. This close she could see the flecks in his eyes, the way his hair sat close to his skull, and the manner in which his cravat was tied. To say nothing of what she had decided to call the essence of Thom. His unique man-scent.

  He picked up her hand and turned it over, to press a kiss on her palm. It still sent tingles through her. Would she always react so?

  “I feel it as well, you know.” Thom was staring at her intently. “I have to cover my body’s reaction as best I can.”

  She glanced down and he chuckled. “Just so. My pego has a mind of its own. I can only hope to rein him in.”

  Sybille couldn’t stop the heat that rushed into her cheeks. Thom flicked her nose in that endearing but irritating way he had.

  “With the promise of soon?” Sybille said.

  “One can but hope. Now Sandeman’s and pearls. Are you sure you wouldn’t rather stop here?”

  She raised her eyebrows. “Very sure.”

  “I thought you’d say that.” Thom pinched her cheek.

  What it is with him and nipping my face? She liked it. It was intimate and somehow arousing, but she wondered what was his reason for doing it. Sybille filed the question away for later. It wasn’t the time to ask, and she had no intention of diverting his attention from the matter in hand.

  “So, what excuse do we use?” Thom asked her as she collected her gloves and parasol. “I’m a skinflint who doesn’t want to fork out for a proper engagement ring?”

  “Hardly.” Sybille frowned as she took his hand and walked toward the front door. Stubbs sprang to attention and opened it with a flourish and a benign grin.

  Thom’s town carriage, with liveried footman and coachman, stood waiting. Sybille looked at him in astonished enquiry. There was no way they would not be noticed and remarked on in that.

  “The best way to be underhand is to be open about it,” he said as he settled beside her and the coach moved off. “Lots of the ton use Sandeman to safeguard their baubles, often to the point of putting the fakes in the safe and then pretending that they aren’t wearing the proper things. The only problem there is if the fakes are stolen, but so far, no one had admitted to being gulled. Therefore I propose we ask for a copy of this shorter string of pearls.” He produced a perfectly matched pearl three strand necklet. “Sandeman would think it totally proper to copy that for you to wear until such times as…”

  “I’ve earned the real one?”

  “No such thing.” He winked. “Unless you want to? Otherwise until we announce our betrothal, and it is accepted I give you such a gift. I will of course ask him if there is any gentleman of the ton who can vouch for his attention to detail.”

  Sybille considered his statement as the carriage rumbled over the cobbles. She could smell freshly baked bread through the carriage windows, and hoped her stomach didn’t rumble. Sadly, she’d been too churned up to eat at breakfast. She sat up straight to try and quell her hunger pangs.

  “Won’t Sandeman just tell you to ask my maman?”

  Thom shook his head. “Sandeman has a different rule for ladies. He never divulges the names of any female who enters his premises. That is why Bankfoot must have thought he was in clover when he recognized your maman.”

  “The cad,” Sybille said fiercely. “Bankfoot is despicable.” She sat back into the seat with a flounce. “But how does he have the pearls? Surely Sandeman wouldn’t have given them to him?”

  “Not without reason, not if he values his place in society. However we don’t know if he has, and if so, why? I’d hazard a bet that if Sandeman did part with them, Bankfoot ether coerced him or put forward a very
plausible reason why he should do so.” He stopped and stared into the distance. “I wonder what reason he gave your maman for not competing the job in a reasonable amount of time.”

  “I asked her. One of the pearls—so called—was damaged as he restrung them. He had to wait for a replacement.”

  “Hmm…flimsy but feasible.”

  “I bet it’s all Bankfoot’s fault. Please give him his come-uppance. Preferably with a left to the nose.”

  Thom laughed. “Bloodthirsty?”

  “With regards to him? Oh yes.”

  The carriage drew to a halt. She stared out of the window. “Is this it?” They’d stopped outside the nondescript door of a townhouse, in a leafy side street. “It doesn’t look anything like a shop. No wonder Maman was happy to come here.”

  “Precisely. That is Sandeman’s intention. To my knowledge he does no underhand dealings, but a lot of his clients demand discretion and secrecy. It would have been so much better, in the circumstances, for your maman to attend him, rather than your papa. She would act the part so much better. With us, it is different.” He didn’t offer the reason, and Sybille chose not to question him.

  “Ah, then I’m sure this is perfect.”

  “It is. Now remember, you’re shy and worried and oh so glad I’m doing this. You’re scared you’ll lose the real thing.”

  Sybille let him help her alight and shook out her skirts. “I am?”

  “He won’t know just how diametrically opposite to that you are. I don’t think anyone does unless they’re close friends or family. Let’s see if we can draw him out on the subject of Bankfoot. You cut a perfect, shy miss pose in the ton.”

  Sybille grinned. “It took a lot of practice. Very well, let’s do it.” She took his arm, and posed the perfect picture of flustered innocence. “How is this?”

  He grinned. “Perfect, let the play begin.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Thom had to admire how Sybille immediately portrayed a sweet young deb who was both shy and retiring. She fluttered—there was no other word for it. Her hands moved from her reticule to twist the fingers of her lacy gloves and then swished the side of her fashionable dress.

  “Grief, this is so not me.” She muttered the words sotto voce and changed a chuckle to a cough. He agreed with her. Although she’d been subdued for a while the Sybille he knew and loved was more vital.

  Loved? Where did that come from?

  “I deserve a medal. Or something.” As they approached the shop door, she looked up at Thom from under her lashes.

  “Are you sure you’re au fait with this, my lord? I don’t wish to cause you trouble, but it will make me so much happier, not to… not to have the responsibility of looking after such a magnificent thing.” Her stance and her expression conveyed a young and worried deb. For a fleeting moment Thom hoped Sandeman didn’t recognize her as one of the Birch girls. Or if he did, he didn’t know of their reputation for a lack of funk. The Birch girls were renowned for not giving tuppence for the convention of shy and retiring.

  “Anything for you, my dear.” Thom rang the bell and the door opened immediately. He put his hand in the small of Sybille’s back and propelled her forward. She shot him a saucy look and wriggled into his hand just enough for him to know and no one else to notice.

  And I once thought her shy and retiring? How mistaken can a man be?

  “My lord, and ah, my lady?” Sandeman, a small rotund man with twinkling eyes, bowed deeply and obsequiously then stood back to let them enter. He looked like everyone’s favorite uncle. Thom always thought he wouldn’t be surprised if he chucked everyone under the chin and offered them some marchpane.

  “My lady will do nicely,” Thom said as Sandeman closed the door behind them, and they waited to be ushered to a seat.

  The little man bowed. “Of course. So how may I help you?”

  Thom produced the pearl necklet out of his pocket. “My lady is loath to wear this and lose it. I would like it copied. I believe that will be in order?”

  Sandeman‘s eyes lit up. “Oh yes, indeed. May I?” He held his hand out and Thom passed it over.

  “Ah yes.” Sandeman fished in his pocket and pulled out a jeweler’s loupe. He proceeded to screw it into place so he could use both hands to hold the pearls where he wanted them. Through the magnifying lens, his eye looked overlarge and fish-like.

  Sybille watched the proceedings with fascination. Thom mentally prepared himself for a quizzing once they were alone.

  “Oh perfect.” Sandeman sighed with pleasure. “It will be an honor to replicate this. Say four weeks?”

  “One.”

  “One?” Sandeman looked perturbed. “Oh but, my lord.”

  “If you are unable to help, we’ll go elsewhere.”

  “Oh but…” Sybille spoke in a breathy voice and plucked at Thom’s sleeve. “I thought that lovely man you know said Mr. Sandeman was the best with pearls…oh my. I wasn’t supposed to mention his lordship was I?” Tears brimmed in her eyes. If Thom hadn’t noticed the wicked glint she swiftly masked, he’d have been taken. “But Lord Ban… oh I’m doing it again.” She shook her head and looked down at her lap. Her shoulders shook, but Thom would wager it wasn’t due to distress. “He did say, though, to come here.”

  “There, there, no need to get upset,” He patted her back awkwardly, as any man faced with tears would be wont to do. “Mr. Sandeman is a gentleman of discretion. He understands that the situation is delicate.” He nodded to Sandeman, who cleared his throat noisily.

  “Of course, don’t distress yourself my lady. Believe me, I name no names but Lord B was very interested in my talents. Why, I know he’s helped several ladies to secure—” He coughed. “Ahem, now where was I? Ah yes, one week, my lord. Now let me take some measurements.”

  He bustled around as Sybille watched him surreptitiously, and Thom himself more openly. Thom wondered if he would be expected to leave the necklet. If necessary, he would of course, but it went against the grain, especially as he had no idea just how Bankfoot had discovered Mijo’s deception. Evidently Sandeman‘s discretion and privacy policy had flaws. Plus, something in the man’s demeanor didn’t sit well with Thom.

  A scratching noise made Thom look up and glance around the room in careful suspicion. It didn’t sound like a rodent, more like someone moving stealthily nearby, intent on not being heard. Neither Sybille not Sandeman seemed to have heard it.

  “Perfect, just perfect.” Sandeman held the necklet up and turned it this way and that. “A quite splendid piece.” He raised his voice as he spoke and shuffled his feet on the wooden floor, as he did so.

  To show someone who was hidden perhaps? Thom had no way of knowing.

  “This is the size you require?” Sandeman removed his loupe, and blinked several times.

  Thom nodded.

  “Then ah, let me see…” Sandeman hummed and hah-ed and made some calculations on a sheet of vellum, which he held out to Thom. “Yes, yes, this is the total my lord, and it will be ready a week today. I ah, won’t need to keep it.”

  “Good.” Thom smiled. Something in his expression seemed to worry Sandeman who visibly started and swallowed nervously. “For I would be very displeased if I discovered anyone at all got wind of this.”

  Sandeman’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down and sweat beaded his forehead. “I understand my lord, but indeed why would they?”

  “Exactly.” Thom scanned the paper Sandeman had given him. “That is fine. We’ll be back in a sennight. Come, my dear.” He held his hand out to Sybille who took it, and gripped it tightly.

  Thom didn’t speak until they were back in the carriage and driving down the street. “What is it?”

  “That man gives me an unpleasant itch down my spine. At first glance he seems genial and accommodating, but something about him doesn’t strike me as genuine.” She laughed nervously. “Oh ignore me, it’s all this high drama, but my skin crawled. I had a most unpleasant feeling of being watched.”


  “I’d never ignore woman’s intuition,” Thom said. “So, I’ll reiterate. For the next week, stay with your parents or myself. If you have to invent a megrim, do it.”

  The carriage lurched around a corner, and Sybille slipped toward him. Thom grabbed her arm to stop her ending up on the floor. Her lips parted and her breath was warm on his cheek as he held her in place.

  Thom held his body rigid as Sybille melted toward him. The effort of not letting his arms flex and allow her closer was agony. It he wasn’t sure she had no idea how tantalizing her innocent plea was, he could have lost his temper. As it was, he struggled with himself for several seconds before he sighed. “Enough. You are too much of a temptation for me. Be ready tomorrow for a picnic.”

  “A picnic?” Sybille let him push her to one end of the squab and held onto the strap for security. “Where to?”

  “Somewhere I hope you’ll appreciate.” And so will I. “We’ll take the phaeton.”

  “Will you let me take the reins?”

  He shook his head, not in negation but in frustration. “Do you never give up?”

  “No, I was taught to go for what I want. I just seemed to have lost my way recently. Now I’m back where I should be.”

  “I’m not sure whether to be pleased or apprehensive.”

  ****

  He still didn’t the next day, when he tooled the phaeton out of the city with Sybille sitting next to him, dressed in a soft green dress and a darker green pelisse.

  He’d spent several hours putting his plans into place, including provisions and necessities to be waiting at their destination, and subterfuges to explain their absences.

  The weather was clement, the sun shone from a blue, cloudless sky, and the breeze was light enough to hardly ruffle the leaves on the trees that edged the road as they drove across the heath. Several times Sybille had glanced at the horses—his perfectly matched greys—thence to his hands and finally his face, although she didn’t say what he was sure was on her mind.