Sybille's Lord Page 9

  Thom took his attentions away from his horses to have a quick look around the area. The edge had now been taken off the greys, and they were, for them, remarkably docile.

  “Would you like to take the reins?” he asked, fully prepared for a ladylike squeal.

  “Pardon? Would I like? Ah no, no thank you.”

  Thom blinked. “No? You wouldn’t like to?”

  Sybille shook her head and the cluster of tiny feathers that decorated her hat waved in agreement. “Like is not the word. I would love to. Thank you.” She turned sideways on the seat to grin up at him. “Are you sure?”

  It was worth spending the next five minutes or so worrying about his equipage to see the way her face lit up and real, genuine pleasure showed.

  “I never say anything I do not mean. Here.” He put the reins into her hands. “Like that, feed them through your fingers. Let the horses know you have them. That’s good.” He sat back, happy to see how competent she appeared.

  They continued on in silence for several minutes as he studiously avoided staring or flinching as he got the measure of her aptitude. Then he didn’t talk just because he was enjoying himself as he surreptitiously watched her. Her hands were light on the reins and the pace she kept the horses moving at was perfect. The look of concentration on her face was absolute.

  She was he realized, content.

  “Which way at the crossroads?”

  Thom had been so engrossed in watching the play of emotions cross Sybille’s face, he had to concentrate and look around to see where they were. “Left, and through the village. We turn left again after the church.”

  “Perhaps you’d better take over?”

  “Why?” Thom gave into temptation and untied the saucy bow at the side of her chin and tugged her hat off her head. It slipped down onto her back and stuck between the back of the seat and her body. “You are fine. Slow down before you turn, and watch out for wandering ducks and chickens as you pass the farm. I have every faith in you.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Sybille risked a glance at him.

  “Every faith?” She returned her concentration to the road, as the corner loomed ever closer. In truth it wasn’t too sharp, and the bend was gentle and more to her favor than if they needed to turn right.

  “In this case.”

  Thom clarified his comment and laughed when she began to stick her tongue out at him. Sybille remembered who he was, where they were and the fact she was no longer a young lady fresh out of the schoolroom but a responsible adult, who, if she didn’t stop shillyshallying, would be on the shelf in a year or two.

  “Stop fretting,” he said. “If I was worried about anything I’d tell you. Now watch out for Farmer Cates’s livestock. We get our milk, meat and poultry from him so we don’t want to be ruining our chances of a nice chicken pie for lunch.”

  Sybille nodded and slowed the horses to a walk as the road they were on narrowed and became busy with traffic of the feathered kind. Her arms were beginning to ache with the unaccustomed strain of controlling two such spirited horses.

  One fearless chicken darted into the road, stopped, squawked and dashed back the way it had come. The horses very properly ignored it and Sybille relaxed. “That one decided not to be our dinner,” she said as they left the farm behind.

  “Just as well, if my orders have been followed,” Thom said. “If you hand me the reins I’ll take us through the village and up the lane.”

  “Too demeaning to be seen driven by a mere woman?” Sybille handed control back to Thom, rolled her shoulders and flexed her hands. They ached and tingled with the effort of holding the horses in check. “Thank you, I enjoyed that. I miss the freedom of home when we’re up for the season. Do you spend a lot of time in the capital, my lord?” She hoped her inference was clear. Where did he consider home?

  “When the house is sitting. Otherwise no. My principal estate is in the Cotswolds. I have others scattered around.” He turned the phaeton between iron gates set in tall stone gateposts. Sybille could see nothing to indicate where they were. While tooling the horses she hadn’t thought to look at any signposts, and the last recognizable landmark she’d noticed was an hour or so earlier as they left the city suburbs. “This is one of them, although not known to anyone except my solicitor, and the couple who keep it ready for me.”

  “They’ll know who you are then?” Sybille looked around with interest. “Oh look, a fox.” She pointed to the animal as it slunk along the hedgerow a few hundred yards away.

  “They know me, but other than them, around here, I’m known as Lord Fulwell as that’s one of my titles. But worry not, the Tates know not to disturb us. Food will be waiting, we just need to serve ourselves. And if that fox thinks it’s going anywhere near the Tate’s hen house, I suspect Mrs. Tate will be cooking fox stew, and making tippets.”

  She didn’t like the sound of the stew but was interested in the tippets. “Tippets? Does she sell them? I know several people who would be interested.”

  “I’ll ask her.” Thom turned into a stable yard and drew up. “I’ll have to see to the horses. Will you wait or do you want to go inside?”

  “I’ll help you, then we can eat in peace. Must we eat inside though?”

  Thom laughed. “No I know the perfect place, it’s only few minutes’ walk.” He began to loosen the traces and within a few minutes both horses were in the stables being rubbed down with a wisp of straw.

  “I’ll get oats and water.” He’d discarded his jacket and Sybille her pelisse as they cooled down the horses. She watched as Thom took up two buckets and headed to the pump.

  Oats? Sybille shut off the stray thought from the other usage of the word. The line in that oh so informative pamphlet which had called a young man’s proclivities as sowing his wild oats. Combined with the further expression of planting his seeds, it wasn’t the thing she needed to think about at that moment.

  She bit back a giggle. After all, wasn’t that why they were there? Her mound throbbed, and after a quick check to make sure Thom was nowhere around she touched herself over her dress. Perhaps soon it wouldn’t be solely her touch that helped ease the ache?

  She scanned the stables and spied a lidded bin, which she hoped held the grain. It looked secure enough that no rodent would be able to help himself. The lid was heavy, and banded with metal, but hopefully it wouldn’t be too difficult to move? Sybille walked across to it and managed to move the cover far enough to one side to check the contents. It was half-full of oats and on the top of the cereal was a dipper.

  Perfect. Before Thom reappeared with two brimming buckets Sybille had portioned out the grains and made sure the hay nets were full.

  Thom grinned. “Clever, and thank you. Now we can wash ready for luncheon. A late luncheon, it’s time to eat.”

  Sybille’s tummy rumbled. “My stomach tends to agree with you.”

  “Then I’d better feed it. Come along. Will the pump do?”

  “To feed my hunger pangs?” Sybille chuckled as he rolled his eyes. “It would be somewhat inedible, I fear.” Here away from the city and the ton, and especially Bankfoot, she felt all her cares and worries recede. Oh she understood, they were only in abeyance, not trounced, but somehow it didn’t matter. The expression ‘carpe diem’—seize the day—was a perfect description of her mindset at that moment.

  “I was thinking more for changing the state of your hands from farm laborer to lady of the manor.” Thom patted her bottom as he urged her toward the stable yard pump.

  “And you fondling my posterior with your oh so clean hands won’t help,” Sybille said. “But please don’t stop.”

  “Minx.”

  Oh how I hope so.

  He gave her rear one more pat as they reached the trough under the pump. “Here you are, I even have something to dry yourself on.” Draped over the stone walls that held the water was a clean rough square of linen. Thom picked it up and handed it to her. “Ready?”

  Sybille nodded, somewhat r
elieved as she took the towel from him, and tucked it around her neck for safety. She’d washed like this many times in the past and ended up with water dripping down her cleavage. However, any way to clean herself was welcome—she’d worried she’d wear the beautiful aroma of eau de horse as they made love.

  The pump was large and she was glad she didn’t have to wield the handle herself. Thom of course made it look easy, as he energetically allowed water to splash into the trough.

  Sybille held her hands under the flow and caught water in them to splash on her face. The linen did its job, and by the time she’d washed and dried both her face and hands, her body survived generally unscathed with only a few wet marks on the bodice of her dress. They would dry easily in the sun.

  She handed the towel to Thom who grinned and pulled his shirt over his head, and threw it toward her. “Here, hold this please.”

  It sailed through the air and she automatically stretched up to catch it.

  “Careful.” Thom grabbed the linen towel, as she let go of it to hold onto his shirt. He secured it as it floated perilously near to the brimming trough.

  “Well caught, sir.” Sybille held her hands in the air. “My hero. Can we persuade you to play in the Birch family cricket team? Then we might beat the Birch Village team in our yearly match.”

  “I’m not family.” He plunged his head underwater, and came up dripping water everywhere.

  No wonder he took his shirt off. Rivulets streamed down his torso, creating wet paths through the hairs in his chest, heading ever downward to where his pantaloons sat snug around his waist and drawing Sybille’s gaze. All too soon, it seemed to Sybille, Thom swiped the linen over his midriff and patted himself dry.

  “Yet,” he said as he rubbed the towel over his hair. “However it’s in your hands to change the status quo. And incorporate me into the winning team.”

  “I’m not marrying you just so you can play cricket for us,” Sybille said indignantly. “What on earth do you think I am?”

  “Perfect for me,” Thom replied as he took back his shirt and put it on. “And you’re not even sure if you’re going to marry me anyway, are you?” he asked shrewdly. “Even if your parents were told we are betrothed. Although I suspect they know you well enough to understand your ‘with qualifications’ are, in your mind, well founded and render your promise non-binding.” He tucked his shirt into his pantaloons. “I need to go inside and get our repast. I won’t be long.”

  He strode, long legged across the yard to a green painted door and disappeared.

  Sybille looked around with interest as she got her first chance to really take in her surroundings. The yard was neat and well cared for, with no weeds growing through the cobbles. The trim over the stables was freshly painted and the house behind her looked warm and welcoming. She itched to go inside to explore.

  However, Thom appeared almost immediately, detoured to the phaeton and rejoined her. “Ready?”

  “Yes.” But for what?

  “Let’s go. Oh you might need this, the sun is hot.” He plonked her bonnet on her head.

  Sybille tied the ribbons loosely, so it slid down her back. “If I do I’ll put it on, for now, I want to enjoy that warmth. It seems so very much nicer than in town. Fresher, more uplifting.”

  He nodded. “Less soot and unpleasant aromas. Here it’s cattle and fresh manure. In town, well, sometimes you wonder.”

  “True, so I intend to savor it. Which way?”

  Thom pointed to the corner of the yard, where the cobbles stopped and a grassy track began. “Through there. It’s only a few minutes’ walk to our destination.”

  It was oh so hard not to bombard him with questions. The only way Sybille managed not to do so, was to nod, let him take her hand and bite her lip on her questioning. It could come later.

  Chapter Fifteen

  It seemed as if all the gods had smiled down on him and granted him this one perfect day to make his bid for her allegiance. Here in the countryside with the sun beating down on them, and no worries about prying eyes, he noticed Sybille visibly relax. It brought home to him how worried she was about everything. Bankfoot, the pearls—him. Sadly he couldn’t leave any of the subjects alone. They all needed attending to and soon. However for the next few hours he could focus on something else, something she wanted. Or he hoped she still did.

  To become his. Strange that the rest of his life rested on how he would perform and reassure her they meshed. That their love life would be good, get better, and enhance their married life. Even stranger was the fact he was beginning the attempt before they were wed. If that tasty tidbit of information became general knowledge the gossipmongers would have a field day.

  “Oh, how gorgeous. Is that where we are headed?” Sybille tightened her grip on his arm and pointed ahead with her free hand. “Is it a folly?”

  “It is.” I hope what we’re about to do is not. “Built as a retreat for the lady of the house to follow her pastimes. She was said to enjoy sketching.” They had reached the entrance to the octagonal stone building with its wide windows and grassy lawn. To one side, a copse of trees sheltered it from any wind, to the other the ground fell away in a long undulating slope, with a vista of green fields, dotted with cattle, crops and woods. It was a true rural idyllic setting.

  “Well the view is perfect,” Sybille said as he ushered her inside and she went to stand in front of one of the windows.

  He rested his laden basket on the side table put there for the very purpose, and took out a bottle of wine from the ice his housekeeper had thoughtfully provided.

  Thom was grateful the icehouse wasn’t totally depleted. In a warm summer the icehouse of such a small estate would be hard pressed to deliver until the next cold snap. He put the bottle onto the surface, picked up two glasses and waved them in query. She nodded, and he filled the glasses and handed one over to Sybille.

  “As far as I can tell the lady in question didn’t bother overmuch with the view of the countryside.”

  “No?” Sybille raised her eyebrows in query. “How could she not?” She lifted her glass to her lips.

  “She preferred life studies to that of still life.”

  “Life…? Ah…” Sybille spluttered into her glass and giggled. “Any idea whose body was chosen?”

  Thom grinned. “Whichever lover was in favor, I believe. Be warned, the only body you’ll study is mine.”

  He waited as she shook with laughter, swallowed and then boldly looked him over from head to feet.

  “Oh I do hope so.” Her stomach growled and she rolled her eyes. “I think I need to eat.”

  “Not too much, one should never fu…er make love after eating over much. Indigestion is a mood killer if anything is.” He ignored her gasp, which was followed by the most erotic gurgle of laughter and tightened his muscles. His staff was so hard he hoped to hell he didn’t accidentally hit it. There was a good chance it would snap in half if he did. Thom made a mental note to explain to Sybille how she affected him, before he showed her how to address the issue.

  “I’ll be sure to partake sparingly. Just enough not to lose concentration on the matter in hand.”

  He swore she winked.

  “Why not sit?” Thom waved toward the overlarge arm chair to one side of the day bed, both set at an angle so the view could be admired but the occupants not seen from outside—unless you stood right under the window and stared in. As the ground fell away, the peeping tom would need to be a giant.

  “Let me serve you.” He groaned at his double entendre as Sybille sniggered, and then drank some wine.

  “Yes please.” Her inference was clear. She ran her tongue around her lips. “Oh very nice.”

  With every second that passed Thom began to realize how much fun he was having and just how entertaining Sybille was. Now she was back to the normal feisty humorous Sybille he’d fallen in love with, he intended to keep her like that.

  “We’ll have a taster.” He moved across from the table, to where
she stood, plucked her glass from her hand and rested it on the shallow windowsill. She did the erotic tongue swipe again and lowered her lashes in a parody of demureness. “Of?”

  “This.” Thom took hold of one of her hands and rested it over his pantaloon-covered cock. Her fingers tightened on the bulge. When he moved his hand, she kept hers where he’d put it. Tight around his staff.

  “Very nice, my lord. But how do I taste?” She lifted her dark lashes, and her blue eyes gleamed like the sky outside. He was going to have to ask her just what she did to her lashes to get them that enticing shade.

  “That taste is not on today’s menu. This is.” He lowered his head and took the two steps forward to bring her body within inches of his. Her fingers tightened on him, and with her free arm she circled his neck. Interested to see what she would do next, Thom stood passive and waited.

  Sybille stood unmoving for long seconds until, he thought, he’d have to take the initiative. Then she sighed. “Show me how to taste?”

  “Like this.” He moved the last inch until her hand was trapped between them, held her bottom to anchor her and ran his tongue around her lips in the same way she had done to herself earlier. They quivered under his touch, and parted. Thom took advantage and deepened the kiss. Sybille made low, erotic moans and mewls, and circled his tongue with hers.

  Thom broke the kiss and carefully walked her backward until her legs hit the chair. He pushed on her shoulder and winked as she fell back into it. The soft cushions sank as she wriggled and settled into them, and looked up at him as he towered over her.

  “Food for the body or food for the soul?” Her voice was shaky. A bit like he felt.

  “Your choice.”

  “Then please let’s feed our souls? While we can.” Sybille held her hands out in supplication. “Time is passing.”

  It was. Nevertheless, he had no intention of informing her that a lot more had to pass before she was expected back at with her parents’ and he hoped she would enjoy the surprise.