Authors: Raven McAllan
Chapter Eleven
It
was now or never. Sybille accepted her hand was being forced but hadn’t she
decided not to cut off her nose to spite her face?”
“Or
a copy of my betrothal ring,” She said. “With a few provisos, which we will
discuss later.”
Mijo
had half risen and she slumped back into her chair. “Provisos? What, pray?”
“Mijo,”
Theo said. “Do not push your luck. That is something I think we haven’t given
them a chance to discuss.” He stood up and tugged his wife to her feet. It wasn’t
often Theo put his foot down, or spoke in that tone of voice but when he did,
no one defied him—even Mijo.
Mijo
stared at him for a second and then nodded. “Eh bien, we will retire. You—” she
pointed at Thom, “will behave. You—” she turned her finger toward Sybille, “will
sort things out. I want to celebrate.”
“Or
not,” Theo said. “We will abide by your decision and wait to hear what happens
next.” He put his hand over his wife’s mouth. “And bid you goodnight. Don’t keep
her up too late, Thom. I promise you won’t be disturbed for the next hour at
least.”
“The
others?” Sybille asked anxiously. The last thing she wanted was one of her
siblings barging in on them.
“Will
not come into your maman’s sitting room at this time of night. If any of them
venture home before midnight, Stubbs will tell them we have retired. Which, if
my dear wife moves, will be true. Bid them goodnight, my dear.” He towed a
laughing Mijo out of the room, and shut the door behind them.
“My
maman is incorrigible.”
“I’m
beginning to think like mother, like daughter. Are we betrothed or not?”
Sybille bit her lip as she tried to decide how
best to explain her worries. “It really does depend.” She hesitated. “Whether
we are truly compatible. If I marry, I do not want a husband who strays. I want
him to want me, only me, as I will want him.”
“That
is my intention.”
Lord, he sounds so starchy. Well if I have
offended him, so be it. ‘Tis best to know how he reacts to me and my needs now,
than have them ignored later when it may well be too late.
“And,”
Thom said. “I will do my utmost to sort out the mess you are in, whatever you decide.”
“I
didn’t doubt that for one minute.” If there was one thing she was certain of it
was Thom’s integrity. “That is not my problem.”
“Then
what the hell is, woman? I’m tied in knots here, with no idea what you want or
how to help you with it. Tell me in words of one syllable before your maman
happens to need to return for her crochet or something.”
Sybille
burst out laughing. “Never crochet. She wouldn’t have an excuse. She‘d just
come in and demand,
well
? Oh lud
Thom, I’m embarrassed.”
She
swallowed, and took up her hardly touched wine and sipped. The silky smooth
liquid quenched her thirst and gave her courage to continue. She wasn’t a coward
and it had to be said. Thom had risen, and she waved him into his seat once
more. She shook his head.
“Not
until you sit.”
“Ah.”
Within the informality of the room, she’d forgotten his gentlemanly attitude.
She sat, and cogitated for a moment. Beside her Thom sat with his legs
outstretched and sipped his port. As ever, the way he lounged, totally at ease
if you overlooked the slightly wary look in his eyes, set her senses quivering.
The new me, remember.
“Right. How will we know if that
is for us?” Sybille said rapidly before she could lose the courage she’d talked
herself into. “How will we…” She blushed. “Fit?”
To
his credit Thom didn’t show how her words affected him. “As man and woman?”
“Yes,
as well…” She waved her hand vaguely. “When we need to…to… do whatever it is we
have to do.”
Lud, this is difficult.
“I
know as an unmarried lady I‘m not supposed to know of such things let alone
talk of them to a gentleman, but I need to know. Therefore, I suppose I’m no
lady. But I am my mother’s daughter.”
“And
you deserve to know, what exactly? Do you need diagrams?”
****
He
wondered if her face could get any redder.
“You
are a beast.”
He
nodded. “A hungry one. Do you know what those words do to me?” He gestured
toward his cock, which swelled his pantaloons. He could only thank Mijo for
insisting it was not a formal evening and evening breeches wouldn’t be required.
The knit of his pantaloons was much more sympathetic to his burgeoning pego.
She
hesitated and looked anywhere except at him. “Not really.”
“I
want you.” The timbre of his tone, the way his eyes had darkened once more, the
tremor within him as he spoke, all indicated how his senses were reacting to
her innocent question. He wanted to show her there and then. To untie the laces
of her gown, slide the lacy sleeves across her shoulders and down to her elbows
to pinion her arms. Then as her breasts were bared to him, to feast and suckle
and teach Sybille the first stages of passion. Before…
“Thom?
Are you all right? You seem dyspeptic.” Sybille touched his cheek. “You’re
feverish.” She shook her head. “You should be at home in bed.”
Thom
groaned and lifted her hand from his face. “I may well be feverish, but not for
the reason you think.” It was time to tell her just how she affected him. He
hoped she wouldn’t have need of smelling salts. He didn’t relish waking up the
household to tell them he’d caused one of the daughters of the house to pass
out.
Sybille
stared at their linked hands. “I think, my lord, you’re toying with me. It’s
not right.”
Oh grief we’re back to ‘my lord’ again.
“Nor
is calling the man about to introduce you to passion, in that tone of voice.
Thom, please.”
Her
eyes widened, she bit her lips and then smiled. He’d wager she had no idea, but
it was the enticing ‘come to me’ smile of a houri.
“Thom,
please.” Sybille giggled. “I’m not sure what I’m asking but… please.”
“You
do realize we are limited at this moment, don’t you?” He had to warn her. “When
I fill you and take you to be mine, I want time. Time to show you how I can worship
every inch of you. Touch you, taste you, fill you, and make you fly.” He turned
their hands over and kissed her palm. “I want, to be crude, to fuck with you.”
To
her credit, she only blinked, swallowed, went white and then nodded.
“Then
do it.”
It
was his turn to blink, swallow, he hoped not go white, and sadly shake his
head.
“By
my reckoning we have less than an hour in private, it isn’t long enough.”
“N…not
long enough?” Sybille sounded puzzled. “I thought… no… never mind. Why is it
not?”
“When
we make love, I intend to show you everything. To worship your body and let you
worship mine. To explore each other so thoroughly there won’t be once inch of
each other we don’t know intimately. When I finally come in you, you’ll be oh
so ready. That is my oath, Sybille, but until we have that much time, all we
can do is play a little.” Very deliberately he stood up, unwound his cravat and
set it over the back of a chair. Then he opened his jacket and waistcoat and
shrugged out of them. “How much we play is up to you.”
He
waited, barely able to contain his impatience while she assimilated his
remarks. He had no hope she’d say no, and little she’d agree to whatever he
chose without some input.
Thom
was correct.
“How?
Where? Show me.” Her words tumbled over each other. “Who says? Can we? What
should…” She put her hands on his shoulders and swayed on her toes.
He
shut her up in the only way he thought might work. Thom put his fingers over
her mouth, ignored her outraged “oufft,” and replaced his digits with his mouth.
“Sweet
Sybille, open your mouth and let me in.” Thom mumbled the words as he used his
tongue to pry her lips open, and put his hands on her nicely rounded bottom to
pull her close.
His
erection pressed into her belly. Her hold on his shoulders tightened to the
point of pain and she gasped and stiffened. Thom took advantage and deepened
the kiss. To his delight, after one second of what he assumed was deliberation,
she responded and let her tongue trace his. Even through the fine lawn of his
shirt and the silk of her dress, her nipples were hard against his chest. He
let his emotions take over, and enjoyed her. Her fingers fumbling with his
shirt brought him back to reality.
Not now. No time.
How he wished there was.
Thom
softened the kiss, reluctantly ended it and put a little distance between their
bodies. He used one hand on her shoulder to hold Sybille where he put her, as
she swayed toward him again. However he didn’t move either of his hands and
continued his gentle caress of her rear. It was agony not to do as he wanted
and bury his face in her breasts and feast on the soft flesh. Then suck and nip
the hard nubs until she made those enticing moans and groans only an aroused
woman could. Then move lower…
Sybille
looked up at him with cloudy eyes and flushed cheeks. Her rosy lips were parted
and she snaked her tongue out to swipe at their contours. Then she shook her
head and closed her mouth again.
“No?”
She
nodded.
“Yes?”
“No,
yes, must we stop?” Sybille laughed shakily. “My body aches. All of it, not
just—” She stopped talking abruptly.
“Not
just?” Thom prompted her.
“The
bits I thought might ache when we… you… I… touched them,” she said in a rush.
Thom
chuckled. “You’ll find out later.”
“That’s
the problem.”
Sybille pushed back and
stated at his face. “When?”
“Sybille,
it’s not that easy. You live in your parents’ house. I can’t take you to my
home, you know as well as I that the ton has eyes and ears everywhere. And, as
you have not yet agreed to wed me, I cannot bed you.”
Well
he could, and hoped he’d get the chance, but he had no intention of telling
Sybille that. He’d prefer her to agree to their betrothal. Thom had little hope
that she considered her not so enthusiastic yes of earlier as binding.
“Rubbish.
You’re a…” she hesitated and changed her phraseology, “were a rake. Rakes have
love nests tucked away somewhere. Take me there. Unless of course it’s still
occupied?”
Chapter Twelve
Sybille
wished she had a gift for drawing. If she had, it would have been oh so perfect
to capture his astonished expression. It wasn’t often she thought she could
stun Thom to silence but this time it seemed she had succeeded. She gave up a
mental prayer of thanks for the fact she’d overheard two rather fast members of
the ton discussing my Lord Jeavons’s love nest, and wondering what it was like.
The best part of her eavesdropping was to hear them both sigh and bewail the
fact that it seemed he no longer approached anyone to join him there.
She
contained her impatience and looked at him with an outwardly calm demeanor. Inside
she was anything
but
calm. It
mattered that he agreed. She might not enjoy it, although if it made her tingle
the way his kisses did, what wasn’t there to enjoy? And if it was pleasurable,
all the better. Sybille knew she’d have to marry one day. It was expected, and
even if her parents didn’t pressure her, their circumstances meant she couldn’t
allow herself to be a burden on the family coffers forever. Plus, Thom was the
only man to even make her heartbeat increase let alone pulsate so erratically.
But
oh how she needed to know what he wanted from her, and whether she had enough
about her to ensure that if they did marry he wouldn’t stray. She had no
intention of telling him she looked on him favorably, not yet. She may have
agreed they were betrothed but she knew Thom would understand what she meant
by, ‘with proviso.’
“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.”