Sybille's Lord (3 page)

“Of
course we do,” Mijo replied. “And, now can we avail ourselves of your company?”

“But
of course, and to show I’m not a roué, or a cad, or any other word Arthur might
now think to bandy about and sully my reputation even more in your eyes, I will
graciously allow him to escort you, and I’ll escort Lady Sybille.”

“Of
course you will.” Mijo nodded. “Via the park I think? As it is such a beautiful
day.” She unfurled her parasol, took Arthur’s arm and walked along the street.
Her light laugh floated back to Sybille. She shook her head. Her maman would
never change.

“Shall
we?” Thom took hold of her hand and kissed her fingers. The shock waves of his
touch travelled through her, so fast she had to force herself not to sway
toward him. “Come on.”

Sybille
stared at Thom. “And that is you being gracious? I hope I never see you in the
reverse.”

Thom
slid her arm through his and tucked her hand between them. “You won’t. Now,
what’s wrong and why are you so wary of Bankfoot? We all know he’s a cad, but
how does it involve you?”

Sybille
thought rapidly. This was not panning out as she’d anticipated. She stared at
Arthur’s back, willing him to turn around. He of course didn’t, and continued
on his way chatting to Mijo.

Damn it, I need Arthur’s help here.
I’m not ready.

“Have
you been busy all day, my lord?”

Chapter Three

Why
was she looking at him so strangely? Thom noticed the tremble that shivered
over her skin—like the ripples on the waters of the Serpentine when the breeze
caught it—and the way her hand tightened on his arm. As he watched and waited she
bit her lips, making them a rosy, and kissable target. What on earth was wrong?
Surely Mijo hadn’t told her of his interest? Even Thom knew that was a sure way
to put the back up of any Birch. Mijo had promised to keep his intentions to
herself, and make sure no obstacles were put in his way. Hence attaching
herself to Arthur.

He
could have sworn Sybille looked relieved to see him, and enjoyed watching
Bankfoot bested. Now though, she seemed distinctly nervous. And her query was
strange in itself. Or was it?

“I
left straight after breakfast to go to spar at Jackson’s. Yes, I know, a nasty
brutish sport, but we gentlemen have strange tastes.”

She
half smiled and he pressed on. “It’s a way to occupy our pea-brains until we
can escort a beautiful young lady.”

“That,
my lord, is doing it a bit brown,” Sybille said. “I accept I’m no antidote, but
neither am I beautiful. Cecily is the beauty of the family. Marielle and I are
passable.”

“More
than passable, don’t sell yourself short, my dear. So why did you want to know
what my day had involved? I assure you no opera singers are part of my life
anymore. I’m much more discerning than that now.”

“You
are?” There was a definite note of query in her tone.

“Oh
yes,” Thom said with a snap. “I’m here with you.”

She
stopped stock still and turned to face him. “Elucidate.”

“Walk,
or we will attract all sorts of unwarranted attention.” Thom urged her forward
with a slight tap on her rear. One no one would see and Sybille could accept or
ignore easily. “Sally Jersey is in her barouche, near the park gates, with Emily
Cowper. Do you think Sally is called ‘Silence’ because she keeps her mouth
shut?” It was of course the opposite. Lady Jersey was renowned for her love of
gossip.

“Hmm.”
However Sybille allowed him to propel her onward so they were within a
respectable, and acceptable distance of Mijo and Arthur. “I need to talk to
you.”

He’d
wondered if she’d bring the matter of the letter up. It was perhaps cruel, but
it was why he’d deliberately not admitted to receiving it. Any move had to come
from her. He’d gambled on piquing her interest. He hoped this meant he had.

“You
do? When?”

“As
soon as possible.” Sybille sighed. “I have to endure the Almack’s torture this
evening. I don’t suppose?” She looked up at him with hope in her expression.

He
let the silence lengthen until they were almost upon Lady Jersey. She waved
them over to where Arthur and Mijo were already conversing with the occupants
of the barouche.

“You
don’t suppose?” he prompted her.

“You
could bear to be there as well?”

“I
could, but there is nowhere we could converse in private.”

“I
know, but if you could just
be
there,
and be attentive you would be doing me a great service.”

I would? Why, I wonder
? He hated to hear the pleading
note in her voice.

“Why?”

“I
can’t tell you. Not here.”

Thom
swore he saw a sheen of tears in her eyes. He was lost and drowning. “I’ll be
there.”

****

By
the time he arrived at Almack’s with a still grumbling Arthur in tow, he judged
Mijo and whichever children she coerced to attend would already be there. He
wanted to see just what Sybille was worried about.

“Over
by the long windows,” Arthur said as they progressed across the room. “Near
that bloody Bankfoot. Why has he suddenly begun to get underfoot?”

“I
don’t know,” Thom said. “My sister Eleanor likened him to a worm. We can of
course, can, and will do if necessary, stamp on worms and make sure they do not
regrow.”

“Indeed.”
Arthur was silent for a second. “How is Eleanor?”

To
Thom, the other man’s voice was studiously casual. “Still in Scotland, still a
widow, still determined not to return south. Why do you ask?”

“Oh
no reason, just being friendly and all that.”

Thom
nodded and filed away Arthur’s interest for future reference. Eleanor, his younger
sister, had made a love match at twenty to a Scottish peer, who sadly had
passed away a year previously. No pleading had enticed her back to England. Her
home, she stated firmly, was at Finbuck. As her husband’s designated person to
watch over the estate—his deceased brother’s son—had not yet reached his
majority, Eleanor had told Thom she was happy to manage the estate until Fergie
was able to. Therefore he had no option but to leave the status quo as it was.
Eleanor had her own fortune, and was well able to look after herself.

They
reached their prey. Sybille looked at him, entreaty uppermost in her
expression.

“So,
Bankfoot, we meet again.” Thom’s voice was ugly. “I wonder why?”

“Lady
Sybille was about to dance the waltz with me,” Bankfoot stated. “Weren’t you,
my lady?” He took her arm and Sybille winced. His fingers were pressed on hers
so tightly they were white and Thom could see red marks develop where the man
touched.

Sybille
shook her head. “I…”

“Am
promised to me,” Thom said smoothly. “Really, Bankfoot, you must give a lady a
chance to answer, and accept it, be it to your taste or not.” He plucked
Bankfoot’s hand from Sybille’s arm with a grip that was intended to hurt. Bankfoot’s
lips curled back in a snarl.

“Careful,
Cornelius.” Thom knew the other man hated his given name. “Remember where we
are.”

“Remember
who I am,” Bankfoot hissed. “How dare you?”

“Dare
I what? Speak to you of your behavior? Why not when it needs addressing? And
you remember who I am. Your father may be of equal rank to me, but you so far
are not.” He smiled at Sybille who had been watching the exchange with worried
eyes. “Shall we?” He took her hand.

Bankfoot
took a step towards him, and Arthur moved. No one ever expected much of the
normally quiet and unassuming man. However, as anyone who crossed him knew, he
had a steely spine, and a determination for justice to be done at all times.
You crossed him at your peril. “I wouldn’t if I were you,” Arthur said quietly.
“You have only just returned to the ton after your sojourn abroad. I’m about to
give you the benefit of the doubt and let you claim you might not have
remembered how things are done. I’m sure you’d prefer a few hints from us rather
than expulsion from others. Eh?” He smote Bankfoot so hard on the back that
Bankfoot staggered.

“Damn
you,” Bankfoot said in a furious voice. “Damn you both to hell.”

“Very
likely,” Thom said. “But at least we’ll go there knowing it was for the very
best of reasons.” He urged Sybille toward the dance floor. “We should move or
the music will stop before we start. And that would be a pity, especially as I
know your maman is feeling unwell and wants to leave immediately after it.”

Sybille
blinked and opened her mouth. As he couldn’t stop her from speaking in the way
he would prefer—with a kiss—he nipped the skin on her forearm.

****

Sybille
jumped. “Wh…” The look in his eyes stopped her mid-word. “Ah yes, it’s so good
of her to hold back long enough for us to enjoy our dance.”

He
nodded his approval of her words and she wondered what on earth was going on.
Mijo hadn’t mentioned a headache. In fact she’d told Sybille to interact and
look as if she was enjoying herself. However, that was before Sybille had been
accosted by Bankfoot. So many machinations.

She
sighed and Thom glanced at her with a warning look. “Just smile, enjoy the waltz,
and get ready to make your oh so sorrowful farewells. After all, who in their
right mind would want to leave such delightful entertainment early,” he said in
a droll voice. “Such a shame, but of course I will undertake to escort you and
your maman home.”

“So
kind of you.” Sybille stopped talking as he spun her around the end of the
room, and they retraced their progress back toward Mijo and Arthur. At a quick
glance, she was thankful Bankfoot was nowhere to be seen. She loved to waltz
even if she didn’t like the crushes she had to endure to get the enjoyment of
the dance.

“Oh
it is. I am.”

Sybille
had no idea what he meant. “Pardon?”

“Kind.”
Thom elaborated. “I am kind. Now I believe you need to talk to me?”

“Oh
yes, but, where?” They both knew Almack’s or in the coach on the way home wasn’t
the time or the place.

“Can
you leave the window of your bedchamber open? You are still in the room at the
end of the corridor?”

“Yes,
but.” She stopped speaking abruptly as the music ceased and Thom bowed.

Why, oh why, am I acting like a milksop
maiden? I used to have more backbone. It best grow again soon.

Sybille
curtsied, her mind elsewhere. How did he know which room was hers, and how on
earth would he access it? She blushed at the thought of having a man, especially
such a handsome man, and one who made her heart beat so irregularly, in her
room. How could she stay dressed and not alarm her maid? How could she be
undressed and not alarm herself—or embarrass either of them? How mortifying if
her attraction to him showed and he didn’t reciprocate.

He wants to marry me, but that
means no more than he thinks I’m fit for purpose.
 
What if he sees me as merely a vessel for the
continuation of his line?
I couldn’t bear that.

“Leave
the worrying to me, just open the shutters and unlatch the window once your
maid has left.” Thom’s lips hardly moved as he spoke. They had reached Mijo and
Arthur, who both, Sybille noted, looked relieved to be at the door and about to
escape. Mijo, Sybille realized was acting her head off and enjoying it. As her
papa had left for Devon earlier that day, he was not there to give her ‘the
look’, the one that made her fun loving maman calm down. Although as Theo said,
if Mijo hadn’t had any acting talent, she would never have escaped Madame La
Guillotine, and reached England, thence to marry Theo and bear him six
children.

“Ma
cherie, I am so sorry.” Mijo winked briefly so only Sybille could see. “My
head, it is throbbing. Do you mind if we leave?”

“Not
at all,” Sybille said promptly. Too promptly if the warning look Mijo shot her
was anything to go by. “It is,” she added in a mournful tone, “sad, but I
understand.”

“You
are a dutiful daughter.” Princess Lieven, one of the patronesses, had
approached them without Sybille realizing. It was lucky Mijo had, and therefore
signaled a warning for her daughter to beware. Sybille curtsied.

“I
try, Madame, although I’m sure Maman would say I don’t always succeed.”

“Not
at all,” Mijo replied. “You are always dutiful.” Sybille heard the unspoken
words,
“if not dutiful to me,”
echo
around in her mind.

The
carriage arrived and luckily put a halt to any conversation and the chance
Sybille might say the wrong thing. What with fretting about the outcome of her
missive, Thom’s intended visit, and Bankfoot’s unwanted, and indeed worrying
attention, Sybille thought it should be her with the headache, not her mother. She
was never more pleased to sink onto the padded squab of their town carriage
next to Mijo and watch Arthur and Thom settle themselves opposite.

Mijo
sighed, and winced. Sybille narrowed her eyes. “Maman, how bad is your head?”

“Bad
enough to want to lie down in a darkened room. And you do not inform your papa.
He will hear about it when he returns, of that I have no doubt.”

Sybille
looked involuntarily toward Thom, who nodded.

“If
you say so, Maman. As long as you promise me to take a powder.”

“Of
course. Ah we arrive.” Mijo allowed Arthur to help her out and waited as Thom
performed the same service for Sybille.

“My
thanks, gentlemen. Do you need the carriage to take you to your destination?”

Thom
shook his head. “We’ll walk, it will blow the Almack’s cobwebs away.”

He
barely glanced at Sybille, but she knew his next words were directed at her. “Until
we meet again, ladies. Hopefully it won’t be long.”