But Sybil didn’t smile. “Araminta told you she loves you?”
Stephen nodded, not sure why her mouth was trembling until, withdrawing her hands from his grasp to cup her cheeks she cried, “In that case what we are doing is outrageous. If Araminta truly loves you we must do all in our power to persuade her to give up this foolish notion of marrying Edgar merely to become mistress of this pile of old stones.”
Abruptly she turned on her heel, ignoring his pleas to return, not even raising her hand to acknowledge them.
Stephen stood in the glade, wretched, and watched her proud, stiff exit, desperately hoping it was not forever.
* * * * *
During dinner Sybil watched Araminta with covert suspicion. There was a hectic flush to the girl’s cheeks and she seemed to have lost her appetite. Of course, Humphry would not notice that the servants removed her untouched plate after each course. But a mother deeply concerned with the happiness of her daughter would.
And clearly Araminta was...well, as wretched as she was.
She glanced at Edgar, who sat between Araminta and Hetty, attacking his beef with gusto, talking about his hunting exploits with his mouth full. Then at Stephen on the opposite side of the table. So far he’d said nothing the entire meal.
Humphry, misinterpreting Stephen’s silence perhaps for preoccupation with his uncertain prospects following the house party that would signal his departure, said, “I’ve contacts in the Foreign Office, Stephen, which might be useful. You’re a bright young man. If you could distinguish yourself there—”
“You’re very kind, my lord. I shall leave you a forwarding address.”
His words sent a pain like a lance through Sybil’s heart. Suddenly it all seemed so final. The image of Araminta locked in his embrace caused another wave of anguish. She shifted in her seat, her hands going to the napkin that slid from her lap. Surreptitiously she contoured her belly. What if Stephen had already planted the seed that would oust Edgar from his position, yet what if Araminta, in relinquishing Edgar, left Edgar free for Hetty?
Oh God. She licked dry lips. It was still possible that Hetty might make a match with Edgar, whom she truly loved. And if Sybil were with child, she’d have then denied Hetty the chance to become mistress of the Grange. Instead, Hetty would be living with Edgar in decidedly more modest lodgings.
“My dear, are you all right?”
It was unusual for Humphry to be so solicitous. She raised her anguished eyes to his and nodded. He really had been much kinder to her lately. More thoughtful.
He reached across to pat her hand and she froze. Humphry never touched her. Never engaged in physical affection of any sort. His mistress had been gone a few days, however. Perhaps Humphry would, in fact, come to Sybil’s room that night. Or the next. Perhaps he really could transcend his aversion for physical relations with her in order to sire the next heir.
The rightful heir.
Everyone was looking at her. Curious, concerned, confused by her odd behavior. Sybil generally smiled through any pain.
“I...I’m afraid I’m not feeling myself,” she said, preparing for the first time in her life to quit her position as mistress of the dinner table pleading ill health.
“Don’t go yet, Mama.” It was Araminta, putting down her knife and fork and looking at her with an expression of odd defiance and sudden determination.
A ghastly premonition visited Sybil. She caught her breath.
Araminta squared her shoulders and looked around the table, her gestures indicating that what she was about to say was of the greatest importance. Sybil didn’t miss the almost petulant tilt to her chin as her gaze rested briefly on Stephen.
“Mama...Papa...everyone—”
Sybil drew in her breath in an audible gasp, drawing attention away from Araminta, her mind racing but not fast enough to keep up with her mouth. For the words spilled out before she had time to process the good sense in saying,
“The reason I am feeling unwell is...” She gulped in air and tried a new tack. “Doctor Marsh was here this morning and I am very happy to announce, everyone, that he has confirmed what I have long suspected. I am to have a child.”
Her announcement was greeted by stunned silence. This was not a simple instance of the patter of tiny feet a few months hence. This had ramifications for everyone. Oh, she knew it very well.
Which was why everyone was lost for words except Hetty who did not factor in ramifications in her simple pleasure at what most people would consider a joyous occasion.
“Oh Mama, so that’s why you’re not yourself! I’ve been watching you all through dinner.” If she thought it a most singularly odd manner in which to drop such a bombshell she did not say it.
Gathering her wits, Sybil forced a smile at Araminta. “I’m sorry to cut you off like that, Araminta, dear. What was it you were going to tell us?”
She noticed that Edgar had gone white around the gills and that his grasping fingers were rejected by Araminta, who all but croaked, “It was nothing, Mama.” She looked for a moment as if she were about to be ill. “Congratulations to you and Papa on this...astonishing news.”
* * * * *
Sybil excused herself as quickly as she could and was not surprised to be visited by her husband a short while later, his expression unreadable, though his voice shook.
“You are with child, Sybil?” He stood over her as she reclined upon the chaise longue, a flannel across her brow, which her maid had dampened for her.
Wearily Sybil raised her hand to prevent him saying anything more. “Humphry, I’m sorry for lying. Dr. Marsh didn’t visit but I simply had to say something to stop Araminta blurting out in front of everyone that she and Edgar were betrothed.”
She had her eyes closed and when the silence continued, opened them, shocked as Humphry let out the first genuine guffaw she’d heard since they’d been married.
“Oh, my dear girl,” he laughed, wiping the tears from his eyes as he sat beside her, putting his arm about her. “That was inspired! Did you see Edgar’s expression? Oh, Lord, what a picture! Young Stephen dealt with the hobbling of his ambition with a great deal more dignity than that young ninnyhammer. Hoisted on his own petard, eh wot? If what you said were true it’d be rusticating in the Cotswolds for young Edgar, who’s no doubt been rubbing his hands the past four years at the thought of taking on all this.” He made a sweeping gesture before hugging Sybil again.
Sybil, acutely aware of the rare sensation of Humphry’s arm about her, held her breath, hoping to ward off the plethora of extraordinary mixed feelings that consumed her in this unprecedented moment of comradeship with her husband of twenty years.
Was that desire for him that churned in her lower belly? She intercepted his familiar, uncomplicated smile.
No. It was hard to desire a man who’d shackled her to an emotional wasteland for all her adult life.
But there was gratitude for his kindness and pride in having impressed him.
Kindness? She nearly choked on the bile of injured self-respect. She was a grown woman, not a fawning puppy dog who’d do anything for a kind word from her master.
Tempering her thoughts, she acknowledged her duty. He was her husband, she was fond of him, she’d actively tried to entice him into her bed for years. Now it appeared that tonight’s charade had made him more conscious than he’d ever been of the need for an heir to displace Edgar. Furthermore, with Lizzy Hazlett gone more than a week, it was possible he mightn’t find the idea of conjugal relations with Sybil quite as unpalatable as before.
The trouble was... The trouble was...
She put a hand to her heart and closed her eyes upon the image of Stephen gazing into her eyes, pushing back the distinctive, light-blond cowlick she loved to twine around her finger.
Oh God, what had she done?
The sound of footsteps in the passage caused Humphry to rise.
“Enjoy your rest, my dear.” His expression was enigmatic and he grasped her shoulder and gav
e it a squeeze, his eyes glowing with hidden meaning as he added, “Your inspiration has filled me with inspiration of my own, my love. And pushed me into a greater understanding of my duty.”
Chapter Ten
Your inspiration has filled me with inspiration of my own, my love. And pushed me into a greater understanding of my duty.
Sybil lay silent and tortured in the darkness of her lonely bedchamber. Humphry had visited her here on the rarest of occasions. This was the scene of her greatest humiliations. Never more acutely did she understand her failure as a wife than beneath the covers of the large, empty bed that cocooned her restless body.
When the discreet scratching at the door was followed by the spill of light across the carpet, she turned on her side to face the opposite wall, trembling with a despairing resignation that was almost painful.
Light footsteps sounded. She squeezed shut her eyes and fisted her hands as the mattress dipped. This was followed by the touch of a hand, light and tentative.
Not belonging to Humphry. She would know Stephen if she were bound and blindfolded. The gentle pressure of his lover’s touch and the bergamot and equine smell of his strong young body never failed to thrill and delight her.
“My lady, I know you’re angry with me but hear me out before you send me away.”
“Stephen! You mustn’t be here!” Sybil jerked into a sitting position as he reached for her hand. He’d placed his candle on the chest of drawers and in the glow he looked earnest and desperately young.
Her heart beat erratically and despite herself she gripped his hand.
“I’m not angry, Stephen.” She wasn’t, either. Just filled with a deep sadness that everything they’d shared had been reduced to dust by the latest developments. She’d joined herself with Stephen through duty. Now she must rend herself asunder—and apart from him—through duty. She squeezed his hand. “I believe everything you said about you and Araminta. Nor am I jealous.” She lowered her eyes and added painfully, “Though I wish I were twenty years younger and free to marry—like her.”
“For then you’d marry me!” In a burst of feeling, Stephen leapt athletically across the bed and took her into his arms.
Despite the answering passion in her breast, Sybil held him at bay, unclasping his hands, which bound her tightly to his chest, but holding them in hers as she gently chafed them, staring into his confused and troubled eyes.
He shook his head and she longed to smooth away his troubled frown as he said slowly, “If you’re not angry with me then what must I do to convince you that what we have together is pure and good and right?” He put his head on one side, his expression quizzical. “I feel nothing for Araminta. I’ve told you more than once I would not marry her, even if she has no mind to wed Edgar following your decidedly extraordinary announcement. But Sybil, now that you’ve said you’re with child, it’s your duty to follow through.” His eagerness grew as he slipped out one of his hands to stroke her arms, her breast. He cupped her face. “I have two more days here. We must make the most of every opportunity.”
She let him touch her, allowed him to whip up the deepest passions only he could evoke, knowing she should push him away. But the warmth of his caring touch was so welcome after so many cold, loveless years. She acknowledged her love for him was forbidden but surely she could bask in his fleeting caress?
Closing her eyes, his lips on hers, she wondered how he would think of her when he returned to his old life and made his own way in the world, surrounded by fresh, beautiful young women. Would he be horrified? She doubted he’d be indiscreet. He had integrity and was certainly too fond of her and aware of the potential danger of a misplaced remark to cause harm to her reputation. No, he was simply a young man enjoying the novelty of an older woman who, for her own reasons, had offered him unfettered access to her body—for what that was worth.
With an effort that tested the utmost limits of her self-control, she pushed him away. “Stephen, we cannot do this anymore.”
Oh God, how she hated the finality of those words. His disappointment as his hands dropped away cut deep. Of course he was disappointed. What libidinous young man wouldn’t be disappointed at the withdrawal of sexual relations?
Forcing herself to sound strong, she said, “Humphry’s interest appears to have been aroused once more by the prospect of siring his own heir.”
Stephen’s face fell.
Sybil swallowed. “You’re a wonderful lover, Stephen. You’ve been very kind—” “Kind!” The explosiveness of his words suggested she’d just delivered the greatest of insults.
Suddenly she was once more pinioned against his chest, his mouth working in anger—for she could feel it against her cheek, which was pressed beneath his chin—as he ground out, “Kindness had nothing to do with everything we’ve had together. Sybil! Don’t you understand? I want you. You! I’m not here because of some perverse pleasure in siring the next heir to this...this pile of stones. Not because of the free sex. I’m here because of you! I love you, Sybil. Not anyone else, and I want you.”
Despite the comfort of his words, she tensed as he stroked her breast, unleashing once again the carnal desires she thought she’d successfully reined in. The carnal desires she dare not act upon. Hot wanting curdled in her lower belly and she squirmed at the rush of moisture between her legs.
“And you want me,” he whispered, his mouth barely moving against hers. “Otherwise your body would not respond to me like this.”
She moved into him, despite herself.
“Humphry will be visiting me tonight.”
Stephen registered her words in silence, still gently cradling her breast.
Slowly, thoughtfully, he conceded, “It’s Humphry’s right to sire his own heir.” He drew in a labored breath. “But if he refuses to give you what is your right...if he cannot take the trouble to bring you pleasure in the process, then I can do that very nicely.” He kissed her earlobe, his fingers plucking at the ribbon that tied her night rail as his voice gained force. “Without putting you in any danger of conceiving a child.” He paused, adding in a tone both proud and vulnerable, “Unless you wish to end...everything...now.”
“Stephen, I—” Her sentence was truncated on a groan as Stephen’s hand skimmed her inner thigh.
“So you do want me.”
She almost laughed in a burst of abandoned joy at his near-adolescent satisfaction as he dipped his fingers into her moisture, withdrawing them and presenting them to her in the glow of the candlelight as if it were proof.
His grin broadened, he drew himself up like a proud young buck. Then, whisking her onto his lap, he slid a finger inside her once more and began to massage the slick nub of her sex.
“Stephen, please!” she gasped, jerking at the wicked sensations.
His mouth was on her earlobe, his breath warm as he kissed her, sending spirals of desire skimming through her nerve endings. She clutched at him, even as she wanted to push him away. Needed to.
“Please?” he echoed, almost wickedly as he pulled briefly away from the kiss. “You want more? I knew I could make you want me.”
“That’s never been in any doubt,” she gasped as she arched against him, her breath shortening as she fisted her hands in his light curls.
“And this is to show how much I want you to really want me.” It came out as a strangled whisper. “Even if now is the last time we’re ever alone.”
She felt his thighs slide from beneath her. Felt herself positioned on the bed, her knees pushed apart, her nightdress rucked up to her thighs.
His face, which had been by her earlobe, was now between her legs, his mouth burning her flesh as he trailed hot kisses upward. Higher, he went while she squirmed in both pleasure and alarm. She must stop him. She must. The sensations were too wicked, the tension within her building dangerously. This clandestine meeting with Stephen was meant to be her moment to assert control.
To put a stop to the dangerous currents that threatened to rip her from her safe a
lbeit passionless existence.
Instead, something inside her burst into renewed life as his tongue flicked across her entrance and his fingers intensified their rhythmic pleasuring. Electricity shot to her extremities, her whole body snapping into tense awareness.
“Stephen, I—”
He ignored her strangled gasp. She tried again, the words truncated on a feeble croak while his sighs of pleasure as he feasted on her mingled with her short, sharp, increasingly desperate breaths.
She gasped again, a deeper, more desperate sound. And bucked again as his tongue swept her, explored her, penetrated her, his concentration focused only on pleasuring her.
“Stephen—” She barely knew what she meant to say. Her control was slipping, even as she uttered his name. The pressure was almost too great to bear. Painful. She was connected to safety by the merest thread. She fought to reel herself in. Fought to regain her equilibrium. “Oh Stephen!”
Again he ignored her, the final sweep of his tongue her undoing.
Sensation exploded within her, violent pleasure swamping her in waves so intense it was all she could do to stop herself from crying out as her body convulsed in great shudders that rocked her to the core.
To the depths of her soul.
She realized she must have been beyond rational thought, beyond consciousness of the present, for the sound of her name penetrated as if he’d been saying it for some time.
“Sybil? Sybil?” He was lying beside her, still fully clad in his evening clothes, his cheek against hers as he stroked her cheek. “Did you enjoy that?” he whispered, twisting his head.
Weakly, she nodded, and he grinned, nibbling her earlobe. “If I’m not needed to sire an heir I hope you’ll call on me for my services in this department any time you wish, Lady Partington.”
“Oh Stephen...” She laughed softly. “You are wicked. See what you have reduced me to? I can barely move. What will I do when you are gone?”
“Find ways and means to meet, of course,” he said, as if he really believed it. She rose up on her elbows and gently kissed him.
Her Gilded Prison (Daughters of Sin Book 1) Page 12
