ENSLAVED BY SHIFTERS

by Astrid Lee Donovan

  1

  A rare but welcome beam of London sunshine flowed free through the crystalline panes of Cybele’s carriage window, further enhancing the cheery mood of the relaxed, reclining noblewoman.

  It wasn’t often, Lady Cybele reflected, that the rubenesque 24-year-old easily could be classified as relaxed or retiring. On a regular basis she worked her days away as a copy editor at her parents’ publishing company in Birmingham, England; one of the few lasses in Queen Victoria’s England, or so she’d been told, who insisted on taking an active role in her family’s generations old business.

  “Oh I don’t know,” she often jested in return, “I consider Queen Victoria herself to be a stellar example of a lass who works and thrives in her family business.”

  Even so, she had to admit that she greatly enjoyed her work; a lifelong reader and lover of tales well told, she cherished every day devoted to the selection and editing of manuscripts that someday would take the form of elegant bound books; beautiful tomes that bore the signature stamp of Carrington Press, her family’s imprint, and shipped to bookstores throughout Europe and around the world.

  Yet even overly obsessed wordsmiths needed a day off, once in a while. And it was with great relish that Lady Cybele looked forward to an entire weekend away; her first to be enjoyed on her own, without the presence of her parents or even a chaperone.

  “Of course, it is not considered seemly for an unmarried miss to vacation by herself—but after conking my Da atop the head and persuading Mother to put down the bayonet, I finally managed to escape our homestead,” she mused in jest, bracing herself as her ‘vehicle of escape’ hit a rough patch on the cobblestone road that lead to London proper.

  Actually, all that she’d really had to do was assure her doting parents that she would be in good hands for the duration of her trip; a respite set to be spent at Magnolia Resort; a lovely and very upscale vacation spot where her family maintained a suite of rooms for the purpose of such getaways.

  Cybele grinned as she contemplated the fragrant gardens and stylish, classically designed suites found on the grounds of the Magnolia Resort; her grin broadening as she contemplated the gentleman who owned this deluxe establishment; one open only to families of the Ton, the finest in all of Great Britain.

  Himself the son of an elite lineage that thrived and specialized in the tourist industry, Lord Colton Jones was also a handsome gent with thick dark hair, midnight black eyes and a firm if slender frame; a body often clad in the finest silk suits, tailor made for him in London town.

  “I believe, in fact, that we just might share a tailor,” she mused, taking a quick glance down the length of the azure silk day dress that fit and flattered her full-figured form.

  And that wasn’t all she desired to share with the charming, genial 30-year-old; one that she’d had quite the crush on since the two had met 10 years ago.

  “We were just children at play then, sharing the fun of his family resort—who knew that we both would go on to play a major role in the running of our family’s businesses?” she mused, adding with a rarely released girlish giggle, “We really do have so very much in common. And perhaps now that I’ve come on my own to patronize his resort, he might feel emboldened to ask me to dinner.”

  Furthermore, she pondered, he might even find cause to ask her to dance with him this evening, at the Friday night social that always kicked off the weekend at the Magnolia Resort.

  Throwing her head back against the blue velvet cushion that lined the back of her carriage, Cybele shut her eyes and imagined herself ensconced in Colton’s firm, sturdy arms; feeling as light as air as he swung her around the dance floor.

  “It would be a real trick to make me feel light as air,” she thought, gritting her teeth as she considered her full-figured form.

  Although often praised for her wit and intellect, and upon occasion for her shoulder length mass of soft golden hair and eyes of emerald green, Cybele never had been rated as a classic or desirable beauty of the Ton; and that, coupled with her independent spirit, probably accounted for a marital status commonly defined as “spinster.”

  “And I quite enjoy every moment of that status, thank you very much,” she sniffed aloud, nodding for emphasis. “I work and play as I please, without having to answer to any man. I have my own name, my own money, and I refer to no man as sir or master.”

  Still and all, she figured, it might indeed be nice to call a man her beau, perhaps even her lover; to feel his touch and savor his kiss, and not only on the dance floor.

  For just a moment she allowed herself the pleasure of a forbidden fantasy; one that found her in Colton’s arms, perhaps even in his bed; relishing the feel of his hard, firm body pressed against hers, his sumptuous wet lips touching and worshipping every inch of her face and form.

  “Miss?”

  The sound of a brisk, masculine voice served to break Cybele’s sensual rhapsody; prompting her eyes to fly wide as heat suffused her cheeks.

  Thankfully her silver-haired driver, the ever-reliable Peter Ramsey, seemed oblivious to her erotic state; regarding her instead with a look and tone that bordered on grave concern.

  “Miss, I do believe we had better pull off to the side of the road, if just for a moment,” he informed her, adding as he gestured out her nearby window, “I believe that I see some young gentlemen in need of our assistance.”

  Following the direction of his broad, rather frantic gesture, Cybele’s eyes once again flew wide as she beheld a most distressing sight: the vision of a sleek, coal black carriage disabled by the side of the road—its back left wheel hanging free and loose as the fine ivory stallion that lead the disabled carriage bucked up wild on its hind legs; raging free in a radiant fury as its snow white mane flew to and fro in the winds of a sunny but balmy afternoon.

  Finally, her gaze rested on the trio of occupants that had disembarked from and now steered well clear of their fallen ride; all looking quite helpless as they stared with wary eyes at the restless, wild-eyed horse that strained and pulled against its reins.

  Taking no more time to get a closer look at the startled, woebegone passengers, Cybele directed Peter to halt their carriage at the side of the road; jumping from its back portal to race full on in the direction of the raging stallion.

  Ignoring the shocked, loudly voiced pleas of the people around her, a determined Cybele advanced forward until she stood stock still before the horse; shushing and cooing in a delicate tone as she thrust her hand forward.

  Visibly calming beneath the effects of her tender, unobtrusive presence, the stallion stilled and even whinnied in contentment as she stroked his ivory coat; finally shifting his head to nestle her neck as she whispered her approval of his improved behavior.

  Once assured of the restored peace that suffused the air around her, Cybele cast a cautious gaze in the direction of the carriage; relieved to see that Peter had joined the vehicle’s driver—a slight, balding man in his early 60--in repairing the loosened wheel.

  “Top job, gentlemen!” she praised them, saluting the two gentlemen with her free hand as she continued to stroke and pet the newly sanguine, always equine beast beside her.

  “And may we say the same of you, Miss.”

  Now Cybele jumped like a skittish colt as her own senses were soothed, and by the sound of a deep, melodic voice distinctly masculine in tone.

  Turning toward the source of this most delightful sound, Cybele almost jumped again as she beheld the two most beautiful men she’d ever seen.

  Nearly identical in features, the two gentlemen both boasted flawless sculpted faces that boasted bronzed skin, carved cheekbones, full, sumptuous lips, and tall, muscular frames bedecked today in dinner suits of ebony silk; accented as they were by sleek white silk satin shirts and gold cravats that sparkled in the sun above them.

  “Odd apparel choices for this time of day,” Cybele mused in silence. “Still and all, I suppose if I looked that grand in any particular ensemble, I too would wear it a
ll the time, both day and evening!”

  Returning her admiring gaze to the faces of the gentlemen before her, she noticed at last the few similarities that seemed to differentiate them. Indeed, while the man on the left boasted eyes as bright and azure as the sun above and hair the greatest gold, the gent on the right bore hairs and eyes the hue of blackest midnight.

  Both boasted dazzling, white-toothed smiles as they traipsed the emerald-hued grasses before them to come just a little closer to her.

  “Thank you so much, Miss,” the dark-haired gentleman nodded in her direction, offering her a sturdy, gentlemanly hand as he continued, “Please allow me to introduce myself. I’m Lord Phillip Barrington.”

  Cybele blushed as the thusly called Lord Phillip bowed low over her hand; his wide, dark gaze holding hers as he pressed his full, moist lips soft against her skin--this simple, gentle gesture sending an unbidden chill coursing up the length of her spine.

  She was just recovering from this odd thrill when the fair-haired gentleman claimed her free hand; ensnaring her with his own jewel blue gaze as he, too, delivered a lingering kiss that amazed her with its subtle charm.

  “And I am Lord Barnaby Barrington. My brother and I present ourselves to you on behalf of the London Barringtons.”

  Cybele nodded.

  “Yes, well, you present very well I must say,” she greeted with a grin, adding as she curtsied before them, “I am Lady Cybele Carrington, of the Birmingham Carringtons.”

  Phillip nodded.

  “It’s a pleasure, Miss,” he bowed low before her in yet another charming, courtly gesture. “And would it be so disrespectful if we were to call you by the name of Cybele the Brave?”

  “Indeed!” his brother agreed, duplicating his brother’s bow with a single smooth flourish. “My entire family and our staff are quite frightened of that insane horse—but you approached and quieted him as though he was an innocent polo pony. And, in doing so, you allowed our driver to approach the carriage and repair its broken wheel—and even lent us the services of your own driver to assist him.”

  Phillip nodded.

  “Madame, we are in your debt,” he agreed, adding in smooth, flirtatious tones, “How may we ever repay you?”

  Cybele shrugged.

  “Ah, believe me Gents. You well repaid me just seconds ago, when you deemed me Cybele the Brave,” she told them, adding as she squared her shoulders and stood full erect to her full 5’3” in height. “I almost feel as though I should don a suit of armor, one that won’t clash with my favorite strand of pearls, and brandish a rather long, sharpened sword.”

  She grinned as both the brothers guffawed outright.

  “You are a delight, Miss!” Barnaby praised her, adding as he arched an inquisitive eyebrow in her direction, “So please tell us; how is it that a fine lady such as yourself has such a great knowledge of horses?”

  Cybele pursed her lips.

  “Well for one thing I’ve been riding since I was child. My family owns a 100-acre estate in the Birmingham countryside,” she told them, adding in a thoughtful tone, “And, come to think of it, I’ve also edited my share of equestrian manuals at my family’s publishing house.”

  Phillip gaped.

  “You work?” he marveled, eyes wide in shock.

  “And your family owns a publishing house?” Barnaby gaped, eyes wider in bewilderment.

  “Yes and, well, yes,” Cybele told them with a grin. “We own and operate one of the most successful presses in all of England, and I am now a senior editor at the company.”

  Her grin broadened as the brothers exchanged wide-eyed, open-mouthed expressions that were downright adorable in nature.

  “That’s wonderful, Miss,” Phillip praised her, adding as he lifted his chin and stood at his full, impressive height, “And as it turns out, my brother and I are the twin sons of Nathan Barrington; one of the premiere bankers in all of London.”

  Cybele pursed her lips.

  “I thought that your surname sounded well familiar,” she affirmed with a nod, adding as she arched her eyebrows in a show of keen curiosity, “And what about you gents? Are you bankers now as well?”

  Barnaby shook his head.

  “Well not at the present,” he revealed, shuffling his feet beneath him. “We just graduated university last year, and opted to take a brief respite before joining his bank in just a few months. In the meantime, though, our primary job titles fall beneath the categories of rogues and revelers.”

  “…And we hope to do a great deal of reveling and, um, rogueing this very weekend, as our family’s reserved suite at Magnolia Resort,” Phillip added.

  Cybele blinked.

  “Magnolia Resort?” she asked, her hand flying to the smart, wicker blue-ribboned bonnet that sat atop her thick gold curls. “That is precisely where I am headed today.”

  Phillip gaped.

  “And you plan to travel there with only your driver?” he queried, feathered eyebrows flying upward at this unexpected news. “No chaperone or lady’s maid?”

  Cybele winked.

  “Indeed I am,” she assured him, adding with a downright wolfish grin, “You two are not the only one planning to do some reveling this weekend. And although I am not quite certain as to exactly what reveling constitutes and entails, I am quite certain that I just might find it most enjoyable.”

  The brothers laughed.

  “Cybele the Brave!” They cried in concert, with Barnaby adding as they turned for their repaired carriage, “We must take leave now, Miss, as we plan to be in attendance at Colton’s social later this evening.”

  Cybele nodded.

  “I plan to be there as well,” she told them, adding as she and a grinning Patrick returned to their own ride, “Race you to Magnolia, Gents!”

  Soon sharing the long, winding cobblestone road that would take them to their intended destination, Cybele and the Barrington twins waved, hooted and blew kisses at one another out their open windows; the breezes flying free through their hair as their horse-driven carriages sped onward into the London countryside.

  Cybele quieted as her carriage turned on to the tree-lined road that lead to Magnolia Resort; an open aired thoroughfare lined on each side with towering, scarlet-leaved magnolias. Suddenly she reveled in the sound of gentle bird song as it flowed free and clear above her; and glancing upward she admired the gold-hued canaries and royal blue songbirds that let loose with this lush, ethereal sound.

  “We’re here, Miss,” Peter said over his shoulder, finally pulling up in front of the resort that seemed like a much beloved second home.

  As Peter retrieved her luggage from the boot of the carriage, Cybele hopped down from the confines of the back seat and stopped stock still in front of the resort; an ebullient structure that shone pearl pink in the rays of the sun above them.

  Immediately she recognized the sloping roof, the broad front porches, the vast bay windows and the glorious stained glass door that fronted this elegant two-story establishment. Today, however, she regarded its beauty in a slightly different light.

  “As enjoyable as it has been for my family and me to stay at this resort, for two or three weeks out of the year,” she mused, stepping onto the front porch with swift, determined steps, “I feel that it might even be more enjoyable to live here someday.’

  This viewpoint was reinforced moments later, as she found herself in the vast entryway that served as the grand lobby of the Magnolia Resort; an area resplendent with silken, floral print settees and straight back chairs of lavender velvet; situated on plush ivory carpeting between walls of gold brocade and beneath a hand painted ceiling that bore an illustrious mural of cherubs in flight across the vast expanse of a gem blue sky. Dew-glistened bouquets of ruby red roses completed this lovely picture, situated as they were in crystalline urns that bordered a stone cast fireplace.

  In her mind, however, the most beautiful facet of this impressive room stood at the side of this blazing fireplace; dressed as he was in a pr
im white day suit that seemed to merge with his own décor.

  “Lady Cybele!”

  Crossing the room in a few smooth strides, Lord Colton Jones charmed her with a dazzling white-toothed smile and the friendly flash of his wide dark eyes.

  “Colton!” she exclaimed, returning his smile as he took her hand in his and graced her skin with a gentlemanly kiss. “I’m so pleased to be here. It’s bound to be a grand weekend!”

  Colton nodded.

  “Indeed it will, Love, now that you’re here,” he agreed, adding with a teasing wink, “I am so glad that you plan to stay with us for the duration of the weekend. I insist on claiming the first place on your dance card at my social this evening.”

  Cybele shrugged.

  “Well seeing as how my dance card here generally consists of you, my driver, your butler, and whatever gent draws the short straw around the billiards table,” she pursed her lips to comic effect, “I daresay your place is safe.”

  Colton guffawed outright.

  “Oh, don’t be ridiculous, you enchanting woman,” he chided her gentle, adding as a waiting Peter carried her luggage up the steps of a nearby, mahogany bound staircase, “I do insist on at least two dances with you this eve, as well as several croquet games during the weekend. I also call dibs on a place at your side for the occasion of our Sunday picnic.”

  Cybele grinned.

  “Done,” she allowed, feeling her cheeks flush with happiness at the sound of all these delightful ideas. “First, though, I must retire to my suite and prepare for this evening’s social.”

  Colton nodded.

  “That would be best, as the happening begins in just over an hour,” he reminded her, adding as he made a broad gesture in the direction of the staircase, “Your suite awaits you, my lady.”

  2

  Soon Cybele found herself ensconced in another luxurious room; this one adorned with polished mirrored cherry wood bureaus, plush copper hued carpeting overseen by a feminine rose print chandelier, and a corner set of crystal-paned French doors enshrouded in a pair of fine lace curtains.