“Who?” he enquired. “Did you see him?”
“No, I just caught a movement when I was, er –”
“Following us yourself?” Colin finished for her.
“Well,” her eyes widened at his comment and then she said guiltily, “yes. It is my job as Granny Esmeralda’s descendent to look after you, you know,” she defended herself and then hurried on before Colin could speak. “But it’s the dark soul, I know it, I felt it. Destiny is against you –”
“Mrs. Byrne!” Sibyl was at the door and she came toward them, stopping only to scoop up Bran, who gave a mew of righteous protest at the indignity. “What are you doing here?”
“I baked you a Victoria Sponge,” Mrs. Byrne told her after Sibyl gave her an awkward embrace considering the cat.
“Oh, Mrs. Byrne. That is so sweet.”
The intelligent officer had followed her and was taking in this bizarre exchange with a disbelieving expression on his face that mirrored exactly what Colin felt.
“Miss Godwin can’t find anything missing,” he told Colin. “We’ll be awhile and the vet is nearly here. She can’t spend the night here, the door needs a new lock, the last one looked approximately four hundred years old so wasn’t much of a deterrent. It was easily broken.”
Instantly, Mrs. Byrne offered, “You can stay with me, dear.”
“She’s staying at Lacybourne,” Colin put in and ignored Sibyl’s stunned eyes flying to his face.
To hide her reaction, she dropped the cat who ran off without hesitation, clearly this scene was beneath him, and bent over Mallory who was now struggling to sit up.
Colin went on. “Mrs. Byrne, can you take Sibyl for something to eat? I’ll wait here for the vet and then bring Mallory to Lacybourne with me. I’ll leave when the police are finished. I’ll phone and ask Mrs. Manning to leave the backdoor open so you can get in that way.”
“Colin, I couldn’t eat anything –” Sibyl started to say but Mrs. Byrne interrupted her.
“I suppose that the Great Hall is still being, er… done up, so we shouldn’t go in there, is that the case?” Mrs. Byrne asked mysteriously, Colin stared at her nonplussed and she continued. “You know, the portraits being cleaned. That type of thing.”
She was a sly old fox, Colin thought as he caught on and nodded.
“Yes, avoid the Great Hall if you would,” he muttered.
Sibyl watched this exchange mutely with a befuddled expression then she gave Mallory’s dazed head a scratch and stood.
Before she moved away, Colin pulled her to him for a quick kiss and then commanded gently, “Go, pack a bag and then have something to eat. I’ll meet you at Lacybourne.”
She nodded and, without a word, walked back into her cottage, Mrs. Byrne trailing behind.
Shortly after they left the vet came and declared Mallory fine. The dog was unsteady on his feet but it was only a shade worse than normal as he wasn’t the most graceful of canines at the best of times.
While he waited for the police to finish, Colin considered the attractive idea of what it meant that Sibyl had phoned him first; that she had phoned him before any of her friends at the Centre or any of the nameless, faceless people he did not know that must inhabit her life in England. She’d even phoned him before she’d phoned the police.
He decided to take this as a good sign.
Colin exchanged his rather than Sibyl’s contact information with the police, deliberately misleading them as to the nature of their relationship. It wasn’t exactly a lie, as they would be getting married soon; it was just that Sibyl didn’t know that yet.
The police were preparing to leave when his mobile rang again.
Sibyl’s name was on the display.
“Sibyl,” he said in greeting.
“Colin, I’m ordering you a curry. What do you like?”
“I’ll find something at home.”
There was a pause then Sibyl said quietly, “Colin, would you please just tell me what kind of curry you like?”
Something about her soft tone told him she was not exasperated but curious. She was finally asking him something personal about himself and it was about what kind of Indian food he preferred.
“Lamb vindaloo,” he answered shortly.
She gave a faint laugh and whispered, “Of course, vindaloo,” before she rang off.
After the police left, he checked that the house was secured or as secure as it could be. Then, once he had the big, groggy dog in his car, he went home.
They were there before him and he found them in his huge kitchen drinking tea as if they did it every night of their lives. Or, at least, Mrs. Byrne was drinking tea. Colin saw the yellow box with flowers and Oriental writing on it and smelled the pungent, weird aroma and knew that Sibyl was drinking the Asian organic hot drink she sipped on a frequent basis.
Whatever it smelled like, if he kissed her after she drank it, she tasted of flowers.
Sibyl started when she saw him and then ran to him then she ran right passed him and Colin was, for the first time in his life, upstaged by a dog.
“Mallory!” she cried, crouching low, and gave her dog a hug and a kiss on his head.
In turn, Mallory gave her cheek a sloppy lash and then the dog’s backside collapsed as if he could hold it up no more. He sat there, looking mystified and a slim, glistening line of drool slid off his lip only to hang there in suspended animation.
“Let’s get you cleaned up,” Sibyl told the dog and Colin was relieved to hear amused affection rather than worry in her voice.
As Mrs. Byrne prepared Colin’s food, Sibyl wiped the dog’s mouth with a paper towel with an efficiency borne of years of practice. For some bizarre reason, Colin found this act fascinating.
Once Colin was eating, standing in front of his kitchen sink with his hips resting against the counter, Mrs. Byrne announced, “I must be going. It’s terribly late. Sibyl, tell me if you learn anything about what happened.” She gave them a look that encompassed them both and she looked pleased with her handiwork as, weeks ago, she’d attempted to orchestrate exactly this scene. She glanced at the counter where Colin belatedly noticed a cake stood. “Enjoy the sponge.”
Then she was gone.
He watched Sibyl clean out the teacups as he finished his food.
“There’s a note and an envelope on the counter for you,” she told him.
He threw the food carton in the rubbish bin and noticed that Mandy had couriered the correspondence he left behind when he went to see to Sibyl. Mandy had written an unhappy note about how the letters were supposed to be in first class post today but if he didn’t mind seeing to them tonight, she’d have them couriered first thing tomorrow. This emphasis was achieved through dramatic use of underlining. He might have been annoyed if Mandy wasn’t so efficient and, more importantly, Sibyl wasn’t in his kitchen rinsing out teacups.
“I’ve some work to see to. Do you have something to do?” he asked Sibyl, tearing open the envelope.
“I’ve brought a book,” she replied, watching him.
She seemed guarded and it dawned on him that she didn’t have the best memories of Lacybourne. Considering this dilemma, Colin decided to act business as usual in an effort to curtail any unpleasant emotions she might have considering her already difficult night and her unhappy memories of his home.
“Good, you can read in the study while I finish this.”
She nodded then went to her bag which was sitting by the entry to the back stairwell, undoubtedly Mrs. Byrne’s gentle reminder not to use the staircase in the Great Hall, and pulled out a book.
Colin led the way to the study and Sibyl and Mallory followed him. He counted it as a good sign that Mallory only ran into the wall once on their short journey.
He settled behind his desk while Sibyl sat on the couch in front of the enormous fireplace, looking around with obvious interest.
“I’ll give you a tour of the house another time,” he offered, watching her. “These were meant to be in
today’s post.”
She hid her interest in the room and said quickly, “That’s okay. I don’t need a tour.” Her eyes dropped to his work and she finished on a whisper, “I’m sorry that I took you from work.”
He let her first comment go. She’d eventually have to have a tour, considering it would one day be her home, but it was highly precipitous to mention that at this juncture.
To her second comment, he replied softly, not taking his eyes from hers, “I’m not sorry.”
At his words, she pulled her lips between her teeth but as she did this she stared at him inquisitively as if she didn’t know quite what to make of him before tearing her eyes away.
Mallory put his head in her lap as she sat then the dog lost his battle with his lethargy and his forepaws slid forward until he was lying down. Sibyl opened her book and Colin turned his attention to his papers.
A half an hour later when he was done, he glanced at her again to see she was staring with unfocussed eyes at the wall, her book in her hand which was resting on the couch. He could see her thumb was curled inside, holding her place.
“Sibyl?”
He’d startled her and she jumped, swinging her eyes to him.
And when her eyes hit his, she asked, apropos of nothing, “Someone shot my dog and attacked my toss pillows. How bizarre is that?”
He set his finished work aside, got up, walked around the desk and stood before her.
“Get up, Sibyl,” he ordered quietly.
She flipped her book face down on the couch and rose immediately, emitting a deep, weary and slightly mutinous sigh. Mallory, whose head was resting on his paws, shifted so his head was resting on Colin’s shoes.
Colin ignored the dog as Sibyl came within touching distance and he pulled her forward so she was leaning into him. Then he lifted his hands to her hair, gathered the thick, tawny mass and lifted it away from her neck. Once he’d accomplished that feat, considering Sibyl had a great deal of hair, he bent forward and kissed her neck where it met her shoulder.
“Your hair is remarkably heavy,” he murmured against her skin in an effort to take her mind away from tranquilliser darts and assaulted toss pillows.
He felt her relax into him and gladly took on more of her weight. His body pleasantly reacted to her full breasts pressed against his chest but what she said next chased away all evidence of the heat she was producing.
“I know. It gives me headaches sometimes, pulls at my scalp.”
Christ, he was an ass.
He felt his body become fixed, his hands freezing in position as they held the weight of her hair. Then he dropped it and buried his face in her neck as he pulled her closer with his arms tightly wrapped around her. She smelled of something he could not name, a complex flowery scent that was both delicate and alluring.
At that moment he could barely stand himself and couldn’t imagine how she could.
“I’m rescinding one of the rules,” he murmured against her neck, his voice to his own ears strangely hoarse.
It was her turn to go still. “What?”
He lifted his head and looked down at her. “You can wear your hair however you want,” he told her quietly and watched in sheer fascination as her hazel eyes melted liquid to sherry within an instant.
Then before she could respond, he announced, “We’re going to bed.”
* * * * *
It was much later, indeed it was the dead of night when Colin heard the phone ringing.
When he woke he was surprised to feel that Sibyl was snuggled against his side, her legs tangled with his. Until that night she always pulled away and slept with her back to him. Now, her arm was resting on his chest, crooked so that her elbow was at his stomach and her hand was dead centre. Her head was on his shoulder and he could feel soft tendrils of her hair everywhere.
He shifted slowly as he felt her stir, reached out to grab the phone and put it to his ear.
Before Colin could speak, he heard a man’s voice say, “Next time I shoot, it won’t be the dog and it won’t be a tranquilliser. Tonight’s your last night with her. Tomorrow, you say good-bye and you won’t see Sibyl Godwin again.”
Then the phone went dead in his hand.
He lay stock-still as the unfamiliar and immensely uncomfortable sensation of dread chased through his body, this feeling fleeting, being replaced by anger.
He felt Sibyl’s head lift from his shoulder. “Colin?”
Her voice was husky with sleep and his arm, which was wrapped around her with his hand resting on her hip, tightened reflexively.
“Who was it?” she asked.
“Wrong number,” Colin lied as he replaced the phone, forcing his body to relax.
Then he remembered.
It’s the dark soul, Mrs. Byrne had said and Colin’s body went back to tight.
Sibyl’s hand moved from his chest to encircle his waist and she pressed her soft, warmth closer to his side.
“Are you cold?” Her voice was still husky and without waiting for an answer, her hand moved to pull the covers up over her shoulder and his chest. Then it returned to its place around his waist as her weight settled into him and he knew she was again sleeping.
She was already responding to him, he knew.
This was very good, he knew.
But if indeed he was Royce Morgan’s reincarnation, he was never meant to have her.
Though, he did have her in a way that Royce had never had Beatrice, there was something missing. Something that made Colin uncomfortable, something that he and Sibyl needed to find before the curse of star-crossed lovers was lifted if it even existed.
No one ever knew who killed Royce and Beatrice Morgan or why.
The theory was it was an enemy of Royce’s. He’d made many of them with his exploits and successes on a variety of bloody battlefields.
Myth said that the dark soul would follow them, would stop them through eternity from finding each other or finding whatever it was that would forever protect them and break the curse.
And Mrs. Byrne believed the dark soul was watching them.
Colin didn’t believe in lore, myth, magic and curses and he certainly didn’t believe in dark souls coasting through eternity on vengeance.
But he took middle-of-the-night threatening phone calls after an attack on a dog and a break-in deadly seriously.
What Colin knew was that he hadn’t lived a sainted life, as, apparently, the misguided angel who was lying pressed to his side had. Colin had made people angry, he’d made enemies; enemies who might use Sibyl to get to him.
All Colin knew was that Robert Fitzwilliam said what Mrs. Byrne had said – that someone was watching them. It now became apparent that someone had tried to run them down with a car. And now someone had shot Sibyl’s dog and ransacked her cottage. All of this, for what seemed like no apparent reason at the time, but now Colin thought it was to warn him.
Colin came to a decision.
Tomorrow, Colin would call Robert Fitzwilliam and task the man with watching Sibyl, protecting her and finding out who was behind these plots while Colin kept steady at his task of winning her.
Chapter Sixteen
Hope
“It’s rather nice of your young man to send a limousine,” Bertie Godwin told his eldest daughter.
Sibyl stared at her father and used every ounce of willpower not to scream at the top of her lungs.
Sibyl Jezebel Godwin was in a carefully controlled rage. This was unprecedented, considering that Sibyl’s rages were usually considerably uncontrolled.
However, yesterday while she was standing outside Customs in Terminal Four at Heathrow airport waiting for her parents to come through the doors, her mobile had rung.
It was Colin.
After she’d answered, without even so much as saying hello, he commanded, “I want you and your parents to come to Lacybourne for dinner tomorrow night.”
Sibyl felt her heart constrict painfully and she stared unseeing at the people marching ti
redly through the doors of arrival dragging their luggage behind them as she listened to Colin’s inconceivable order.
“Please tell me you aren’t serious,” she breathed.
For the last week things had been different between them. Entirely different. So much so that part of her feared her magical powers were forcing Colin away and bringing Royce out of the dream world and into the real.
But this order was from the Old Colin.
Their relationship was temporary. She knew that. He knew that.
Why on the goddess’s green earth would he want to meet her parents?
It was cruel.
He interrupted her careening thoughts. “I’m very serious.”
“Is this an order?” she asked, her voice sharp.
He didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”
Her breath, and her sharpness, went out of her.
“Why?” she whispered, that one word, she hoped over the miles, expressed the many nuances of her question.
“Just be at Lacybourne at seven thirty,” he’d replied and if she could credit it (which she decided later she could not), he sounded gentle.
And therefore she didn’t even say good-bye; she simply flipped her mobile shut.
The very idea, the very thought of her parents meeting Colin tore her heart to pieces. They wouldn’t understand, they’d probably even like him (they always liked the men in her life). Her father, she knew, even though he never said, wanted her to find herself a mate, a partner, a husband partly so she wouldn’t be alone and party because her father wanted to know she was protected and safe. Her mother wanted her to be intellectually and sexually gratified (and often). Her mother already was hinting broadly, and sometimes asking straight out, at wanting to meet Colin every time she’d called in the last three weeks.
And this meant Sibyl was going to have to sit through dinner knowing what she was to Colin with her parents sitting right beside her.
She hadn’t been reminded of that, of what she really was to Colin, since he yelled at the minibus driver.
The situation became worse when her parents walked through the arrival doors; Mags saw her daughter and shouted, “Surprise!”
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