Sybille's Lord by Raven McAllan Read Free Book Online Page B

on.”
    “Promise
me, you won’t interrupt. I know I’ve been an idiot, and yes, I know you said if
I needed help you were there, but this, this was something that I thought no
one knew about, and I could take care of.”
    “But
you couldn’t?” He kept his voice low, unemotional and not threatening.
    “Sadly,
no. But what else could I do?”
    Stupid woman still hasn’t told me
about what.
    “As
you haven’t divulged what you did how can I comment?” He looked around the
room. “Do you have anything to drink in here? I think we might need it.”
    “Water?”
    “I
was thinking more along the lines of brandy.”
    “In
a lady’s bedchamber?” Try as he assumed she might to keep her face straight,
her lips twitched.
    “Ah
well,” he sighed theatrically. “Shall I go downstairs and find a decanter?”
    “Noooo.”
Her voice was squeaky. “You can’t do that. Wait one moment. Men.” She shook her
head, and got up again.
    Her
jack in the box activity was making him dizzy.
    “Can’t
cope without a glass in their hand.” She went on, as she walked to the window
and lifted the cushions that padded the wooden bench below the casement. “I
wonder how the country doesn’t go to rack and ruin.” There was no malice in her
words and Thom stifled a laugh. For some reason she seemed to be determined to
get a rise from him. She’d got that all right, but probably not the rise she
expected. His pego had risen and was demanding to be noticed. Thom lifted his
legs. It was not about to get what it wanted. Her derriere faced him, perfectly
outlined by the thin layers of silk, which caressed it. His hands itched to aid
the material with its efforts.
    “I
can easily manage without a glass.”
    “Just
as well. Aha.” Sybille straightened up, impatiently pushed the tendrils of hair
that had escaped from her plait behind her ears, and waved a dusty bottle in
the air. “Dare gave this to me to hide, and I presume he forgot about it. His
loss, our gain. Well yours, I’ve never acquired the taste.”
    She
stood up and handed the bottle to Thom. He dusted the bottle, and searched in
vain for a label. “Smuggled?”
    “Probably.
He didn’t say.”
    Thom
nodded as he pulled out the cork with his teeth. “Go on with your story. Oh and
bring me your tooth mug.”
    “I
thought you said you didn’t need a glass. Anyway it holds my toothbrush.”
    “Sybille.”
His voice was silky smooth, as he held onto his temper by the finest of
threads. “Are you deliberately trying to goad me? Because, believe me you are
succeeding. Take out your toothbrush. Rinse the mug if needed, bring it back
and hand it to me. Sit down again. And shut up.”
    She
opened her mouth several times, but didn’t utter a word. Perhaps his state of
mind got through to her, as eventually she nodded and walked into her bathing
chamber without speaking. Within seconds she returned and held the pottery mug
out to him.
    He
admired the elegant lines. “Jones, Watt, Doulton?”
    “Yes
why?”
    “No
reason. I like Doulton’s work.” Thom poured a generous measure of brandy into
the glass and held it to her. She took it without comment and stared at the
contents as if were poison.
    “I
told you I don’t like brandy.”
    “A
pity.” He clinked the bottle on the side of her mug. “Your health?”
    “Pardon?”
    Your
health.” Thom indicated her drink and took a generous swallow from the bottle.
The warm oaky liquid slid down his throat, like a welcome friend. Still she
hadn’t moved. With an exasperated sigh, Thom put down the bottle, and moved
closer to Sybille.
    She
looked up at him and took a step backward. He watched fascinated as the tiny
pulse in her neck beat over fast. This close he could smell the rose scent he‘d
noticed in the bathing chamber, and see tiny violet flecks in her blue eyes.
Her eyelashes were improbably dark, given her blonde hair, and he gave a
passing thought to the notion he wanted to see what color the rest of her