Lacybourne Manor

  Sibyl, recovering from the kiss and the inconceivable knowledge that she could change a man’s personality with her magical powers, blinked at him.

  “Are you all right?” she asked.

  He smiled, a white flash against tanned skin. All his smiles tended to be disarming in one way or another, but she was not certain he’d ever smiled at her the way he was doing now. He was smiling like the cat who managed to snag a couple of field mice, a juicy bird and came home and got his cream.

  Her racing heart skipped a beat.

  “Perfect,” he responded, his deep voice like velvet.

  “You’re not…?” she began to ask him if he was having another episode but he wouldn’t know. The last time he didn’t remember a thing. Though the last time it had lasted minutes, this seemed to be going on forever.

  What if he came back to Colin in the middle of dinner, spitting mad and wondering who all these people were and why they were eating his food?

  She was uncertain what to do or say, thinking he might be unstable. Thinking she should call a doctor. Wondering how she could find a witch doctor. She laid her hand against the side of his face (a thoughtful gesture that masked her checking his temperature, just to be sure he wasn’t in the throes of some kind of walking, talking fever that rendered him partially delirious).

  “You’re sure you’re okay?” she asked.

  “I’ll explain later.” Then he moved into her, pressing her against the wall. “Stay with me tonight,” he whispered, his voice smoothing along her skin like a silken caress but the words sounded like a request, not an order.

  “I… is that an order?” she queried, confused at how to proceed.

  He smiled his devastating smile again and shook his head. “No, I’m asking you to stay the night.”

  Her heart skipped to a stuttering halt and then started beating again, double time. She was going to have a heart attack, at thirty-two years old, in the hallway of a National Trust property.

  Definitely Royce.

  “My family –” she started.

  “I’ll have the car take them home and return in the morning for you, early if you like.”

  If she liked?

  She opened her mouth and then closed it. What could she say? She wanted to be with this Colin. She knew it wasn’t fair and it wasn’t right, she was practising an insidious voodoo against her will and his (well, maybe not against hers).

  Perhaps she was going to have to bring Mags into deal with it after all. Her mother couldn’t actually do anything but she might know someone in her loopy collective that had some knowledge of how to exorcise a dream man from a real, flesh and blood man.

  “Sibyl?” he prompted.

  “Colin?” she returned.

  She was testing him, saying his name to see his response. His head tilted and he watched her with an expression on his face that even blind Annie could have seen showed he thought she was adorable.

  Her heart still racing, she now caught her breath.

  “Now that we’ve ascertained we remember each other’s names, perhaps you’ll promise me that you’ll spend the night with me, here at Lacybourne, in my bed, no matter what happens tonight.”

  She’d stopped listening on the word “bed”.

  She let her breath out in a gush. “Where’s your family staying?”

  “Here.”

  “I can’t stay with you while your family –”

  “Trust me, they don’t mind.”

  This was a bizarre statement in a bizarre evening. They were both consenting adults but it wasn’t seemly, especially not the first night she’d met his family. They’d think she was a screaming slut.

  She was, of course, his paid for sexual partner but his parents didn’t know that.

  “Colin.”

  “Sibyl, promise me.”

  His voice was silk. His eyes were warm. His lips were less than an inch away.

  She was no match for that combination.

  “Okay.”

  He grinned, his grin filled with triumph and then he kissed her breathless.

  Again.

  When he released her mouth, he turned and guided her to the dining room. Distractedly, she heard the hushed conversation but, the minute they entered hand-in-hand, all talk ceased and everyone stared at them. Then, covering, they rushed on with what seemed like great determination to appear natural and at any other time in her life Sibyl would have found it curious and, probably, hilarious.

  Now, she did not.

  Colin’s seat at the head of the table was vacant. Phoebe sat at the foot, to her right sat Mrs. Byrne, to her left, the only other empty chair next to Mike. On Mike’s other side sat Mags, who sat to Colin’s right. Scarlett (to Sibyl’s despair) was to Colin’s left then Bertie then Claire coming full circle to Mrs. Byrne.

  It was the Seating Arrangement of Doom.

  Sibyl took her seat and a young man in dark pants and a white shirt immediately entered carrying a tureen of soup to the side table. Sibyl watched, captivated at the idea of having a waiter at a dinner party in your home.

  “Sibyl, I hear you make lotions and bath salts,” Phoebe forged in while the waiter served soup. “You smell divine, is your perfume one of your creations?”

  “Yes,” she admitted, leaning back to allow the young man access to her place setting. “If you like, I can make you a goodie basket of my products,” Sibyl offered and then wondered why she did and then gave herself a mental forehead slap.

  “She makes the best goodie baskets,” Scarlett put in helpfully and, if she’d been close enough, Sibyl would have kicked her sister. There was a small chance that Phoebe would have demurred.

  “Oh, I’d like one too,” Claire said exuberantly.

  Gone was the small chance.

  “Of course,” Sibyl murmured.

  “Tell us about your work at the Community Centre,” Mike boomed so loudly, Sibyl started.

  Everyone stared at her curiously, even her family who knew all about her work at the Community Centre. Therefore, she had no choice, so she did. While everyone ate their soup, Sibyl talked about the oldies, their bingo and sing-a-longs and the kids, their art projects and their talent show. She talked and pretended to eat while she felt Colin’s eyes on her. Then she gave up all pretence of eating to focus her attention to pretending she didn’t feel his eyes on her.

  Once she’d petered away on a story about Mrs. Griffith using her cane on an unsuspecting neighbour with an overly loud dog (Mrs. Griffith was feeble, it didn’t hurt her neighbour… too much) the waiter came in and whisked away the bowls, quietly asking if Sibyl was done with her nearly full one. She nodded mutely and he swept it away.

  “So, what do you do Colin?” Bertie enquired.

  Sibyl turned startled eyes to her father then to Colin, realising, with a hysterical feeling rising inside her, that she didn’t even know what Colin did for a living.

  “I buy and sell companies,” Colin replied.

  This was met with complete silence and Sibyl tensed.

  If Mike and Phoebe were posh, tailored yin to Mags and Bertie’s oddball, unconventional yang, Colin’s profession was the Antarctic in relation to Sibyl’s Arctic Community Centre.

  “He’s very successful,” Mike offered hopefully into the silence.

  “What does that mean, you buy and sell companies?” Mags asked dubiously.

  “It means he’s a corporate raider, Mom,” Scarlett offered and Sibyl held her breath at that explosive comment, definitely wishing she was close enough to kick her sister.

  “Not exactly,” Colin muttered, his eyes on Sibyl.

  “The corporate raid stopped over a decade ago,” Mike boomed in defence of his son as the waiter walked in carrying salads this time.

  “What does it mean?” Bertie asked, every liberal bone in his body rankling and Sibyl wished the floor would open up and swallow her.

  And Colin, of course. She couldn’t leave him behind at the Table of Doom.

  “I buy misma
naged companies, clean them up and sell them for a profit,” Colin answered patiently.

  “Sometimes not still in one piece, I assume?” Scarlett asked sweetly, perversely loving every minute of this. Sibyl hoped that the Morgans would realise that Scarlett was annoying in the extreme, even to her own family and especially to her sister.

  Colin opened his mouth to answer but instead, Claire, desperately burst out, “Colin saved a girl from drowning when he was sixteen.”

  All eyes swung to Claire.

  “Remember that, Colin, at the club?” Claire continued courageously. “She nearly died. Colin had to give her CPR and everything. It was quite something,” she told the table at large.

  Mike laughed, remembering. “Yes, of course, you dated her for six months after that, remember son? She was quite a looker.”

  Sibyl was in the middle of them and therefore caught a bit of the polar freeze that came from the frosty glare Phoebe directed at Mike. Sibyl realised Phoebe would also very much like to be in kicking distance of her husband and quickly tucked her legs beneath her chair.

  Everyone turned their attention to their salads. Sibyl saw Mrs. Byrne smile at her reassuringly after Sibyl had rearranged several walnuts and pear slices in a more decorous display on top of the spinach leaves.

  “I know!” Phoebe exclaimed, making everyone jump. “You brought that puppy home. Do you remember, Colin, the one someone abandoned?”

  Every pair of eyes moved to Colin hopefully.

  “That was Tony, Mum,” Colin reminded her and Sibyl watched as a muscle leaped dangerously in his jaw when he clamped his mouth shut after speaking.

  Phoebe muttered a dejected, “Oh.”

  Sibyl felt her stomach sink.

  “Who’s Tony?” Mags whispered to Mike.

  “Youngest son,” Mike answered softly and Sibyl was surprised to hear that Colin had a brother.

  It was at this point that she decided to enter the fray.

  Someone had to.

  “Colin saved me from the advances of a drunk man at a club,” Sibyl said quietly to her salad and felt, rather than saw, all eyes turn to her. “He also got a terrible man, whose inattention was borderline abuse, a man who drove a minibus of oldies, fired by getting his secretary to call seventeen councillors to do it.” She continued fiddling with her food and didn’t once raise her eyes. “And he just bought all new furniture for the Day Centre so the oldies would have somewhere nice to eat and relax away from home.”

  This was met with an even more profound silence and Sibyl continued in her pursuit of making certain every leaf of spinach was finely coated with dressing.

  The waiter reappeared to collect the salad dishes but Colin’s authoritative voice stopped him. “Miss Godwin hasn’t finished her salad, Peter.”

  “Yes sir,” Peter replied and slid back out of the room as Sibyl turned her eyes from her food to Colin. He was leaning back in his chair, the comfortable lord of the manor, smiling at her like they were the only two people in the room. She felt the warmth of his smile tingle all through her body, from the top of her head straight to the tips of her curled toes.

  She smiled back and was so immersed in the moment that she missed all the air being sucked out of the room as their audience pulled in their breaths at the fascinating (and hopeful) sight before their eyes.

  “Now that my character has been assassinated and redeemed in the expanse of ten minutes, perhaps we can give Sibyl a chance to finish one of the courses by moving away from the third degree, shall we?” Colin suggested in only the way Colin could suggest, which meant it wasn’t a suggestion at all.

  “That sounds like a fine idea,” Mike agreed readily.

  But Sibyl was now watching her father and, to her surprise, after the corporate raider pronouncement, she saw Bertie looking at Colin with what appeared to be approval.

  The rest of the dinner progressed relatively well (considering its start meant it couldn’t get much worse). Course after course followed, a nice goat’s cheese wrapped in puff pastry with red onion marmalade and then a huge, succulent portobello mushroom cap topped with puy lentils and minced garlic drenched in olive oil with a side of sugar snap peas. Sibyl was finishing an utterly delicious passionfruit gateau when she realised, belatedly, that the entire meal was vegetarian.

  And that Colin had eaten it.

  After all the dishes had been whisked away by Peter and everyone was drinking the last drops of their full-bodied, dry red wine, Phoebe announced, “Let’s finish the evening in the library, where it’s more comfortable. Peter will be serving cheese, liqueurs and coffee.”

  Everyone seemed to think this was a smashing idea. So much so that, with nary a word, all chairs scraped backwards almost before Phoebe finished the word “coffee’.

  Colin hung back at the door and grabbed Sibyl’s hand so she would do the same.

  When everyone had left, Colin ducked his head and whispered into Sibyl’s ear, “Thank you for defending me.”

  She gulped, a tremor of awareness went through her even as she was feeling somewhat ill-at-ease with this exciting new Royce/Colin hybrid. “You’re welcome.”

  He turned so he was fully facing her then glanced over her shoulder at the table.

  “Are you… is everything okay?” she asked, still feeling somehow timid. She couldn’t say she knew Colin all that well but she definitely didn’t know Royce and most definitely not Colin/Royce. It was almost like this was a first date. And anyway, who knew when Colin would wake out of his magical slumber and how he would react when he did.

  His gaze came back to her and what she read in his eyes made all thoughts fly out of her head and her knees went instantly weak.

  “I was wondering, for future reference of course, if this dining room table was fair game?” he asked.

  Her lips parted, her eyes widened and her head jerked around to look at the table. She felt her stomach flip and little tingles spiral delicately throughout her body.

  Her head came back around and she saw his lips were twitching.

  He was teasing.

  “You’re a brute,” she whispered but her tone was teasing and her mind, somehow, was put at ease.

  “You haven’t answered my question,” he drawled.

  “Did your father build it or refinish it?” she queried mock seriously.

  “No.”

  “Your mother?” she continued, tilting her head.

  “Of course not.”

  “A beloved godfather?”

  The twitching lips spread into a grin and he shook his head.

  She countered by nodding hers.

  “I take it that’s a yes?” he pressed.

  She smiled her yes then caught her bottom lip between her teeth while his eyes dropped to watch. Then his face turned serious.

  “Sibyl, before we join the others, I want to show you something. When you see it, I want you to promise me that you’ll let me finish what I need to say before you fly off the handle.”

  Her eyes widened at this sudden change from flirtatious-mode to deadly-serious-liberally-mixed-with-ominous-hints-mode.

  Even so, she focussed on something else and declared in self-defence, “I don’t fly off the handle.

  His eyebrows lifted mockingly.

  At his eyebrow lift, she sighed and said, “Okay, maybe I do but why would I fly off the handle?”

  “Just promise me.”

  She felt a shimmer of dread slide up her spine at his still serious tone and she started, “Colin –”

  He cut her off, demanding, “Promise.”

  He was using his silky voice and his warm eyes but they weren’t working on her this time because his look was so intense, it was scaring her half to death. She needed no more shocks tonight. She didn’t know if she could endure them.

  But this was Royce, wasn’t it?

  And even if it was Colin, she told herself could trust him. He’d taken care of her tranquillised dog, for goddess’s sake. He was buying her an alarm system. He bo
ught a bunch of furniture for her oldies and she couldn’t forget the luxurious swivel chair. And, even though tonight’s dinner seemed doomed to failure for a variety of reasons, that didn’t happen and it wasn’t all that bad.

  Yes, she could definitely trust him.

  Couldn’t she?

  What could he want to show her that might make her angry? Whatever it was couldn’t be all that awful. Especially if he could explain it.

  Taking yet another chance that night, Sibyl decided to trust him.

  Therefore, looking into his eyes, she nodded and for this, she was rewarded with one of his killer-watt smiles, a smile that told her it was going to be all right.

  She drew in a deep, steadying breath as Colin led her down the hall and, instead of turning to the library, where everyone else had gathered, he took her to the Great Hall.

  They walked through the big room and Colin stopped her right in the middle.

  She’d been there before, of course, she’d just never really looked at it because she was mid-diatribe the last time she’d spent any time there.

  It was huge and stunning, right in the middle was an enormous, heavy table made of wood so dark, it was nearly black. Twenty large, ladder-backed chairs surrounded it. In the stone walls, the room had dozens of deep windows with warped panes of glass. Two of the windows were semi-circular, one filled with a sculpted bust on a half column, the other with an immense, antique globe. In the centre of each window were breathtaking stained glass fleur de lis. There were old-fashioned wooden chairs sitting at precise intervals along the walls, almost like sentries standing at attention. There was also a massive mellow-coloured stone staircase built up one wall, a thick, red carpet runner in the centre held to each step by a brass rod. The room was decorated with suits of armour, flags floating from the ceiling beams, pennants dripping from brass rods and crossed swords affixed to walls.

  She felt a shiver of apprehension as she stood there, not only because Colin wasn’t speaking a word as she looked around but also because she felt something familiar about this place. Almost like she’d been there before and not when she had her blazing tirade weeks previously.

  She noted somewhere in the back of her mind it was now raining, the water streaming down the glass of the windows, the sky dark and threatening.