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 h*ps 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 br**sts 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.”