Lacybourne Manor

Chapter Twenty-Five Settling In

The next week and a half with Sibyl was eventfully uneventful.

Although they had no attempts on their lives, Colin found his turned upside down.

Lacybourne was an enormous manor house that, since he’d moved in, had always seemed empty, even when he was occupying it. Now, every corner seemed filled with Sibyl, her pets, her mother, his mother and anyone else the trio deemed fit to add to the mix.

Sibyl had taken the news of a bodyguard watching after her very well. Colin inadvertently hit on the perfect way to break news that she may not like and avoid her formidable temper in the process.

After her rather endearing yet entirely unacceptable bid to save his life by leaving him, he’d punished her. For anyone else but Colin Morgan, inflicting punishment for such a selfless act would seem a strange reaction. However, he didn’t particularly like how he felt when he’d walked to their bedroom with the purpose of making love to her only to find her packing a suitcase. Therefore, when he’d finally subdued her impulsive, hilarious and ill-conceived flight and taken her to bed, he’d spent a good deal of time using most of the weapons in his rather honed sexual arsenal to drive her mad with desire.

When he had her wrists imprisoned over her head and after he’d lavished a goodly amount of attention on her lovely, responsive breasts, he surged over her. Thinking, finally, she was going to get what she’d been begging him to give her for at least fifteen minutes, she opened her legs to receive him.

“By the way,” he muttered against her mouth and felt her hips tilt upward in invitation, at this act, his control slipped and he finished through gritted teeth, “I’ve hired a bodyguard for you. Starting tomorrow morning, he’ll be with you every minute when I’m not.”

Sibyl’s eyes focussed on him but Colin realised by their dazed quality she wasn’t hearing a word he said. Her mind was definitely elsewhere.

“Okay,” she mumbled without hint of protest and wrapped one long, shapely leg around his hip. Ever the practised negotiator, he decided to stop while he was ahead and slid slowly, deeply inside her and then his mind went elsewhere as well.

Later, he was sitting at the head of the dining room table, Sibyl to his left. They were all eating her mother’s vegetarian lasagne, homemade garlic bread and a salad that was so big it had to be served in two bowls.

Colin turned to Sibyl. “About Rick.”

Absorbed in eating her mother’s admittedly delicious meal, she munched a piece of bread and asked, “Who’s Rick?”

“Your bodyguard.”

Her head didn’t move but her eyes shifted swiftly to the side to stare at him and her mouth froze mid-crunch.

Unaffected by her response, he carried on, “He’s being paid to protect you, not to be your friend, not to be your project. This is a professional relationship, he drives you, watches you, guards you, keeps you safe. If he has a girlfriend he isn’t getting along with, that’s none of your concern. If his mother has terminal brain cancer, you don’t bake her cookies and hold her hand during chemotherapy.”

Her head snapped around to glare at him and she gulped down the bread before snapping, “Colin!”

“Is that understood?” he asked the question but didn’t expect an answer, he simply expected to be obeyed.

“I can hardly ignore it if his mother has a brain tumour,” she retorted angrily, hilariously defending her right to be the guardian angel for a fictional unfortunate.

“Then I suggest you don’t even talk to him so you won’t find out.”

“I can hardly not talk to him if he spends every minute of the day with me.”

“Sibyl,” he said warningly.

“Colin.” She used his tone against him.

“You befriend him and he loses focus, he’s gone.”

“I cannot believe –” she hissed.

“You do it with the next one then he’s gone,” Colin went on and finished. “Do you catch my meaning?”

Her rebellious gaze slid to Phoebe and Mags who were sitting across from her. Phoebe was trying very hard (but failing as her lips were twitching) to keep her face impassive. Mags wasn’t even trying to hide her smile but at least she dropped her head so she smiled at her plate of lasagne.

Finding no reinforcements at the table, Sibyl bit out, “Fine.”

Monday, he had barely sat behind his desk in his office when Mandy came rushing in with his coffee.

“There’s a man out there named Kyle James. He says he needs to talk to you. He says you know him from what he calls ‘The Centre’.” Mandy’s wide eyes got wider as she finished, “He mentioned something about a tranquilliser dart!”

When she finished, her eyes were round as saucers.

Calmly, Colin told her to send him in.

Sibyl’s friend strolled in, taking a good look around him as he did and then put out his hand for a friendly handshake. “All right, mate?”

“Kyle,” Colin responded to the familiar West Country greeting.

“Like the office,” he remarked. “Is Billie’s going to be this nice when you finish building it?” When he stopped speaking, he had a twinkle in his eye.

“I think something like this may clash with the current décor of The Centre.” Colin grinned at him and gestured to a handsome, black leather chair in front of his enormous desk. Kyle sat and waited as Colin took his seat behind his desk. Then Colin enquired politely, “Do you want some coffee?”

“That’s nice of you but I don’t want to take up too much of your time. Need to be on my way soon anyhow.”

Colin sat back and regarded him carefully, wondering why he was there.

The he asked, “What’s on your mind?”

Kyle shifted and looked out the window behind Colin’s head and Colin saw, with interest, Kyle’s normal amiability slowly fade.

“Been asking around. Not good what happened to you and Billie last Friday.” His eyes moved back to Colin, the twinkle was gone and it was replaced by something very serious. “Got a boy on the estate, not a bad kid but he doesn’t hang around with a good crowd. Heard word he was talking about a friend of his who showed up at his place Friday night, arm busted.”

That got Colin’s attention and his back straightened.

“Yes?” he prompted.

“Me and a couple of…” He hesitated and stared at Colin assessingly then, deciding he trusted what he saw, he continued, “My boys paid him a visit. Seems this kid’s friend didn’t want to go to hospital. Eventually he passed out with the pain so the kid loaded him up, meaning to take him to Weston Hospital anyway. On the way there, his friend woke up and demanded he take him somewhere, anywhere, but Weston or Bristol. The kid took him down to some place in Exeter. His friend slipped away after getting treated. Our boy doesn’t know where he went.”

Colin clenched his teeth but nodded his head. He realised in that moment he’d vastly underrated the even-tempered Kyle.

“Another thing,” Kyle continued, “kid told us his friend said some woman owed him more considering his arm was broken. He said he was paid a load but not enough to get his arm busted.” He stopped and watched the muscle working in Colin’s jaw. “Thought you’d want to know.”

“Thank you,” was all Colin could manage to get out. It was Tamara, he knew and he was pleasantly contemplating wringing her skinny, alabaster neck.

“Haven’t told the police yet, figured you might want to do that, er… anonymous-like.”

Colin nodded again, easily catching his meaning. Kyle and “his boys” part in this drama was to remain a secret.

Obviously done with his errand, Kyle slapped his thighs, morphing straight back to his old, friendly self. “Well, that’s it. Got things to do.”

He stood and Colin joined him around the desk for another handshake but when it should have ended, Kyle’s hand tightened.

“We take care of our own,” he said in a low voice and stared Colin in the eye and the older man’s were sober. Then he dropped Colin’s hand. “We’re still lookin’.” Kyle told Colin. “We find out any more, we’ll let you know.”

Colin wrote his mobile and home phone numbers on the back of a business card and handed it to Kyle, making his meaning clear as he said quietly, “Please do that.”

The minute the door closed behind Kyle, Colin called Robert Fitzwilliam to relate the news.

Later in the afternoon, he called the alarm company ordering them to increase security at Lacybourne, including putting a panic button and warning light in his and Sibyl’s bedroom. He then called his housekeeper, Mrs. Manning, to tell her that he was changing all the codes and that he had guests who would be staying for an indefinite period of time.

She asked for the new codes but he told her he would tell her in person when he next saw her, he wasn’t even going to trust his own damned phone line. She, strangely, pressed him but he flatly refused to divulge the information over the phone. He explained she’d have to wait, for the time being, to be let in by him, Sibyl or whoever else his mother or Mags dragged into their drama.

That evening he changed all the alarm codes and explained them and how to work the complicated system to the three women currently occupying Lacybourne. Then, upon seeing three uncomprehending faces, he explained them again. Then, when his mother bit her lip and Mags’s eyes shifted uneasily this way and that, he patiently explained it again.

He did not even want to consider what would happen when the new system he’d ordered was installed.

Preparing for bed, he exited the bathroom after brushing his teeth to see Sibyl sitting cross-legged on the bed wearing another one of his t-shirts. Apart from the fact that she loved him, which he found a vastly pleasurable experience the like of which he’d never known, the second thing he liked best about her was her new habit of wearing his t-shirts to bed. Not just that she did it, but the casual intimacy it evoked that she did.

Not to mention she looked utterly adorable sitting cross-legged close to the end of their bed, her face free of makeup, her fantastic, gleaming hair loose around her shoulders.

She broke him out of his reverie by saying, “Um… Colin?”

The hesitant somewhat guilty tone of her voice tore all pleasant thoughts of Sibyl’s love and how adorable she was in his t-shirt out of his head.

He just looked at her, mentally preparing for the worst.

“I have something to tell you,” she continued.

He stopped at the foot of the bed and stared down at her.

“Let me guess,” he drawled, “you discovered your bodyguard’s sister has diabetes and you’ve decided to give her your kidney.”

Her head jerked slightly and then her face lit up in a magnificent smile before she burst into deep, musical laughter. His body jolted at the sound and it occurred to him that this was the first time he’d ever made her laugh.

And doing it he felt, oddly, like he’d conquered the world.

Once she had herself under control she shook her head, her hair shifting beautifully around her face, and said, “No.”

“What is it?” He asked and then leaned forward, unable to prevent himself even if it meant losing the millions he’d worked so hard for he placed his hands on the bed on either side of her hips and kissed the smile on her face.

When he lifted his head she said, “It was National Trust day today at Lacybourne.”

“I know.” He put his knee on the bed and she had no choice but to grab his shoulders as he loomed over her and she had to lean back to allow his body into the space where hers had just been.

“Well, word is getting out about you and me, Royce and Beatrice.”

He froze then he narrowed his eyes at her. “How’s that happening…” he paused, “exactly?”

She pulled her lips between her teeth for a moment then released them and said, “Well…” and that was all she said but she drew the word out so it lasted several seconds.

“Sibyl.”

“They already knew about you, of course,” she started quickly. “Then some of the tourists told some of the Trust volunteers last Saturday after they’d seen us, I mean me… with, er, you, outside and then, today, the volunteers and tourists kind of saw me –”

He moved forward more, this time menacingly and she clutched his shoulders and her legs uncrossed as he settled her back, dropping his weight on her. She didn’t have a chance to close her legs and he pressed himself between them.

“Kind of saw you?” he asked as he lifted himself up with his elbows in the bed at her sides in order to look down on her.

“Yes… well, I was kind of, er… mingling amongst the tourists.”

He closed his eyes and silently asked whatever deity, God or her goddess, to grant him patience.

She went on hurriedly, “Well, it was Mags’s fault. She went down into the Great Hall first and was shooting off her mouth. Then your mother joined her and I can’t really say anything to her, because I don’t know her very well and it isn’t my place. I just went in to try to get them out and then things got a bit out-of-control –”

He opened his eyes. “How out-of-control?”

“I think there might have been reporters,” she whispered, her eyes wide.

He dropped his forehead to hers and sighed, “Sibyl, you truly are the most an –”

Before he could finish, she burst out, “Mags started it!”

He lifted then shook his head, “What am I going to do with you?”

Her mouth twisted into an adorable pout before she grumbled, “It wasn’t my fault.”

“Darling, do me a favour,” Colin muttered.

She nodded.

“While I’m trying to save our lives, could you please try not to further endanger yours?”

She heaved a great breath and then said, “I’ll try.”

But he knew, and she knew, that she most likely wouldn’t be very successful.

The next morning, he’d barely sat behind his desk when Mandy rushed in with his morning coffee and then slapped a newspaper down on his blotter.

“I thought I’d show you that first thing, before anyone said anything,” she said in a dire voice, her eyes so big Colin was concerned they’d pop out of her head then she mumbled ominously, “I’ll hold your calls,” and quickly exited the room.

He flipped open the paper to where Mandy had helpfully folded it back to a page. There he saw a stock photo of himself, a picture of Sibyl standing in the Great Hall smiling winningly at two poorly dressed tourists and replicated photos of the portraits of Beatrice and Royce. The title of the article read, “Tycoon and Social Worker are Cursed Lovers Reincarnated.”

He swore under his breath.

By the time he left that evening Mandy reported, in an extremely harassed way, she’d taken more calls that day than she usually took in a month.

He decided he’d better give her a raise in the morning or he’d be hiring a new secretary and that was a headache he didn’t need at the present time.

And anyway, he liked Mandy.

The three women he was currently accommodating were saved from his wrath that evening by the addition of a fourth. Sibyl had brought her elderly friend Meg over for dinner.

Meg was still in a wheelchair but recovered enough to get out and about. Sibyl, blatantly ignoring his orders, arranged it so Rick, her bodyguard, who lived in Weston (close to Meg), would stay for dinner and afterward take Meg home.

Meg was a lovely older lady with a kindly face and clearly a close relationship with Sibyl.

Rick was two inches shorter than Sibyl but twice her body weight in pure muscle. He had short-cropped, blond hair and an expression that looked like it would fell a tree if he just glanced at it with mild irritation. Rick also had no intention of having a nice, friendly supper with his employer and pointedly picked up his filled plate and cutlery and carried it out of the room when dinner was served.

Colin decided he liked Rick.

Later that evening, he managed to snare his mother when they were following Meg and the others out to the car. He fully intended to tell her how he felt about her behaviour with the tourists the day before.

“About yesterday –” he began.

“I know!” Phoebe beamed with happy excitement. “It was in the papers. Did you see it?”

“Yes,” he ground out.

“You should have seen her. She was an absolute darling to all those people. The National Trust volunteers were all gushing about her. She even talked to some Spanish tourists in Spanish,” she said this last as if it was feat parallel to solving the puzzle of the meaning of life.

His mother put her hand on his arm and her eyes were aglow. “Colin, I’m just so pleased for you, my darling, Sibyl is a delight!” Then she rushed away to say good-bye to Meg leaving Colin unable and strangely unwilling to remonstrate her about that day’s papers.

When Colin arrived at Rick’s car, Sibyl and Rick were having a low-voiced argument.

“You have to watch what I do,” she hissed.

“I can put an old lady in a car,” Rick muttered, clearly aggrieved.

“You can’t manhandle her; you have to do it carefully. Just watch what I do.”

Rick gave Colin a long-suffering look and Colin wondered how Rick would look on his third day with Sibyl.

Colin watched as Sibyl positioned Meg’s wheelchair between the car and the door and then he surged forward and clipped, “Hold on…” when she reached in to take on the older woman’s considerable weight.

With astounding agility, she grabbed onto a belt at the woman’s waist, hauled her up, pivoted with her and then, with control, softly settled her into the car. She did it all as if Meg weighed no more than a feather.

Colin halted and stared incredulously as Mags said beside him, “She’s done this before, you know.”

Colin found himself thinking the wonders of Sibyl never ceased.

And also hoping they never would.

After she’d said her good-byes and closed the door she turned to Rick, “Do I need to go with you?”

“No!” Rick snapped and stomped to the driver’s side.

Mags and Phoebe went into the house while Sibyl waved the car out of sight. She turned to him, grabbed his arm in both of her hands and leaned into him, her head pressed to his shoulder. They walked together that way into the house and Colin wished he could enjoy her casual affection rather than worrying that a tranquilliser gun, or worse, was trained on one of them.

The minute he closed and locked the door and turned to go into the Great Hall, she slid her arms around his neck, pressed her soft body against his and gave him a quick, sweet kiss.

When her lips moved away, she smiled up at him and he felt his gut clench when he saw her face was awash with an extraordinary light and he realised that she was happy.

Blindingly, beautifully, glamorously, unbelievably happy.

Moved by this in a profound way that was nearly raw, his hand went to the side of her neck and he positioned his thumb under her chin to keep her radiant face tilted to his.

“You’re in a rare mood tonight,” he commented lightly in an effort to hide how her happiness affected him.

If it was possible, her smile brightened.

“She’s going to be all right, Colin. You saw her! She’s nearly back to the same old Meg.” Her arms tightened with delight around his neck.

He could do nothing but smile back.

In the middle of the night, with Sibyl’s naked body pressed heavily against his side as she slept, his own sleep eluded him.

His thoughts were about finding a way to make Sibyl that happy always. He wanted her constantly radiating happiness, peace, warmth and affection and never again worried.

Never.

And what Colin wanted, Colin found a way to get. The problem was, he was beginning to be impatient.

On Wednesday, Colin learned that Tamara Adams had disappeared and no one had seen her for weeks. She had not taken Colin’s breaking things with her very well and had said as much to family and friends, rather vociferously, according to Fitzwilliam’s phoned-in report. Then she told people she was going on holiday but didn’t return. Everyone, reportedly, was concerned.

Colin obviously wasn’t concerned, he just wanted her found and soon.

He arrived at Lacybourne early on Wednesday, thinking to work at home and immediately went in search of Sibyl. He found her in the buttery which had been, the day before, turned into her makeshift “laboratory”.

She was standing in front of the window, her back to him, one of the grey, misty days that had been the incessant weather of late providing weak light for her work. She was wearing her torn jeans and a fitted, white t-shirt and her hair pulled up in a messy ponytail at the top back of her head.

Without a word, he silently walked up behind her and slid his arms around her waist. She jumped in surprise but when his lips touched her neck, she relaxed against him.

“Hi,” she whispered and he felt a thrill down his spine at her utterance of that single word.

He lifted his mouth from her neck and caught sight of her hands encased in gloves that went up to her elbows, immersed in a huge bowl of glistening, white goo.

“What is that?” he asked.

She laughed softly before saying, “That is an experiment. A new face mask. As I don’t do animal testing and Mallory would likely eat it anyway, Mags and Phoebe are going to test it for me.”

He was powerless against her warm voice and soft laugh and he allowed his hands to slide under her t-shirt and criss-cross on the skin of her midriff. He felt her muscles tense there but the rest of her body relaxed further into him.

“Would you be a test subject?” she teased for she knew the answer to that would be a resounding no.

His mouth descended to her neck again.

“No,” Colin gave her the answer she knew she’d get and he said it against her skin then parried her teasing by drifting his hand up her midriff to cover her breast. His thumb found her nipple and dragged against it, feeling it immediately harden.

“Colin,” she admonished softly without really meaning it, “I’m working.”

His arm at her middle tightened and his fingers moved to trace the lace at the top of her bra just as his mouth slid up her neck to behind her ear.

“Carry on,” he murmured and his fingers closed around the lace and pulled it sharply down under her breast.

Sibyl gasped.

“Colin!” This was half-admonishment, half-whimper.

He smiled against her ear and then touched his tongue there. She smelled of flowers and musk and he felt his groin tighten. He found her nipple with his thumb and forefinger and tugged at it sharply in a rough, gentle demand.

Her head fell back on his shoulder and she shuddered, her body’s movement absorbed by his.

“That’s nice,” she breathed and all admonishment was gone from her tone.

To reward her, he did it again and her response was so intense, his arm had to tighten around her waist to catch her as her legs buckled beneath her.

He nipped her ear with his teeth. “You’re not working,” he informed her helpfully.

She didn’t respond, she simply trembled and he knew she was ready for him.

As he had her exactly where wanted her, he pulled the lace back over her breast and slid his hand down and out from under the t-shirt. He removed his mouth from the sensitive area of her ear and kissed her neck chastely.

“I’ll let you get on with it.”

“Colin!” she cried and whirled, white goo flying everywhere.

He grinned at her.

“Don’t give me one of those devilish grins, get back here!” she demanded.

He walked away and heard her growl with frustration.

As he understood when he started it, he knew he’d pay for that episode later that night and he was very much looking forward to it.

Later, while he could smell one of Mags’s vegetarian feasts cooking in the kitchen, he snagged Mallory’s lead and commandeered the recalcitrant dog to take a walk. He and Mallory were passing the library when he heard feminine voices.

He glanced in while walking by and heard his mother exclaim, “Mine’s tingling.”

He stopped and stared at the three women sitting side by side on the couch, all of their faces covered in white goo, their legs stretched out before them, their heads resting on the back of the couch.

“Is it a good tingle or a bad tingle?” Sibyl asked with concern.

“Oh, a good tingle, dear.”

“Mine’s not tingling but it smells good enough to eat,” Mags put in.

“Don’t eat it, Mother,” Sibyl warned.

“I wasn’t going to eat it. I was just saying it smells good enough to eat.”

Colin decided to escape before the oncoming escalation and he walked the dog.

All the days that followed were more of the same.

Mandy was taking reporters’ phone calls by the dozens and they’d even found the number to Lacybourne and were ringing there wanting pictures and interviews of the reincarnated lovers.

The next two National Trust days were so crowded, the Trust had to arrange for timed viewings and had phoned Colin telling him that, if this persisted, they would have to do visits by booking only. They also asked if he and Sibyl wouldn’t mind being part of a new pamphlet and helping with a fundraiser. This he refused, of course, and didn’t even bother to mention to Sibyl for she would definitely not have refused and the last thing he needed was for her to be gunned down at a National Trust Ball.

Marian Byrne’s daughter had left after Marian had sufficiently recovered so, in order for Sibyl to watch over her, she became a regular guest at dinner. Colin had come home on Friday evening to catch Marian and Mags in the kitchen, leaning expectantly over a large pot that was emitting an foul odour that was (he hoped) not food while his mother sat at a stool by the counter calmly reading a woman’s magazine.

“Just experimenting with –” Mags began to explain upon his entry.

He lifted up his hand and didn’t break stride as he continued to walk through the kitchen. “I don’t want to know.”

He’d encountered Sibyl in the hall.

“Hi babe.” She brushed her lips softly against his in greeting and he vastly preferred her welcome to the dastardly trio in the kitchen. “Enchiladas tonight,” she informed him.

He was relatively certain enchiladas did not smell like what was in the kitchen and if it did, he wanted no part of it.

“Is Mags cooking?”

She knew exactly to what he was referring and her body started to shake with silent laugher.

“Yes, but I’ve made ones especially for you and they contain meat.”

His kiss of greeting was heavily weighted with relief.

They had a relatively peaceful weekend.

This was, of course, if one didn’t count Sibyl’s extraordinary tirade when he’d had the MG towed back to Brightrose and presented her with an Aston Martin. This she categorically refused to accept and a reluctant compromise was only reached when his mother suggested Colin take the Aston and Sibyl use the BMW. The Mercedes was offered on the Alter of Environmental Correctness and this last he agreed to but carefully made no promise as he had no intention of getting rid of his car mainly because he liked the Mercedes.

Tuesday night, Sibyl was tucked against his side while Colin was staring at the ceiling and contemplating the unacceptable lack of progress his investigation team was making in finding Tamara Adams.

She was a socialite, not a super sleuth. How she could be evading a ten-man team was beyond him and Colin wanted answers and results.

As the days went by, Sibyl seemed to be settling in quite contentedly at Lacybourne, almost as if she’d forgotten someone wanted to harm them. She went about her busy schedule, radiating happiness and warmth with unflagging energy.

Even though Colin was pleased that she obviously trusted him and was happily getting on with her life, especially as that life included him, he was becoming more and more impatient. He wanted this business complete so he and Sibyl could move on. He wanted to come home to her (and even her many and varied escapades) every night, his ring on her finger and her carrying his name and he wanted all of this without death threats hanging over their heads.

“Do you think we have too much sex?” Sibyl asked musingly, interrupting his unhappy reverie with her mystifying question.

“What?” he asked, thrown.

She came up on her elbow and leaned over him.

“We have a lot of sex. Of course, it’s normal to have a lot of sex when you start a relationship but we have a lot, a lot.”

He couldn’t answer her, his unhappy thoughts shifted to even unhappier thoughts, including the fact that she’d had lots of sex at the start of relationships with other men.

Furthermore, she was right. He had a very healthy sexual appetite but he’d never been as hungry for a woman, carrying a constant, overwhelming desire, as he was for her. He found himself wanting her more even when he was embedded inside her. She was an obsession, even an addiction.

Upon brief consideration, he found this didn’t bother him in the slightest.

“I think it’s the curse,” she continued, either ignoring or not noticing his lack of response. “Royce and Beatrice didn’t… um, get any and so we’re making up for it.”

“I don’t care why I want you, I just know I do, there’s no purpose in evaluating it,” Colin replied.

“Yes, but don’t you think it’s weird?” Sibyl pressed.

“I hardly think it’s ‘weird’ for any man to have an irrational craving for you, you’re quite simply the most desirable woman I’ve known.”

Her mouth dropped open then, to his surprise, she clamped it shut on a disbelieving, very unladylike, snort.

“Sibyl,” he remonstrated softly, “it doesn’t suit you to fish for compliments.”

“Fish for…!” She started then burst out laughing and he felt its beauty seep into his bones. When she was done, she laid her hand on his cheek and smiled at him. “Colin, you like me, we’re good together.” Her smile deepened. “Of course you think I’m desirable but that doesn’t mean every man does.” She carried on, as if he hadn’t even spoken, “Personally, I still think it’s the curse.”

He stared at her assessingly and realised she didn’t comprehend her incredible allure.

“You aren’t to be believed,” he mumbled.

“What’s that?” She tilted her head, the smile still tugging at her lips.

He pulled her weight on top of his body and his arms stole around her.

Then he studied her beautiful face for long moments.

Then he muttered, “Christ, you have no idea,” and something about that knowledge awed him.

“Okay, I get it, you don’t think it’s the curse but –”

“Sibyl listen to me,” he interrupted her, “you are beautiful.”

Her eyes sparkled. “And you’re very handsome,” she returned, completely unfazed by his words. “But then again, I love you so of course I’d think you’re handsome, to others, you’re probably very ugly.”

He found himself biting back laughter at the same time growling with frustration and something infinitely deeper. She lifted her knees so she was straddling him and bent her head to kiss the base of his throat, her hair sliding luxuriously across his chest.

“Likely extremely ugly,” she muttered as she moved lower and kissed his stomach and his muscles tensed as he understood her intent. “Hideous,” she whispered as she moved lower.

He let go of his unhappy thoughts and moved his hands into her hair to pull it away so he could watch.

Later, after he’d yanked her roughly back on top of him to finish what she started with her mouth in an entirely different but infinitely pleasurable way, he rolled them to their sides and her arms tightened around him.

“That was nice.” She spoke what he considered the understatement of the year and he chuckled.

He felt her body settle and her breathing even out and he remembered a phone call he’d had that day.

“Sibyl?”

“Mm?” she murmured against his neck.

“Mrs. Manning called today.”

“Who?”

“My housekeeper, she requests that you not make the bed. She says it’s her job. Since I pay her to do it, there’s no reason you should.”

“The invisible housekeeper,” Sibyl said quietly. “Now that’s weird. She’s here but you never see her.”

He found that rather surprising as he wasn’t letting Mrs. Manning in, he wondered who was. Nevertheless, with other weighty things on his mind, he didn’t spend any time thinking about it.

“I’d rather not hire a new one –” he started but she cut him off.

She did this by declaring on a yawn, “There are lots of things in life worth fighting for, Colin, my right to make a bed is not one of them.”

And then she promptly fell asleep.

And, as with nearly every night since Meg had dinner with them, Colin did not.