Page 74 of The Rogue’s Embrace

What an unhappy lot we're destined to be.

Sybil couldn't get her husband's words out of her head. She watched the young people disappear into the house. Stephen was nowhere in sight. The knowledge he'd be here a few days more would have been comforting had she thought he had a chance of winning Araminta over.

The sad truth, however, was that Stephen had not enough affection for Araminta to be fired by the chase and Araminta…well, Araminta was determined and stubborn. She wanted to become mistress of The Grange, and that was that. Sybil rather suspected that Araminta liked the idea of being wed to someone weak and pliable like Edgar whom she could thoroughly rule over.

It was also clear that Araminta was succeeding nicely in winning Edgar's heart, which he was now wearing on his sleeve. Throughout dinner his attention skipped to his alluring elder cousin every time she made a remark.

With the eagle eyes of a concerned parent, Sybil did not miss the consequent slump of Hetty's shoulders.

When Araminta voiced a learned opinion on the prime minister, Edgar's echoed, "Yes, dreadful man, Lord Liverpool,"

would have been comical had it not been indicative of how easily led the boy was. It boded ill for all of them and the future of the estate.

Stephen kept his thoughts to himself. Perhaps he'd schooled his expression so as not to betray the contempt which Sybil saw on her husband's face. Hetty wore a mask of despair. She'd never been able to conceal her feelings and Sybil's heart bled for her youngest. Edgar might not have been the husband she'd have chosen for Hetty but at least they might have made one another happy. Together, Araminta and Edgar would be a disaster.

After dinner the party broke up and the young people went to the billiard room.

Again, Sybil was surprised when Humphrey joined her in the drawing room after he'd had his port and coffee. He'd been a far better companion since Lizzy Hazlett's departure.

It was a bolstering thought.

"Well, my dear, we're living through interesting times,"

he remarked as he led her to her seat. "My guess is there'll be an announcement before the week."

"My guess is sooner. Oh, Humphrey."

Sybil sighed as she sank into her chair and sent him a searching look. "What can we do? I deplore the situation as much as you do. When Stephen first arrived I admit I was angry and upset. Here he was, taking George's place. Now I'm utterly devastated that his position has been usurped."

She reflected on how the young heir-in-waiting had conducted himself. With thoughtfulness and dignity, despite what had happened to cause Sybil such embarrassment. She put her hands to her cheeks to ensure there was no betraying warmth there before she added, "At least with Stephen holding the reigns you'd have had the comfort of knowing you left the estate in good hands."

Humphrey hovered by her side. How rarely Sybil enjoyed the attentions of her husband, and how sad that this magnificent room with its intricately worked plaster ceiling and sumptuous furnishings was used so little.

Stephen would have made excellent use of it. He had taste and soul.

And kindness.

She wondered where that thought had come from. And then wondered at Stephen's uncertain destiny. He had taken his change in fortune with remarkable fortitude.

Humphrey began to pace in front of the fire. With a start, Sybil noticed that his shoulders appeared more stooped. Had he grown older without her noticing? Hardly surprising since she saw him so little.

He grunted. "Stephen is so like his father Reginald, my cousin, an excellent man. A little wild in his youth but a good, steady fellow with a clever head on his shoulders. Reginald's biggest mistake was his eye for the ladies."

His own glittered when he glanced at Sybil. "The crafty piece he married tricked him into it. Stephen's mother."

At least Sybil was not guilty of such a charge. It was Humphrey who'd tricked her into believing he'd at least try to play the role of husband.

Her husband went on, "I feared Stephen might have taken after her which was behind my initial reluctance to seek him out. However once I met him I realized he'd inherited his father's traits. You're right, he'd have made an excellent job of managing the estate, both in my dotage and when I die."

Moving to the sideboard, he poured them both another drink. "Now, Edgar has returned, threatening to destroy everything my forebears worked so hard to build up. Even with Araminta guiding him, he won't know how to curb his impulses. Indeed, I'm not sure I have that much faith in Araminta's level head. No, it's a disaster all ‘round."

"And Hetty,"

Sybil added sadly. Hetty's bruised and broken heart concerned her as much as the matter of the estate.

"And Hetty. But there you are. There's nothing to be done."

He spoke with the finality of one about to excuse himself for the night. In a sudden burst of bravery, Sybil detained him with, "We could try one last time, Humphrey."

His puzzled frown in response to her words and the arm she extended towards him suggested he wasn't sure what she was saying.

She felt herself color up as she whispered, "I'm not too old to have a child, Humphrey. We both know that."

What remained unsaid was that they both knew how difficult it was for Humphrey to do what was necessary. When he began to dissemble Sybil knew the time had come for plain speaking.

Studying the openwork design on her skirts, she said carefully, "The last time we tried, Humphrey—three months ago, as I recall it—you said the fault lay with you and there was little point in trying again. But I can be as patient and forgiving as you like if it'll provide an heir that will remove Edgar. Mrs. Hazlett has gone away to have a baby. No, there's nothing to be said. I know it's scandalous of me to mention it but I have to say my piece if I believe it's for the good of the estate. If Mrs. Hazlett can have your baby, Humphrey, surely you can bring yourself to try…"

She swallowed, stared desperately at his closed expression then burst out, "Surely you could try and give me one too."

Clenching her hands, she waited, expectation rising alarmingly within her as her husband stared at her. Nothing was more important to Humphrey than the future of the estate. Surely he could bring himself to sufficiently overcome his aversion toward intimacy with Sybil to at least try for such a practical solution?

The regret in his face was almost more than she could bear. Sybil had been rejected many times in her life but this was the most painful.

Swallowing down her tears, she rose, feeling suddenly like an old woman as she walked towards the Argand lamp. "I will not let you see me cry—again,"

she whispered as she dimmed the light, unable to face him again as she whispered, "Do I disgust you so much?"

He understood the depth of the pain he inflicted on her. She could hear it in his voice though she still could not look at him. He was not a bad man but in that moment she hated him, a feeling quickly tempered by sorrow. She could never truly hate Humphrey, who now said in a low, almost emotionless voice, "You have never disgusted me, Sybil. Other men have complimented me on my lovely, easy-tempered wife and their admiration has always fuelled my self-disgust, for I'm not insensible to what I've denied you."

He sighed and a note of tenderness crept into his tone. "But I cannot bring myself to regard you as other than a companionable helpmate. My affections were engaged before I met you and I find myself utterly unable to perform as a husband to any other than the woman I fell in love with. The fault is not yours. Please, Sybil, don't cry. I can't bear it."

Wearily, she returned to her chair and put her forehead into her hands. Her burst of hopefulness—both that she might provide the longed-for heir and a solution to all their troubles as well as a possibility that she need not always feel so useless—turned to dust. So, that was that. "Then, I'm to grow old, watching Edgar drive the estate into the mire, denied love because of your loyalty to your mistress."

She heaved in a breath; almost remained silent, then asked in a low, desperate whisper, "Is that any way to live life, Humphrey?"

Clearly he could take no more such talk for he rose to his feet. On his way to the door, however, he hesitated by the back of her chair as if he might reach out and touch her. He did not but his words were thick with regret. "I'm sorry, Sybil. I wish it were different. I wish you could find happiness in the position to which I condemned you."

She swallowed painfully, glad she could not see him. "I cannot even take a lover, though lord knows I've never been tempted since all I ever wanted was to be a good wife to you."

Upon the threshold, he turned. "If George had not died I'd have had an heir and yes, Sybil, I'd have sanctioned a liaison that would have made you happy. It's what you deserve and I know your loyalty prevents that, just as my loyalty is my own noose. But we cannot change the situation in which we find ourselves."

He turned the door knob, adding under his breath, "God knows, I wish we could."

After Humphrey had gone Sybil remained in the dim drawing room. She could hear the laughter of the young people in the next room. Had she ever laughed like that? Had she ever once believed she might find happiness with a man? Of course she had. She'd not loved Humphrey but she'd been told love grew with time; that love was duty's reward. And she'd not been one of those foolish misses longing for romance and believing it a necessary precursor to marriage.

No, Sybil had been far more pragmatic. A dutiful daughter. It was the greatest compliment she'd ever been paid.

She'd been brought up to be hopeful. On the eve of her marriage to Humphrey she'd had the naive belief that through mutual duty, happiness would come to both of them.

A log sputtered in the fireplace sending a shower of tinders onto the hearth. Some sparked upon the Aubusson rug, threatening to singe it if the cinders were not swept up in time.

Perhaps in marriages around the country the husband would have been on hand to attend to the matter.

Instead, Sybil went down upon her knees and attended to the matter herself. Then, like an old woman, she hauled herself to her feet with the help of chair before wending her way through the corridors toward her private apartments.

* * *

In the Long Gallery, she stopped by the casement and stared out into the darkness, her candle casting a soft glow over the red plush cushions and the heavy brocade curtains. Along the walls, portraits of Humphrey's proud forebears seemed to glare their disapproval.

What would they make of all this?

Edgar, a simple, stupid boy was to become custodian of the small empire they had built. He would squander it all. Humphrey had acknowledged that. And Edgar would do his worst while breaking her youngest daughter's heart.

Meanwhile, Sybil's own heart was breaking. She had sacrificed happiness to do her duty by the man with whom her parents had contracted her in marriage all those years ago.

And all for nothing, it would now appear.

She turned at the sound of a soft footfall.

"I did not mean to disturb you, Lady Partington."

"Stephen."

She forced a smile. For some strange reason it seemed important to make an effort for him.

He stopped a few feet from her. "I thought you were Hetty until I got close up. After watching her this evening, it seemed your youngest needed some comfort."

His eyes were kind. "Now I see it's you and, if you don't mind my saying, I think you look a little in need of comfort."

How commendable that he saw beyond the limits of his own disappointments. Nevertheless, she bypassed this as she tried for a flippant note. "So you thought I was Hetty until my haggard visage came into the light."

"I don't know why you disparage yourself, Lady Partington."

There was both amusement and censure in his look. "When you are really quite lovely."

"Quite lovely!"

She'd not meant to exclaim it as if she wished for confirmation or to hear his words again.

"It would appear you are not in the habit of receiving compliments."

"A woman of my age no longer receives compliments, Stephen."

She put her hand to her heart, which was doing silly palpitations, and smoothed her dress. "Nor did I receive them when I was younger."

"Lord Partington married a beautiful woman and I've heard him compliment his daughters. Both of them. Perhaps you misinterpret his veiled form of flattery."

"I do not think the mistake is mine."

Best to change the subject. She tried for briskness but the weight of her troubles could not be disguised. She sighed. "You're correct in surmising the state of poor Hetty's heart. She is bereft and I don't know what to do."

She was keenly aware of Stephen's nearness. He'd closed the distance between them. She put her hand to her face, hoping he'd not notice her heightened color. He'd scorn her if he knew what his close proximity did to her. An old woman. He must think of her as he would his mother.

"I wish I could help, Lady Partington."

He shrugged, transferring his gaze from the severe visage of Araminta's paternal grandmother to Sybil's own. "Araminta is the most determined young lady I've met but as I've said before, I have no wish to change her mind."

"I wish you did."

Sybil's tone was bleak. She suspected her life would be a great deal easier if she could settle her eldest daughter quickly and respectably. Araminta's beauty and headstrong nature had the potential to become a combustible combination.

But then, did she really want Araminta allied to Stephen?

He quirked an eyebrow. "Why would you wish to promote a match between your eldest daughter and a penniless cousin? I have nothing to recommend me."

"Except a handsome face and a kind heart."

Impulsively she put out her hand and touched his arm. "I did not properly appreciate you when you first arrived. I'm sorry."

To her confusion he closed his hands around her wrist. Startled, she realised he stood so close she could feel his heat. And was aware of the scent of him: a mixture of bergamot—perhaps the soap he used. Or was it hair oil?—leather and brandy. Instantly she berated herself for delving so deeply into its components. It suggested far too great an interest.

"I know."

He grinned down at her, she was still seated demurely on the windowsill but feeling more at sea than she could remember. "Does it take a lot to persuade you out of your prejudices, Lady Partington? You were wrong about me and you are wrong in your self-assessment, though it seems I cannot persuade you otherwise."

While he spoke his thumb caressed the underneath of her wrist. It seemed he'd not noticed. Perhaps he was used to addressing desirable women in intimate situations like this. Perhaps he truly did think her desirable. Hardly likely. The dim light had caused him to imagine her a generation younger.

"I've been made very welcome since I've come here. I only wish there was something I could do to help the family."

Something I could do to help the family.

A thought that had lain repressed and dormant burst inside her head. He was voicing his desire to find a solution. She'd been mulling over solutions, Humphrey having dismissed her most practical and surely the simplest. Stephen was charming and handsome, the heir Humphrey had wished for. That is, if he could not bring himself to sire his own heir. And Stephen did not find Sybil repugnant.

In the instant before her careful self-censoring shutter closed upon her lips, brazen courage forced itself out of her depths. She whispered, "But there is."

She checked herself. Dear Lord, had she really uttered those words?

She must have for his head was tilted and his expression was one of inquiry.

She hesitated. No, she dare not say the words that trembled on her tongue, ready to spill out and brand her a faithless harlot; albeit a loyal wife.

One who now trembled with the brazenness of what she'd nearly proposed. Or did her sense of desperation stem from something quite different?

"You were about to say something, I believe, Lady Partington."

His tone was measured. There was nothing to suggest he had any inkling of what she'd nearly said.

And yet his eyes danced with subtext. A suggestive smile tugged at his lips.

"It was nothing."

He nodded and she rose and half turned to look through the window, keenly conscious of him so close, now unable to look at him.

"So you are and Lord Partington have accepted that Edgar will be next to assume the role of custodian of all this."

"I don't think accepted describes our feelings at all!"

she burst out with rare energy, turning to find him regarding her with amusement.

Her shoulders slumped. "Resigned ourselves, perhaps."

"To the fact you are no longer able to provide his Lordship with another heir."

Now, there was no amusement in his tone. The moment for playful suggestiveness had passed as he misinterpreted her meaning.

Fury, disappointment…a myriad of emotions coursed through her. She pressed her lips together but the words would not remain unsaid. "I could if only Humphrey—."

A sinful admission no faithful wife should utter. But surely a faithful wife would do whatever was within her power to protect her husband's legacy?

She slanted a look at him and, seeing his frown of enquiry, went on in a rush before she could lose her nerve, "It's true, the only way to prevent Edgar from becoming the next heir is if I were to provide one."

She flicked her tongue over dry lips. "We all know what a disaster having Edgar holding the reins would be."

Stephen nodded. He took a step closer, putting out a hand to tuck an escaped tendril of hair from behind her ear. Such an intimate gesture.

She froze, staring at him as he met her look, his eyes blazing with something she must be misinterpreting for if she'd had any experience of looking at desire, this would surely be it. Suddenly there seemed not enough air for the two of them. She put her hand to her throat and sucked in a breath, saying in a whisper, "If I am carrying the possible next heir, Araminta will relinquish Edgar and Hetty will be happy."

Her heart thundered in her ears as she extended her arms towards him in her agitation. "If I am carrying the next heir the future of The Grange will be secure."

She swallowed painfully, hesitated then burst out, "Will you help me, Stephen?"

She didn't know whether to laugh or cry—hysterically, of course—at the look on his face.

Dropping her hands, she stepped back quickly, "I have embarrassed you. I apologize. It is late and I do not know what I'm saying."

His hand shot out and he grasped her wrist, pulling her to him within the arc of his arm, cupping her face and lowering his head to within inches of hers, as if to study her better. To her astonishment, he smiled. Then, tilting his head, he asked in a slow, suggestive, sinful drawl, "Is that a proposition?"

Embarrassment washed over her, replaced by relief that he'd repeated the question, giving her the opportunity to withdraw with dignity. Thank God for his clear thinking, for she had never spoken more rashly in her life. Propositioning a younger man? What must he think of her?

Yet when she tried to snatch away her hand and draw away, muttering that she had no idea what had come over her, he would not relinquish her. A potent cocktail of mortification and fear churned in Sybil's belly, not eased when Stephen said softly, tugging her still closer and ignoring her babbled refutation, "If that is a proposition then the pleasure of it alone would be most enticing."

Sybil's upper teeth bit down hard upon her trembling lower lip. No, this was wrong. She wasn't even sure how she'd reached this point but it seemed he sensed she'd lost courage, for suddenly he was all tenderness, even though he did not release her. Gently, he put his finger to her lips and said, "With all due respect, Lady Partington, I was led to believe you were unable to provide His Lordship with an heir. It is of course the reason, I surmised, that I was invited here."

Sybil swayed, her eyes fluttering closed for a second as the blood rushed from her head to feel Stephen's arms about her shoulders, keeping her upright. Her world was tilting on its axis and there was a roaring in her ears as as she forced out the words, "Humphrey has kept a mistress since before we were married."

She gathered her wits and straightened, staring at the stony faces of the forebears of the man whose family she had married into. All those portraits bearing Humphrey's traits. How ironic that history would judge her for failing the continuation of the family dynasty. "Together he and I have had four children but when we tried for another child after George died, Humphrey was unable to…to…"

She shrugged, unable to finish. Misery and shame washed over her. "This afternoon I begged him to try with me again."

She looked down at her trembling hands, clasped across her stomach, conscious of the pity that must be so apparent on Stephen's face. Yet, when she did venture a glance at him his eyes crinkled with kindness, it seemed, before he nodded, slowly, for her to go on.

"He was very kind and apologetic,"

she murmured, "but made it clear it was quite out of the question. It seems the idea of being intimate with me is clearly so distasteful?—"

She broke off as she felt Stephen's breath stir the hair at her temples. Gripping the tasseled edging of the green velvet curtains that swathed the window, she could barely believe what she was hearing.

"The idea of being…intimate with you, Lady Partington is the very antithesis of distasteful."

There was clear enjoyment in the way in which he relished the words. Even more so in the heavy emphasis of his next question. Raising one finely chiselled eyebrow above his fine gray eyes, he went on, "If that is indeed what you were suggesting?"

She could not break the lengthening silence.

He was giving her the opportunity to retract her proposition while making clear he liked the idea.

Fire and brimstone, thought Sybil, feeling consumed by it as she closed her eyes, while at the same time the heady thrum of need and want pulsed through her. What did she have to lose? Nothing, surely? And everything to gain…if she only had the courage to follow through. She gripped the curtain tighter as a maelstrom of emotions swept through her, chief among them: hope.

Stephen offered her hope. Hope for the future. Her future, the family's future.

She opened her eyes when Stephen cleared his throat. She was conscious of the warmth emanating from him. Once again, the scent of bergamot and horses assailed her nostrils; a pleasant, manly scent she recognized with a rush of familiarity from the occasion he'd comforted her over Lizzy Hazlett's mare.

He showed no trace of embarrassment and seemed only to want to clarify the matter. "So if your hopes for entering into this unusual coupling are realized, have you thought how you might explain an apparently immaculate conception to your husband?"

He seemed both amused and concerned.

Sybil shook her head and avoided his eye, now wishing she could turn back the clock. How could she have been so bold? Nevertheless, she said truthfully, "I believe Humphrey would prefer anything rather than hand the reins to Edgar."

She smiled grimly. "Anything, that is, except do his duty with me."

She'd barely finished before Stephen had both her hands in one of his large ones and the other clasped round her waist. Highly irregular yet the most exciting compromising situation she'd ever been in.

"I can see you wavering, Lady Partington, so am spurred on to encourage you not to lose heart."

She saw the excited anticipation swirling in the depths of his warm gray eyes; warmer and more encouraging, even, than hitherto. Sybil could not believe it. He actually looked as if he'd been promised the greatest of gifts. "I believe it is an excellent idea, and I accept with the greatest delight—on one condition."

It was hard to breathe. She winced from the pain of her fingernails digging into her palms and her heart thumped even harder as she wondered why she didn't cast everything to the wind and simply take to her heels like a coward. Instead she whispered, "What is your condition?"

as his face filled her vision and his gently curved lips drew nearer.

"That you regard this…solution…as more than just a conscious act of duty."

An act of duty. That's exactly what she'd intended it.

A tremor ran through her as she closed her eyes, relishing the light caress of his hand over her hair. Her body tingled with expectation; so that she could fully pledge her commitment when he added, brushing her lips with his fingertips, "And that you respond to me accordingly."