Page 76 of The Rogue’s Embrace

Humphrey looked up over the newspaper, across the breakfast table, a strange gleam in his eye.

When he said nothing, Sybil shifted in her seat, telling herself yet again that he'd not suspect and even if he did, she had nothing to be ashamed of. Not with regard to Humphrey, nor Stephen nor even herself. No, she would not draw him out. Always she had played the dutiful wife, asking him if everything was to his liking. Now he could just read his newspaper or get up and leave without a word if he chose—for he often did that, so consumed was he with thoughts of his absent true love, no doubt.

Perversely, Humphrey didn't seem to like Sybil's silence. He dropped his paper and peered closely over it until she asked, almost crossly, looking up from her smoked haddock, "Well, Humphrey, have I a fishbone sticking out of my nostril?"

She was irritated with him for disturbing her delicious reminiscing of last night. No, she didn't feel guilty. She would not.

"My dear, you look…"

He struggled to articulate the sentiment. "You look different, somehow."

"Really."

She would not blush and she'd pretend disinterest. Strange how that seemed to inspire him to speak words she'd never expected to hear.

"You have a glow about you. Really, you look quite lovely this morning."

She dropped her knife and fork abruptly. "Why, Humphrey, I don't think you've ever said anything so nice to me in your whole life."

Emotions roiled in her stomach. Somehow it seemed wrong to be confronted with the first suggestion of admiration from her husband after her night spent with another man.

Immediately he raised his newspaper so she couldn't see him, muttering something incomprehensible about how she must be losing her memory for that could not possibly be true.

After a moment of contemplative silence, he sighed, put down the news sheet and faced her once more across the table. "Edgar came to see me last night."

"Oh, Humphrey."

The sigh took all her energy with her. She hadn't expected this so soon.

He nodded, corroborating though she'd said nothing to indicate her feelings on the matter. They were both very much in accord with regard to an alliance between Edgar and Araminta, she was glad to note by the gloominess of his expression.

"I tried to put the boy off. After all, that's all he is. A boy. What's more, I've heard a few disturbing whispers about his conduct on and off the battlefield."

He cleared his throat, hesitated, then said in a rush, "More than whispers, in fact. Sybil, I'm ashamed to call him my nephew. He was not distinguished by bravery. He disappeared, seemingly having died a hero, but he did not. No, Sybil, he did not."

Sybil's mouth dropped open. Humphrey's eyes bored into hers. He waited for the maid to refresh the tea and leave the room then said in a low voice, "Apparently the matter has been hushed up—seemingly for my benefit, or so it's been suggested."

When he seemed unable to go on, Sybil prompted in a whisper, "You mean…he deserted? Was that the reason for his disappearance? Is that how he was lost in battle?"

The horror of it was stark in Humphrey's bleak expression. He gave the smallest nod of acknowledgement and his eyes shifted to the doorway before returning gravely to her. "There was talk about a court martial. Indeed, that may have come to pass had not an old friend of mine been on the committee deciding Edgar's fate."

His shoulders slumped and he muttered with curled lip, "I would to God that justice had been done, for I take no pleasure in seeing The Grange go to a coward. A coward that, it would seem, has all the credentials for winning my daughter."

"We can't let it happen, Humphrey."

Sybil had never been more fired with the rightness of her decision to secure the succession with someone other than Edgar.

His look was hopeless. "What choice do we have?"

* * *

Later that morning, when Humphrey declined Hetty's suggestion of a walk with the excuse that he had an important appointment he could not put off, Sybil did not experience the usual jab of pain. The fact that he was going to see his "other family", which suggested Lizzy Hazlett was back in town, seemed unimportant. No, Sybil had at last found a diversion that meant her lonely heart no longer relied on Humphrey.

With the weather so glorious a picnic was planned in the small rotunda perched on a hill surrounded by a small lake about half a mile away from The Grange. On a clear day, from the bedroom windows of the south wing, the lake could be spied invitingly in the distance, at the bottom of the sweeping lawns and just before the beech wood.

Servants were sent ahead while the picnic party had arranged to take a meandering walk through the wood.

Araminta and Edgar led the way. Araminta carried herself proudly, as if aware of her magnetism. Edgar, from the rear, looked at pains to engage her in what, doubtless, he considered light and sophisticated banter.

Sybil, who'd hung back so she could observe the young people, watched with a surge of warmth as Stephen offered Hetty his arm, telling her brightly that she was "looking charming". Poor Hetty. Even Sybil knew her daughter was going through her least charming phase although she had every hope that once Hetty had lost some of the generous flesh that coated her young body and gained in confidence she might yet be considered charming.

I must teach her how to graciously accept a compliment, Sybil thought, listening to her daughter's stammered response, before realizing that she was, in fact, watching a younger version of herself.

They had been following a well-worn bridle path when the road came into view for a short while. In the distance a carriage approached, on its way toward the village. It was a hired post chaise therefore excited little interest until Hetty cried, "Why, isn't that Papa?"

Sybil glanced up in time to see three occupants in the dim interior. The older male was indistinct as he quickly turned his face the opposite direction as they passed. The two young ladies she recognized from church though she'd never met Lizzy Hazlett's daughters and it had been some time since she'd seen them this close. The younger girl stared, open-mouthed at them, brushing back her rippling fair tresses which were loose beneath her bonnet. She truly was a beauty, Sybil noted with a stab of pain.

The elder sister's look was disdainful which made her look even more astonishingly like Araminta although Sybil had seen the strong resemblance every Sunday in church for years.

She held her breath in case someone else remarked upon it, turning her head to follow the carriage and noting that there was a mournfulness, too, in the elder girl's large and luminous eyes compared with Araminta's whose sparkled with devilry.

Yes, sad eyes, thought Sybil before remembering that this girl had nothing like as much to be sad about as Sybil's daughters, whose father neglected them in favor of his base-born brood.

Sybil was unable to tear her gaze away from the disappearing carriage, relieved that no further comments were passed after Araminta declared that it could not have been their papa else he'd have stopped.

"Don't let him break your heart, Lady Partington."

Stephen's warm breath on her neck sent her heartbeat skittering. He'd dropped back and his head was bent to her ear. The others were ahead, sauntering with careless abandon, Edgar expounding upon some theory that had the attention of his cousins.

Sybil turned and intercepted Stephen's interested gaze. His mouth curved suggestively. "What's good for the goose is good for the gander, eh?"

When she didn't reply, his expression sobered and he touched her arm. It was the briefest of caresses for he was obviously careful not to excite attention but it was enough to make Sybil conscious of the power he had over her. The breath caught in her throat while heat stung her cheeks.

"You're very lovely when you don't know what to say."

He grinned, matching his pace with hers and staring straight ahead at the backs of the young people some distance ahead of them as he went on conversationally, "You were certainly very lovely last night. I enjoyed myself immensely and if it helps you solve your problems I'm more than happy to offer myself up on the altar of your need any time."

His voice gentled. "No, I'm not mocking you, my lady. I understand more than you think. Your husband has never given you the love and attention you deserve. It was Lord Partington in that carriage, wasn't it?"

Sybil nodded. She blinked back tears while her throat ached from the effort of keeping a check on her feelings. "I enjoyed last night too,"

she said. "But you'll be gone in a week. It's too dangerous to repeat?—"

"Hush."

She caught her breath once more at the light touch of his hand upon her lower back. Sensation speared through her belly as he slid it lower to lightly cup her bottom.

"A week can be a long time when one is careful to make use of every opportunity."

She twisted her neck and caught his wicked glance trained upon her breasts.

Immediately he raised his head, took a few strides and called ahead, "How far to our destination?"

"Perhaps twenty minutes,"

Araminta called back, breaking her conversation with Edgar in order to glance over her shoulder. With a provocative look at Stephen she curved her lips into her most seductive smile. "After such a distance we'll need to be well fortified when we reach the lake."

"I certainly intend to be,"

Stephen murmured into Sybil's ear, sliding his hand around her right buttock as Araminta turned back to Edgar. "I intend to take you into the forest, my lovely Lady Sybil, and find some delightful little dell so that you can have your wicked way with me. I'd wager you've never rutted under a clear blue sky or a canopy of trees, have you?"

Sybil blushed, but whether that was because of his coarse language or the sudden desire that slammed through her, she couldn't say. His hand was now rubbing itself insinuatingly up and down the valley between her buttocks. Heat rose between her legs, and at the same time she longed for the adventure he promised, she also shied away from it.

"I hope there will be strawberries and cream,"

Stephen called out to the others ahead.

He grinned as Hetty's chirpy, "I picked them myself this morning,"

rang back.

Touching his lips to Sybil's earlobe he said, "Hmm, not as tempting as you, Lady Partington. Goodness, you look…skeptical?"

Before she could respond he'd taken her by the wrist and whisked her off the path and in amongst the trees.

"Gracious, Stephen, what are you doing? You can't possibly mean?—"

Her shock was cut short by his mouth upon hers as he pushed her up against the trunk of a very broad elm. But her objection died in her throat as his tongue parted her lips and his knee parted her legs. Sensation quickly engulfed her as his erection, large and insistent, pressed against her stomach.

They were shrouded by foliage, a little uphill from where they could see the party wending their way farther down the path.

He dragged his mouth away from hers long enough to say, "They won't miss us for just two minutes and you're the first to agree we must make hay while the sun shines."

Already he'd hiked her skirts up about her waist while she was fumbling with his breeches, excitement roaring in her ears and fizzing through her veins. She thought she'd die of it, for never had she been so gratuitously wicked or risked so much.

Sybil wasn't fuelled by a desire for revenge against the husband who had passed them by in a carriage that contained his two illegitimate daughters. She was merely drunk on the extraordinary notion that not only was pleasure like a drug when it was mutual, and the fact she'd never been happier.

* * *

So, by God it was worth the risk, she decided as she inserted her hand through the opening of his breeches and grasped his member, hot and heavy.

He exhaled on a small sigh, his own hands busy, turning her so that she faced away from him, bracing her with her two palms above her head, the bark rough against her sensitive skin adding another layer of sensation.

"Oh,"

she gasped, as he stroked a finger along her slick entrance before positioning himself. She tensed, readying herself at the tentative touch of the tip of his member against her highly sensitized skin before thrusting out her bottom to impale herself.

The suddenness took him by surprise and he gasped, his fingers working all the harder to bring her to a rapid climax that would coincide with his.

He filled her completely, his thrusts deep and even, his breathing increasingly rapid as he rested his chin upon her shoulder and his pleasure took over. Yet still he pleasured her and Sybil felt again the extraordinary sensation of rising to a higher plane, and yet higher, until suddenly the earth seemed to stand still before she shattered around him.

He collapsed against her and for a couple of futile seconds she clung to the tree in a vain attempt to stop them both from sliding down the rough bark into a heap at the base.

Laughing when they did this, nevertheless, he raised his head from her stomach and gave her a smacking great kiss when she was least expecting it.

"Lord, that was good,"

he declared, tidying himself, and her. "And the others won't even miss us."

He extended his hand and pulled her up. "Was that good for you, Lady Partington?"

Sybil couldn't help herself. She giggled. "I'm glad you enjoyed yourself so much, Stephen. For what it's worth, I did too. Your enthusiasm is worthy of the most ardent schoolboy."

To his credit he didn't pout, nor did he release her hand. Instead, he scratched his chin and regarded her quizzically. "No one has ever likened my prowess in any arena to that of a schoolboy."

He grinned and she knew he was making a poor attempt at a joke when he said, "The jades and misses I've made up to have been infinitely more complimentary than that."

He took her hand and led her back to the path.

"And no doubt there were many."

He looked contemplative. "Not so many, actually. And none of them virgin misses which is what you remind me of with your sweet vulnerability and genuine enthusiasm—as if you've just been initiated into a great surprise."

He turned to rake an appreciative look the length of her as they returned to the path. "You should be exceedingly flattered, Lady Partington. I find you and your lovely creamy body far more exciting than any of the ladies I've known in the biblical sense."

"I'm not sure if that really is particularly flattering, Stephen."

"Well, you're not setting out your wiles to entrap me. You've offered me a proposition—which is entirely to my benefit —and we're cramming as much fun into the next few days as we can. I can't remember ever having had such a jolly good time."

She walked beside him, enjoying his complete honesty, happier and more carefree than she could remember. "I certainly never have, either."

Stephen squeezed her hand as he glanced down at her. "Six more days, Lady Partington. Six more days,"

he reminded her. "You're more daring than you look, I'll grant you that. Let's make the most of it and see how daring you really can be."

Luncheon was an interesting affair. They ate ‘round a table already laid for them in the center of the circular rotunda, its elevated position affording them a glorious view of the lake and far distant fields surrounding The Grange, with the boathouse and beech forest a short distance across the glittering water.

After lunch, they rowed back to the jetty, which extended in front of the boathouse, and while the others amused themselves Sybil relaxed in a cane chair Stephen had positioned near the shore. As she watched the servants tidy away their recent meal, transporting the empty plates into the second boat still moored at the base of the rotunda, she could hear every word of the young people, who pretended to fish from the jetty. Edgar considered himself an expert on the sport and he graciously assisted Hetty and Araminta with their lines.

Even from a distance he looked ridiculous as he officiously demonstrated the most rudimentary process, taking every opportunity to push his ungainly body closer to Araminta. Once, Sybil caught a glimpse of Araminta's face as his arm brushed the length of hers. A spasm of the utmost distaste marred her pretty features as she turned away so he could not see. Clearly her aversion ran deep, which Sybil could well understand. The more she observed her nephew the more she disliked him.

I mustn't think so badly of him, she thought. Nor, she thought, of Araminta, whose behavior hardly reflected well on her. Perhaps in her own na?ve way, Araminta too was acting for the greater good of the estate. Perhaps it wasn't all motivated by self-interest.

She heard Edgar remonstrate with his youngest cousin. "No, no, Hetty, you mustn't jiggle it around so much. You'll scare the fish. You need to entice them."

He slid his eyes across to Araminta and his hand brushed across hers as he took Hetty's stick in demonstration. "You must learn the art of subtlety, Hetty. Araminta is the queen of subtlety, eh, coz?"

Araminta looked a little startled at this before her smile took on the usual cloying cheerfulness, entirely forced, which she reserved for Edgar's inane remarks.

"Araminta knows exactly what she wants and what's good for her but does she show it? Oh no. Ladies who can demonstrate subtlety will get further in life. You wear your heart on your sleeve, Hetty, but you must learn the art of subtlety. None of this jiggling about trying to get instant results. It don't work, you know, old girl."

By now Sybil's maternal instincts were on full alert. She bent forward, poised between giving Edgar a well-targeted setdown but also wanting to know how her girls responded.

Araminta's cool, "Edgar's right, dear,"

was not what she wanted to hear though it was sadly predictable. "You're so transparent and that's not at all the right way to win over the gentlemen. Is it, Edgar?"

Hetty's trembling lip and blanching of color was, however, like a red rag to a bull.

Stephen, just returning from a solitary ramble in the woods, heard the end of this exchange. He put out an arm to stop Sybil from launching forward to intervene.

"Allow me, Lady Partington."

He arched an eyebrow. "Edgar has just stymied my grand opportunities for the station in life to which I'd aspired but he lacks the charm I have with the ladies, I think you'll agree."

"You think highly of yourself, Stephen, my love,"

she murmured. "However I give you leave to turn on the charm for my daughters. I trust you provided I can see you."

He'd already taken a step forward. At this he swung round, his eyes suddenly dark and instantly Sybil regretted the remark.

"Do you really think I might abuse my position should my charm win over hearts?"

He lowered his head, gripping both arms of Sybile's chair for support as he put his face close to hers. "Do you really think me so careless of the feelings of others that as long as I am pleasured and gratified they don't matter?"

His words found their mark. Sybile's breath left her in a whoosh. She opened her mouth to speak but had to try several times before the words came. "I'm sorry, Stephen."

She cupped his face in an entreaty for forgiveness. "I spoke carelessly. I did not mean to insinuate I don't trust you. For I do. It's just?—"

"Just what?"

He straightened, clearly not prepared to let it go.

Desperation warred within her. She struggled to answer. "You're a handsome young man with youth and virility in your favor and natural urges for beautiful women to love and admire you."

Sybil shrugged, palms outward as she appealed to him for understanding. "You have an old woman to admire you. One with two fresh young daughters, the eldest of whom is clearly in love with you and who turns every head whenever she walks into a room, and the youngest who dotes on you like…I hope…a brother."

"Like a brother, yes. Hetty is sweet but as you know completely no threat to you, Lady Partington, and Araminta, while she is one of the most exquisite creatures I'll admit I've met, is also the most designing debutante I've ever come across and I consider myself to have had a lucky escape. You, on the other hand, Lady Partington, are in a completely different league. You're a grown woman with nothing missing. You have wisdom and beauty and kindness, a potent combination."

He leaned over her and for a moment Sybil thought he was going to risk the unthinkable: a kiss when they were not ten yards from the other young people. Though whether this was as unthinkable as what they'd just engaged in was a moot point.

Then he rose to his full height, his indignation not fully erased. "I might be a young man aware of his attraction and equally attracted to attractive women but please credit me with integrity."

Turning on his heel, he marched down the river bank, clearing his voice so that the girls raised their faces in welcome. Edgar was not so forthcoming.

"Hetty, if fishing is not as exciting as Edgar and Araminta clearly find it, perhaps you'd like to walk with me along the riverbank?"

He enjoyed the pink rush to her cheeks and the way she held her hands together to stop them trembling. Yes, he did have a way with the ladies, even when he had no prospects with which to entice them. At least he could be assured he was desired for his natural assets rather than his pocketbook, however the thought of what he was going to do when the week was over was depressing at best.

And although he managed to appear lighthearted he was still wounded by Lady Partington's words. He was not the base Johnny-take-all she had suggested though he had enough understanding to accept that a woman unsure of herself was far more likely to strike out like that.

With exaggerated gallantry he offered Hetty his arm. "Let us tiptoe through the daffodils—or find some equally pleasurable equivalent,"

he suggested, causing her to titter and, he was rather pleased to notice, Araminta to twist her neck around with a look of unmistakable envy.

Edgar grumbled that she must pay attention and Lady Partington smiled with such genuine pleasure that Stephen felt ridiculously gratified.