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Page 78 of The Rogue’s Embrace

Your inspiration has filled me with inspiration of my own, my love. And pushed me into a greater understanding of my duty.

Sybil lay silent and tortured in the darkness of her lonely bedchamber. Humphrey had visited her here on the rarest of occasions. This was the scene of her greatest humiliations. Never more acutely did she understand her failure as a wife than beneath the covers of the large, empty bed that cocooned her restless body.

Now she was in her night rail and ready for bed.

But not ready for what the night might bring.

When the discreet scratching at the door was followed by the spill of light across the carpet, she turned on her side to face the opposite wall, trembling with a despairing resignation that was almost painful.

Light footsteps sounded. She squeezed shut her eyes and fisted her hands as the mattress dipped. This was followed by the touch of a hand, light and tentative.

Not belonging to Humphrey. She exhaled on a sudden gasp of surprise and…reprieve. Sybil would know Stephen if she were bound and blindfolded. The gentle pressure of his lover's touch and the bergamot and equine smell of his strong young body never failed to thrill and delight her.

"My lady, I know you're angry with me but hear me out before you send me away."

"Stephen! You mustn't be here!"

Sybil jerked into a sitting position as he reached for her hand. He'd placed his candle on the chest of drawers and in the glow he looked earnest and desperately young.

Her heart beat erratically and despite herself she returned the squeeze of his hand, even though she knew how important it was to discourage him.

"I'm not angry, Stephen."

She wasn't, either. Just filled with a deep sadness that everything they'd shared had been reduced to dust by the latest developments. She'd joined herself with Stephen through duty. Now she must rend herself asunder—and apart from him—through duty. She put her lips to his palm as she reassured him with desperate earnestness, "Stephen, you must know that I believe everything you said about you and Araminta. Nor am I jealous."

She lowered her eyes and added painfully, "Though I wish I were twenty years younger and free to marry—like her."

"For then you'd marry me!"

In a burst of feeling, Stephen leaned over the bed and swept her her into his arms.

Despite the answering passion in her breast, Sybil held him at bay, unclasping his hands, which bound her tightly to his chest, but holding them bound in hers as she gently chafed them, staring into his confused and troubled eyes.

In the tense silence, he shook his head and Sybil longed to smooth away his troubled frown as he asked slowly, staring deeply into her eyes, "If you're not angry with me then what must I do to convince you that what we have together is pure and good and right?"

He cupped her right cheek, and stroked her brow, his expression quizzical. "I feel nothing for Araminta. I've told you more than once I would not marry her, even if she has no mind to wed Edgar following your decidedly extraordinary announcement. But Sybil, now that you've said you're with child, it's…"

He checked himself, his smile growing slowly as if he were only realising, now, the answer to what troubled him. "It's your duty to follow through."

His eagerness grew as he stroked her arms, her breast. He cupped her face and brought his own close. "Sybil, I have two more days here. We must make the most of every opportunity." Then, as if realising that perhaps this made him sound more like a schoolboy capitalising on opportunity rather than a man in love, added, "We must find whatever opportunity we have to be together, not just now but in the future."

She let him touch her, allowed him to whip up the deepest passions only he could evoke, knowing she should push him away. But the warmth of his caring touch was so welcome after so many cold, loveless years. She acknowledged her love for him was forbidden—and certainly of very limited duration—but surely she could bask in his fleeting caress for just these five minutes?

Closing her eyes, trembling at the feel of his lips on hers, she wondered how he would think of her when the time came for him to return to his old way of life; to make his own way in the world, surrounded by fresh, beautiful young women. Would he be horrified by what they'd done? She doubted he'd be indiscreet regarding their affair. There was that comfort, at least. Stephen had integrity and was certainly too fond of her and aware of the potential danger of a misplaced remark that might cause harm to her reputation. No, he was simply a young man enjoying the novelty of an older woman who, for her own reasons, had offered him unfettered access to her body—for what that was worth.

Finally, with an effort that tested the utmost limits of her self-control, she pushed him away and sat up. "Stephen, we cannot do this anymore."

Oh God, how she hated the finality of those words. His disappointment as his hands dropped away cut deep. Of course he was disappointed. What libidinous young man wouldn't be disappointed at the withdrawal of sexual relations?

Forcing herself to sound strong as she tidied her hair and clothes, staring at the green patterned wall paper rather than at his face, she said, "Humphrey's interest appears to have been aroused once more by the prospect of siring his own heir."

Stephen's expression, when she turned to face him, was a picture of horror. Well, he seemed genuinely disappointed and that was some comfort, she tried to console herself.

She swallowed and twisted the fabric of her skirts about her fingers, awkwardly. "You're a wonderful lover, Stephen. You've been very kind?—"

"Kind!"

The explosiveness of his words suggested she'd just delivered the greatest of insults.

He drew her up upon her feet and suddenly she was once more pinioned against his chest, his mouth working in anger—for she could feel it against her cheek, which was pressed beneath his chin—as he ground out, "Kindness had nothing to do with everything we've had together. Sybil! Don't you understand? I want you. You! I'm not here because of some perverse pleasure in siring the next heir to this…this pile of stones. Not because of the free sex. I'm here because of you! I love you, Sybil. I don't love anyone else. I've never loved anyone else like I love you. You made me realise that."

His voice trembled and his words came out low and tortured against her cheek. "I want only you."

Despite the comfort of such sentiments, she tensed as he stroked her breast, unleashing once again the carnal desires she thought she'd successfully reined in. The carnal desires she dared not act upon. Hot wanting curdled in her lower belly and she squirmed at the rush of moisture between her legs.

"And you want me,"

he whispered, his mouth barely moving against hers. "Otherwise your body would not respond to me like this."

She moved into him, despite herself. "Humphrey will visit me tonight."

Stephen registered her words in silence, still gently cradling her breast.

Slowly, thoughtfully, he conceded, "I known it's Humphrey's right to sire his own heir, of course."

He hesitated, drew in a labored breath, then added, "But if he refuses to give you what is your right…if he cannot take the trouble to bring you pleasure in the process, then I can do that very nicely."

He kissed her earlobe, his fingers plucking at the ribbon that tied her night rail as his voice gained force. "Without putting you in any danger of conceiving a child."

He paused, adding in a tone both proud and vulnerable, "Unless you wish to end…everything…now."

"Stephen, I—"

Her sentence was truncated on a groan as Stephen's hand skimmed her inner thigh.

"So you do want me."

She almost laughed in a burst of abandoned joy at his near-adolescent satisfaction as he dipped his fingers into her moisture, withdrawing them and presenting them to her in the glow of the candlelight as if it were proof.

His grin broadened, he drew himself up like a proud young buck. Then, whisking her onto his lap, he slid a finger inside her once more and began to massage the slick nub of her sex.

"Stephen, please!"

she gasped, jerking at the wicked sensations.

His mouth was on her earlobe, his breath warm as he kissed her, sending spirals of desire skimming through her nerve endings. She clutched at him, even as she wanted to push him away. Needed to.

"Please?"

he echoed, almost wickedly as he pulled briefly away from the kiss. "You want more? I knew I could make you want me."

"That's never been in any doubt,"

she gasped as she arched against him, her breath shortening as she fisted her hands in his light curls.

"And this is to show how much I want you to really want me."

It came out as a strangled whisper. "Even if now is the last time we're ever alone."

She felt his departure from her side like a terrible loss before she was gently pushed back upon the bed, his fingers skimming her thighs as he rucked up her nightdress.

Though she couldn't see him, his face, which had been by her earlobe, was now between her legs, his mouth burning her flesh as he trailed hot kisses upward. Higher, he went while she squirmed in both pleasure and alarm. She must stop him. She must. The sensations were too wicked, the tension within her building dangerously. This clandestine meeting with Stephen should have afforded her the opportunity to assert control.

To put a stop to the dangerous currents that threatened to rip her from her safe albeit passionless existence.

Instead, something inside her burst into renewed life as his tongue flicked across her entrance and his fingers intensified their rhythmic pleasuring. Electricity shot to her extremities, her whole body snapping into tense awareness.

"Stephen, I?—"

He ignored her strangled gasp. She tried again, the words truncated on a feeble croak while his sighs of pleasure as he feasted on her mingled with her short, sharp, increasingly desperate breaths.

She gasped again, a deeper, more desperate sound. And bucked again as his tongue swept her, explored her, penetrated her, his concentration focused only on pleasuring her.

"Stephen—"

She barely knew what she meant to say. Her control was slipping, even as she uttered his name. The pressure was almost too great to bear. Painful. She was connected to safety by the merest thread. She fought to reel herself in. Fought to regain her equilibrium. "Oh Stephen!"

Again he ignored her, the final sweep of his tongue her undoing.

Sensation exploded within her, violent pleasure swamping her in waves so intense it was all she could do to stop herself from crying out as her body convulsed in great shudders that rocked her to the core.

To the depths of her soul.

She realized she must have been beyond rational thought, beyond consciousness of the present, for the sound of her name penetrated as if he'd been saying it for some time.

"Sybil? Sybil?"

He was lying beside her, still fully clad in his evening clothes, his cheek against hers as he stroked her face. "Did you enjoy that?"

he whispered, twisting his head.

Weakly, she nodded, and he grinned, nibbling her earlobe. "If I'm not needed to sire an heir I hope you'll call on me for my services in this department any time you wish, Lady Partington."

"Oh Stephen…"

She laughed softly, feeling the tears gather behind her eyes. "You are wicked. See what you have reduced me to? I can barely move. What will I do when you are gone?"

"Find ways and means so we can meet, of course,"

he said, as if he really believed it.

She rose up on her elbows and gently kissed him.

He was lovely and considerate and she'd never felt so desirable and appreciated.

But she was conscious of the time. The lack of time.

Humphrey had indicated he was ready to sire an heir. As his viscountess her most important role was to provide him with one. Her only role. It was why she'd lived with him for twenty years. Their marriage contract stipulated that in return for his protection and the lavish comforts he provided, she must be his vessel. If she reneged she was less than nothing. If she refused Humphrey she risked losing everything.

It was the tread of footsteps in the passageway and the sound of her husband clearing his throat that provided the impetus for what she could not do alone.

They registered it at the same time, jerking apart.

"Pretend you're asleep,"

Stephen whispered, hastily pulling the covers up over her. "I'll leave through the window."

"No, it's too dangerous,"

she hissed but with a final kiss he was gone and she was left with the terror that if she had to live with the life of her young lover on her conscience then her own life was worth less than nothing.

The door opened. There was more noisy, self-conscious throat clearing. She smelled….

Whisky.

"Ah, you're awake, Sybil."

Swaying, Humphrey indicated the candle on the drawers as he placed his own next to it and removed his banyan as if this were his everyday ritual. His breathing was labored and she recoiled from the strong spirits on his breath.

"It's not often you visit me, Humphrey,"

Sybil remarked, hoping her voice did not betray the fierce hammering of her heart. She concentrated on his large feet, which he was heaving onto the bed after the rest of him.

He grunted. "Tonight brought home how foolish I've been to allow my natural disinclination to prevent me from doing my duty."

She twisted her face to look at him. Good God, he was smiling at her as if he didn't realize how wounding his words were. Natural disinclination? Why, this was the most callous rebuttal of, not just her major role but her worth as a woman.

"You were very clever to play for time, Sybil."

He chuckled as he settled in beside her. His words were slightly slurred. "Now that Edgar is proving worse than we'd feared, I saw that whatever it cost me, I had to do my duty…get you with child."

A spasm crossed his face. "And there's only one man who can do that."

The touch of his hairy ankle against her leg made her jerk away. Whatever it cost me? he'd said. What about what it cost her?

She'd always been a good wife. A loyal wife but what about her loyalties to her own heart? To the man who valued her? Her young lover. Did they really count for nothing?

Humphrey raised one eyebrow as he obviously registered her less than enthusiastic welcome. "Should I kiss you first?"

he asked. He looked almost revolted by the idea. "To help you relax?"

Sybil raised her chin, inching every piece of herself away from even the warmth of his large body. "Actually, Humphrey, tonight is not a good night for you to visit."

She was careful not to betray her rising fury. "I'm sorry if you've had to ply yourself with whisky just to make the idea of venturing in here even possible. The fact is, I have the most terrible megrim."

He digested this in silence. Then, grumbling, heaved himself out of bed and put on his banyan, swaying almost dangerously and looking decidedly displeased. "Well, that's grand timing. After all, it was you who suggested?—"

"I suggested that unless you were content for Edgar to succeed you one of us had better do something about it,"

Sybil cut him off. "However tonight is simply not convenient."

If he hadn't been foxed he might have questioned her unprecedented response, the crispness of her tone, her clear aversion to him. The fact that she would even reject him.

He stumbled as he gave the final, almost indignant tug to secure the tie of his banyan and it occurred to Sybil he may well not have been able to perform in any case. But the thought was too repugnant to dwell upon and she simply lay back on her pillows and nodded politely as he grunted his intention to depart.

The moment he was gone Sybil flew to the window.

Dear God, thank you for sparing Stephen, she whispered silently when she saw no sign of his broken body on the gravel far below.

She strained for a glimpse of him, anxiously scanning the broad expanse of lawn that disappeared towards the woods with the lake beyond, and her breath left her in a low, relieved sigh.

Right now nothing else was more important than ensuring no harm came to Stephen. She owed him everything. She put her hand to her chest where long-latent feelings of joy and hope had been brought to life. It was the greatest gift she'd ever been given.

The following day Sybil attended to her duties as lady of the manor, with her brain barely engaged on issuing orders for the rooms for tomorrow night's guests to be made ready.

Humphrey made his usual appearance at breakfast. Usual in that he'd been there every morning since his mistress had departed. He seemed unperturbed by the previous night's exchange, merely nodding to her over his news sheet. Sybil's heart weighed her down like a heavy stone.

"Young lady's here to see you, my lord."

Humphrey raised his eyebrows at the message brought by Mary but Sybil did not miss the almost clandestine look in her direction before he replied, "Tell her I'll see her in the drawing room."

He hesitated, adding to Sybil, "You must have more of the bacon, dear. It's very good."

Sybil was not going to be fobbed off like that but she waited a moment before making her own appearance in the drawing room two minutes later.

She was just in time to hear her husband say under his breath, "You know it was wrong of you to show your face here, Larissa, but I shall come."

At her arrival the pair drew quickly apart.

He glanced at Sybil. "Miss…Miss Laurence is asking if I'd be patron of the new school in the village and I've agreed."

Sybil nodded at the large-eyed creature who'd stared at them from the passing carriage on the way to their picnic spot a few days ago.

"A new school? What a novel idea."

Sybil smiled, inviting the young lady to sit, but Miss Laurence declined after a fleeting look at Humphrey.

Her father.

Sybil watched the exchange. Anguish clawed at her and she longed to inform Humphrey that she knew exactly who Miss Laurence was.

The girl was looking at her with interest. There was boldness, even dislike in those enormous green eyes of hers. Sybil felt like shouting, Yes, look around you! Look all you like! You think you're the one who's been hard done by through my husband's philandering?

Instead she merely inclined her head, saying softly, "I should like to be informed of its progress…Miss Laurence."

Humphrey hadn't even dared use her real name. Hazlett!

When she overheard Mary and Betty whispering in the cold room that Mrs. Hazlett had been seen in town disguised beneath a heavy veil and with her belly nearly as large as her brazenness, Sybil had to swallow down her rage and use every ounce of her inconsistent willpower to remain silent.

Later that day, Stephen intercepted Sybil near the wall of the vegetable garden a little distance from the house. She looked upset.

One of the maids was scraping out a saucepan of gruel for the chickens so he beckoned Sybil to follow him a short distance away and out of sight.

Although he had no claim on her, rage needled him at the thought of the previous night's activities once he'd departed through the window.

Roughly, he asked, "Tell me—"

but she cut him off and her look was so sorrowful it took all his willpower not to seize her to his chest and be damned with the danger of exposure.

"Humphrey was inebriated."

She turned her head away and bent to examine the curled frond of one of Humphrey's hothouse specimens. "Nothing happened."

Changing the subject, she added as she straightened, "Humphrey's ‘other' daughter has just visited."

He assumed a sympathetic expression but was overjoyed at the knowledge that Humphrey hadn't laid a finger on her. "Sybil, your husband has sired three side-slips with his mistress. You owe him nothing. Certainly not your loyalty."

With a surreptitious look over his shoulder, he ran his hands quickly over her curves. God, he loved her body. He couldn't wait to have her naked and all his again. "Come into the beech wood with me."

She shook her head. "Do not forget I am lady of the manor. I have a great deal to organize before tomorrow."

"If you're worried about conceiving I've already shown?—"

"Stephen…no!"

She sounded stricken.

"You didn't enjoy last night? You want nothing more to do with me?"

Now he was the one stricken.

"Stephen, I'm consumed by you,"

she whispered, gripping the lapels of his coat. "It terrifies me but our arrangement was because of my husband's apparent…aversion. If his enthusiasm to at least try has returned I'm in no position to refuse him."

A look of utter desolation crossed her face. "And… I cannot be sharing my bed with two men. I just can't."

"You may already be with child,"

he reminded her as jealousy speared him.

She closed her eyes. "Or I may not. Oh, Stephen."

Her voice hitched. "I'm duty-bound to my husband."

"You owe him nothing after the way he's treated you."

He knew the defense was lame. That the law was on Lord Partington's side and Sybil spoke the truth. But he couldn't accept that he was losing her so soon.

At the sound of servants approaching, Sybil put out her hand to squeeze his shoulder as if that might comfort him. "I hate it as much as you,"

she said. "However we must part now. I fear for you in case suspicion is even raised."

"For me?"

He gripped her wrists and put his lips to her palms, even though the voices were getting close. "Do not worry about the risks I take. I'm wild for you, Sybil,"

he whispered between kisses. "I'd take any risk to be with you. We have two nights to be together. Let me be with you one more time? Please, my love?"

Closing her eyes, she wilted against him. "We dare not, Stephen. The risks are too great and…and…"

Miserably he finished for her, "And your husband has first claim on you."

He took a deep breath and tilted up her chin. He couldn't believe this was the end. It was too soon. For a long moment he gazed into her serene, blue-gray eyes. Her face was the sweetest he'd ever seen. Goodness was reflected in her deeply sympathetic expression. She'd be beautiful forever.

Beautiful in a timeless way, beautiful in her heart.

"Sybil, after I go away, regardless of whether you are with child, will you have me back? Can I see you again?"

He swallowed past the lump in his throat. In all the wild and wanton escapades he'd enjoyed he'd never felt such craving; never felt the desire to give more than he received, or the all-consuming, almost helpless yearning to be everything to his true love. Yes, Sybil was his true love. The difference in their ages was nothing. He realised he didn't want a young woman of appropriate status and, yes, age, if it meant he couldn't have Sybil. Having tasted the fruits of a deeply satisfying union with a woman who gave him so much more than physical pleasure, he no longer had any heart for participating in the marriage mart when he returned to London, as soon he must. "I need you."

He looked at her helplessly. "I want to be with you. Now. Tomorrow. You think I don't know my own heart, but I do. And I want you now, and forever. Sybil, you make me the best I've ever been."

Sybil stared at his departing back, barely attending to the scullery maid's deferential greeting. Her heart, which had weighed her down so heavy just moments before, was lighter though sorrow lurked in its depths.

For the first time in her life she felt like more than just a woman fulfilling her prescribed role.

For the first time in her life she felt truly loved.