The Wolf of Winterthorne: Scandalous Secrets, Book 4 (10 page)

“Eve, Abigail and I shall depart tomorrow morning. I will keep you posted,” Colin shook his friend’s hand.

Logan gripped his shoulder with his free palm, “Do not place your family in jeopardy. Sybil Sutton isn’t worth it. No one is, and that includes me.”

Colin’s expression stilled.

“Promise me, mate,” Logan prodded. “Your word is your bond.”

And promise his friend did.

Nothing would place his extended family in jeopardy, Logan vowed, as he and Colin decided it was time for alcohol. Yes, whiskey would numb his revulsion towards Sybil.

If he imbibed enough of it, he might even forget how much he loathed her.

Sybil sat in bed, propped up by several pillows, as the kind yet dour maid named Marigold recounted local legends to her. She was the same maid who tended to her last night. Stout with dark hair and a pale complexion, Marigold did not resemble the flower after which she was named in the least, not physically, that is. However, her compassion and empathy, her gentle nature, was beautiful to be sure.

Why Marigold felt the need to tell such tales, Sybil knew not for she was certain she was more than capable of reading on her own. The maid, on the other hand, treated her like a child.

Was this under Logan’s orders, she wondered?

Although she was inebriated the night prior, Sybil remembered kissing him on the cheek. She also remembered Logan’s reaction – shock mixed with something she couldn’t place.

Anger?

Resentment?

Revulsion?

Or could it have been confusion?

Since Sybil hadn’t seen Logan since she kissed him last night, a part of her wondered whether the maid was keeping her company or keeping her imprisoned.

Perhaps both?

The maid intoned the story of a young man on a raft during the summer months. Did Marigold find this interesting? Frankly, it was putting Sybil to sleep.

In all fairness, her fatigue may be the result of lack of sleep more than boredom. Despite the mulled wine, she had not slept much, each sound jarring her taut nerves and leaving her in a restless state of unease throughout the night.

A rap at the door snapped Sybil to attention, her heart thumping. Could it be Logan? Or had he handed her to the others? The ones who wanted her dead?

Contrary to her fears, a beautiful blonde with dazzling green eyes and a matching silk gown entered the room followed by an older woman with no taste in fashion. The scarlet and purple splashes hurt Sybil’s eyes causing her to squint, as if she was staring into the sun. Her temples began to pound harder.

The blonde issued edicts to the footmen. “You may place both trunks against the wall.” Eve then turned to the maid. “Please allow us some time alone. We shall ring for you later.”

Marigold curtsied and closed the door behind her.

“Oh, darling girl,” the older woman patted the blankets. “We hear you had a frightful night. But, never fear, we have arrived armed with gowns and everything else you might need to make the most of a most unpleasant situation.”

The woman surveyed Sybil, pursing her lips. “What a muted palate you are wearing. I dare say, a little color always makes one feel better.”

The young blonde walked forward, her hair coiled atop her head like a halo. “My name is Eve and this is my grandmother. My husband – we – are friends of Mr. Ambrose. He asked us to provide you with assistance. We have brought essentials for you and my grandmother plans to remain at Winterthorne as your chaperone. Until—”

Her voice trailed off.

“Is he casting me aside? Handing me to whoever hurt me?” Sybil’s words escaped her lips uncensored. She swallowed hard against the lump of panic they evoked.

“No, no, not at all,” the older woman shook her head. “No, my dear. I shall keep you company while the men do what it is they do best.”

Silence befell them as Sybil awaited further explanation.

The woman rapped her cane against the floor and a red feather floated to the ground. “I don’t know what their plan is, you see. We are attending to you while the men discuss it, but both are intelligent and lethal. You are in excellent hands.”

Lethal?

The woman named Eve stepped forward, “What Grandmamma means to say is that no one is casting you aside. Both Logan and Colin are formidable. You couldn’t be in safer hands.”

Sybil rose. “Who is Colin? Do I know him, too?”

“Oh, no,” the blonde smiled. “Colin is my husband. I am bungling this, am I not?”

The older woman laughed. “Colin, Logan. Logan, Colin. There are too many male names ending in
N
in our family for my taste. One could easily become confused.
Sans
or
avec m
émoire.
Shall we ring for tea? I am famished. Do you think cook made scones today?”

Scones.

A flash, a burst of light mingled with recognition surged through Sybil’s mind. She had eaten a scone once, could smell the delicious aroma of warm dough with a hint of orange zest. Her mouth watered thinking of it.

“What is it, dear?” the old woman asked.

Sybil laughed. “I remember scones.”

The woman beamed her approval with a wide smile. Encouraged, Sybil continued, “I remain unable to tell you what I had for breakfast yesterday, where I’m from, or anything other than my name, but I now know that I have eaten a scone and that it was delicious. I don’t know what your name is ma’am but you are brilliant.”

“Ah, a fellow scone connoisseur! I adore them myself,” the older woman cupped her hands together, causing her cane to fall with a muffled
thud
atop the feathers that adorned it. She didn’t appear to notice. “Perhaps I should just keep speaking and see if you remember more. As my granddaughter can attest, I am capable of conversing for hours if it is required.”

All three laughed in unison. With the earlier tension having lifted, Sybil grew to adore the two women. They were kind, amusing, and conjured a feeling of warmth, of safety.

Surely, Logan couldn’t be as frightful as she once imagined if he had friends like these to champion him? Then again, Sybil wasn’t the least bit frightened of him in the kitchen, or when he scooped her up and chivalrously carried her to her room.

Or when she kissed his cheek.

Why did she hunger for another chance to be close to Logan again? Why did Sybil long to kiss him again?

Because his warmth and strength reminded her that she is alive.

And she wants to live her life to its fullest while she can.

With the arrival of tea, the women assembled in chairs around the bed, eating and chatting. Sybil’s first bite was even better than she imagined, causing her mouth to water. Having skipped breakfast, she hadn’t realized how hungry she was until now. Once she had begun, she couldn’t help but devour every bite.

Between her and the Dowager Viscountess, a second platter had to be delivered.

“How do you know Logan?” Sybil asked once she had decided she couldn’t consume another crumb.

Eve wiped her mouth with a pristine white linen napkin. “Through my husband. Colin and Logan served together – oh, perhaps I should not have disclosed that piece of information. Logan doesn’t like to speak of it, neither does Colin.”

Sybil traced a seam in her own crisp napkin with her fingernail. “Served where?”

“They fought in the first Sikh War together,” the older woman’s expression turned somber. “Ghastly business. I wouldn’t discuss it with Logan. Poor dear has to live with the scars. They both do.”

Scars
…

Logan’s scar now made sense.

It was from the war.

Lethal.

“Oh, thank God!” Sybil sighed.

“Pardon?” both women asked at once.

“When you said they were
lethal
… my imagination ran wild.” Sybil offered them an apology.

“Smart girl,” Fiona stood, aided by her cane. “I can see how you would think that. They are daunting though neither should be judged harshly—”

“Grandmamma,” Eve warned, albeit gently.

“I am merely conveying what Logan will not. That man, and your husband, have seen more horrors than anyone could possibly imagine.” The Dowager Viscountess rapped her cane against the floor. “It will be my pleasure chaperoning you, my dear, but be forewarned, Logan is a particular favorite of mine. Now, excuse me. I must nap for a bit.”

Eve kissed her grandmother on the cheek. Once she and Sybil were alone, she offered Sybil a warm grin. “Grandmamma is protective of Logan. They share a unique bond.”

“That is quite evident,” Sybil smiled. “The Dowager Viscountess is protective of him, though I am certain he can protect himself.”

A memory of Logan seizing her as she held a sharp shard to his throat the night before filled Sybil’s brain, causing a heat to rush to her cheeks. Yes, Logan could protect himself. He was strong and quick.

The mere reflection caused her heart to flutter.

“Shall we ring for the maid so we can begin to unpack these?” Eve motioned to the two large trunks.

Quick to cease thinking about her time with Logan, Sybil stood with care, grateful that her ankle felt much better.

She longed for something to do, someplace to be outside of this room. With clothes, she could venture forth and explore the estate, learn more about Logan.

Logan …

Why couldn’t she stop thinking of him? Why did he fill her senses? Every time she remembered his touch the night before, the care he took in holding her hands, the tenderness in his voice before his eruption, her heartbeat quickened to a frantic rhythm. Add to that his behavior upon discovering her in his kitchen with his hound, and warmth radiated throughout her body.

She wracked her brain for a reason, any reason for how or why she would have been so wicked towards him in a past she could not recall yet hold such tender feelings towards him at this very moment?

There was still so much Sybil needed to learn about her host. It was high time she began to investigate him.

Returning Eve’s smile with one of her own, Sybil winked. “Let us begin.”

This was just what she needed … clothes, confidantes and free reign. Her weapons to help combat the unknown hold Mr. Ambrose possessed over her.

Answers – she sought answers.

That is precisely what Sybil would obtain.

D
inner was pleasant, with the Dowager Viscountess and Eve steering the conversation in an uplifting direction. Though mealtime wasn’t normally a lavish affair, Logan instructed his servants to exert extra effort whenever Colin and his family visited. Having Sybil in attendance this evening was an afterthought.

Or so Logan endeavored to convince himself.

The temptation of flaunting your wealth in the presence of someone who never expected you would amount to anything was strong, like a mighty ocean current.

It was one he did not fight.

The finest linens and silverware were used to celebrate the occasion, as was the best china. The dining hall, with its gilded furnishings and lush tapestries, exuded opulence and Logan studied Sybil with a cool reserve as she entered the room.