Her Gilded Prison (Daughters of Sin 1)
“Another man who means nothing to me.” She pulled him down, murmuring against his lips, “When my soul craves you, Cousin Stephen. You can have it all: my heart, my soul, my body. All Edgar will have is a marriage contract and a wife in name only.”
Sickened by her naïve ramblings, Stephen was in the act of drawing back and telling her in no uncertain terms what he felt about her words, when a scandalized voice broke in.
“Araminta? Stephen?”
&
nbsp; He turned to find Sybil’s shocked eyes upon them. Not only shocked but hurt too. Araminta looked down at her feet. She opened her mouth to speak but no words came.
Oh God, thought Stephen, he was going to have to find an excuse for this one, alone. “Lady Partington, it is not the way it appears.”
She drew herself up to her full height. “Araminta,” she said, not looking at her daughter. “You may go now.”
Dismissed, Araminta hurried out of the clearing and Stephen watched her head toward Grange Hall while he waited to defend Lady Partington’s natural charges.
Better to meet this head-on, he thought. Sighing, he took her hands and lowered his face. “Araminta found me after I’d been swimming.” He indicated his dishevelment. “It obviously aroused some latent feeling for me as she’s just professed her preference for me as her husband while still steadfastly maintaining her intention to marry her cousin Edgar.”
He waited, the growing silence reinforcing how desperately he needed her understanding. God, if she sent him packing it would mean yesterday was the last occasion he’d glory in her luscious body and rest his head against her beautiful, pillowy breasts. Quite frankly, he couldn’t bear it.
For a long moment she allowed him to hold her hands in his. He hadn’t realized how soft they were. Soft and girlish. Like the rest of her. In the shade of the forest glade he could see no sign of crease or mark to indicate her real age. She was lovely, truly lovely with an inner depth he’d never found in all the women of his intimate acquaintance. She could laugh with him as if they were of the same generation, make fun of him yet still fill him with the sense that his physical strength and sexual prowess were important to her but that there was more about him she valued.
“Araminta was spying on you?” It was a whisper. Questioning, rather than accusing...he hoped.
He wanted to see her smile, not look at him with such suspicion, as if he were Beezlebub himself, slyly seducing her daughter behind her back. Lady Partington was a queen among women and he wanted—no, needed—her high regard.
But Sybil didn’t smile. “Araminta told you she loves you?”
Stephen nodded, not sure why her mouth was trembling until, withdrawing her hands from his grasp to cup her cheeks she cried, “In that case what we are doing is outrageous. If Araminta truly loves you we must do all in our power to persuade her to give up this foolish notion of marrying Edgar merely to become mistress of this pile of old stones.”
Abruptly she turned on her heel, ignoring his pleas to return, not even raising her hand to acknowledge them.
Stephen stood in the glade, wretched, and watched her proud, stiff exit, desperately hoping it was not forever.
* * * * *
During dinner Sybil watched Araminta with covert suspicion. There was a hectic flush to the girl’s cheeks and she seemed to have lost her appetite. Of course, Humphry would not notice that the servants removed her untouched plate after each course. But a mother deeply concerned with the happiness of her daughter would.
And clearly Araminta was...well, as wretched as she was.
She glanced at Edgar, who sat between Araminta and Hetty, attacking his beef with gusto, talking about his hunting exploits with his mouth full. Then at Stephen on the opposite side of the table. So far he’d said nothing the entire meal.
Humphry, misinterpreting Stephen’s silence perhaps for preoccupation with his uncertain prospects following the house party that would signal his departure, said, “I’ve contacts in the Foreign Office, Stephen, which might be useful. You’re a bright young man. If you could distinguish yourself there—”
“You’re very kind, my lord. I shall leave you a forwarding address.”
His words sent a pain like a lance through Sybil’s heart. Suddenly it all seemed so final. The image of Araminta locked in his embrace caused another wave of anguish. She shifted in her seat, her hands going to the napkin that slid from her lap. Surreptitiously she contoured her belly. What if Stephen had already planted the seed that would oust Edgar from his position, yet what if Araminta, in relinquishing Edgar, left Edgar free for Hetty?
Oh God. She licked dry lips. It was still possible that Hetty might make a match with Edgar, whom she truly loved. And if Sybil were with child, she’d have then denied Hetty the chance to become mistress of the Grange. Instead, Hetty would be living with Edgar in decidedly more modest lodgings.
“My dear, are you all right?”
It was unusual for Humphry to be so solicitous. She raised her anguished eyes to his and nodded. He really had been much kinder to her lately. More thoughtful.
He reached across to pat her hand and she froze. Humphry never touched her. Never engaged in physical affection of any sort. His mistress had been gone a few days, however. Perhaps Humphry would, in fact, come to Sybil’s room that night. Or the next. Perhaps he really could transcend his aversion for physical relations with her in order to sire the next heir.
The rightful heir.
Everyone was looking at her. Curious, concerned, confused by her odd behavior. Sybil generally smiled through any pain.