The next two National Trust days were so crowded, the Trust had to arrange for timed viewings and had phoned Colin telling him that, if this persisted, they would have to do visits by booking only. They also asked if he and Sibyl wouldn’t mind being part of a new pamphlet and helping with a fundraiser. This he refused, of course, and didn’t even bother to mention to Sibyl for she would definitely not have refused and the last thing he needed was for her to be gunned down at a National Trust Ball.
Marian Byrne’s daughter had left after Marian had sufficiently recovered so, in order for Sibyl to watch over her, she became a regular guest at dinner. Colin had come home on Friday evening to catch Marian and Mags in the kitchen, leaning expectantly over a large pot that was emitting an foul odour that was (he hoped) not food while his mother sat at a stool by the counter calmly reading a woman’s magazine.
“Just experimenting with –” Mags began to explain upon his entry.
He lifted up his hand and didn’t break stride as he continued to walk through the kitchen. “I don’t want to know.”
He’d encountered Sibyl in the hall.
“Hi babe.” She brushed her lips softly against his in greeting and he vastly preferred her welcome to the dastardly trio in the kitchen. “Enchiladas tonight,” she informed him.
He was relatively certain enchiladas did not smell like what was in the kitchen and if it did, he wanted no part of it.
“Is Mags cooking?”
She knew exactly to what he was referring and her body started to shake with silent laugher.
“Yes, but I’ve made ones especially for you and they contain meat.”
His kiss of greeting was heavily weighted with relief.
They had a relatively peaceful weekend.
This was, of course, if one didn’t count Sibyl’s extraordinary tirade when he’d had the MG towed back to Brightrose and presented her with an Aston Martin. This she categorically refused to accept and a reluctant compromise was only reached when his mother suggested Colin take the Aston and Sibyl use the BMW. The Mercedes was offered on the Alter of Environmental Correctness and this last he agreed to but carefully made no promise as he had no intention of getting rid of his car mainly because he liked the Mercedes.
Tuesday night, Sibyl was tucked against his side while Colin was staring at the ceiling and contemplating the unacceptable lack of progress his investigation team was making in finding Tamara Adams.
She was a socialite, not a super sleuth. How she could be evading a ten-man team was beyond him and Colin wanted answers and results.
As the days went by, Sibyl seemed to be settling in quite contentedly at Lacybourne, almost as if she’d forgotten someone wanted to harm them. She went about her busy schedule, radiating happiness and warmth with unflagging energy.
Even though Colin was pleased that she obviously trusted him and was happily getting on with her life, especially as that life included him, he was becoming more and more impatient. He wanted this business complete so he and Sibyl could move on. He wanted to come home to her (and even her many and varied escapades) every night, his ring on her finger and her carrying his name and he wanted all of this without death threats hanging over their heads.
“Do you think we have too much sex?” Sibyl asked musingly, interrupting his unhappy reverie with her mystifying question.
“What?” he asked, thrown.
She came up on her elbow and leaned over him.
“We have a lot of sex. Of course, it’s normal to have a lot of sex when you start a relationship but we have a lot, a lot.”
He couldn’t answer her, his unhappy thoughts shifted to even unhappier thoughts, including the fact that she’d had lots of sex at the start of relationships with other men.
Furthermore, she was right. He had a very healthy sexual appetite but he’d never been as hungry for a woman, carrying a constant, overwhelming desire, as he was for her. He found himself wanting her more even when he was embedded inside her. She was an obsession, even an addiction.
Upon brief consideration, he found this didn’t bother him in the slightest.
“I think it’s the curse,” she continued, either ignoring or not noticing his lack of response. “Royce and Beatrice didn’t… um, get any and so we’re making up for it.”
“I don’t care why I want you, I just know I do, there’s no purpose in evaluating it,” Colin replied.
“Yes, but don’t you think it’s weird?” Sibyl pressed.
“I hardly think it’s ‘weird’ for any man to have an irrational craving for you, you’re quite simply the most desirable woman I’ve known.”
Her mouth dropped open then, to his surprise, she clamped it shut on a disbelieving, very unladylike, snort.
“Sibyl,” he remonstrated softly, “it doesn’t suit you to fish for compliments.”
“Fish for…!” She started then burst out laughing and he felt its beauty seep into his bones. When she was done, she laid her hand on his cheek and smiled at him. “Colin, you like me, we’re good together.” Her smile deepened. “Of course you think I’m desirable but that doesn’t mean every man does.” She carried on, as if he hadn’t even spoken, “Personally, I still think it’s the curse.”
He stared at her assessingly and realised she didn’t comprehend her incredible allure.
“You aren’t to be believed,” he mumbled.
“What’s that?” She tilted her head, the smile still tugging at her lips.
He pulled her weight on top of his body and his arms stole around her.
Then he studied her beautiful face for long moments.
Then he muttered, “Christ, you have no idea,” and something about that knowledge awed him.
“Okay, I get it, you don’t think it’s the curse but –”
“Sibyl listen to me,” he interrupted her, “you are beautiful.”
Her eyes sparkled. “And you’re very handsome,” she returned, completely unfazed by his words. “But then again, I love you so of course I’d think you’re handsome, to others, you’re probably very ugly.”
He found himself biting back laughter at the same time growling with frustration and something infinitely deeper. She lifted her knees so she was straddling him and bent her head to kiss the base of his throat, her hair sliding luxuriously across his chest.
“Likely extremely ugly,” she muttered as she moved lower and kissed his stomach and his muscles tensed as he understood her intent. “Hideous,” she whispered as she moved lower.
He let go of his unhappy thoughts and moved his hands into her hair to pull it away so he could watch.
Later, after he’d yanked her roughly back on top of him to finish what she started with her mouth in an entirely different but infinitely pleasurable way, he rolled them to their sides and her arms tightened around him.
“That was nice.” She spoke what he considered the understatement of the year and he chuckled.
He felt her body settle and her breathing even out and he remembered a phone call he’d had that day.
“Sibyl?”
“Mm?” she murmured against his neck.
“Mrs. Manning called today.”
“Who?”
“My housekeeper, she requests that you not make the bed. She says it’s her job. Since I pay her to do it, there’s no reason you should.”
“The invisible housekeeper,” Sibyl said quietly. “Now that’s weird. She’s here but you never see her.”
He found that rather surprising as he wasn’t letting Mrs. Manning in, he wondered who was. Nevertheless, with other weighty things on his mind, he didn’t spend any time thinking about it.