Lacybourne Manor (12 page)

Sibyl felt hysterical laughter
bubbling up her own throat but she chased it down with a gulp and
turned her mind to escape.

Before she could Colin Morgan
remarked, “You made light work of that.”

At this unusual comment, she
finally lifted her eyes to the hard planes of his face, having to
twist around and glance over her shoulder and she saw he was
looking over his own at Steve. He obviously recognised the
paramedic who’d come to his house.

Again, she didn’t respond. He
was still standing so close to her that his chest was resting
lightly against her back.

“Mr. Morgan, if you wouldn’t
mind moving away,” she whispered.

He apparently did mind because
he didn’t move.

“Jason,” his voice rang with
authority and the bartender, who was listening to the orders of
some patrons, turned his head immediately.

“Yeah, Mr. Morgan?”

“Get Shannon to take those
pints to the gentlemen over there,” Colin ordered, motioning to
Steve and his group with his head. “And get her to get the women
with them a drink for Christ’s sake.”

“Yes, Mr. Morgan,” and Jason
jogged off obediently to find the unknown Shannon.

Sibyl stared at Colin in
dismay.

“
Do you,” Sibyl
hesitated, “
own
this club?”

His eyes finally dropped to her
and for some reason her breath caught when she felt the full force
of them on her face.

“A third of it, yes,” he
answered.

Sibyl looked around the place
for the first time.

It was jam packed. There were
three bars she could see, two on the lower floor, one on a balcony
that wrapped around the club and all of them were surrounded by
people buying drinks.

It was clearly a hip hotspot
for young, trendy people. Not the place she would expect Colin
Morgan to spend his time, unless he had a penchant for underfed,
under-clothed and nearly underage girls.

Her face must have told him
what she was thinking for he said, “I was here for a meeting. It
ran long. I was leaving when I saw you leave your medic, go to the
bar and choose the unfortunate position of standing by Paul.”

The drunk man lifted his glass
in salute.

“You know him?” Sibyl was
astonished.

“Here every night,” Paul
offered.

“Do you get drunk every night?”
Sibyl asked, her voice edged in concern.

“Every night,” Paul confirmed
happily and nodded his head sloppily.

Not thinking, Sibyl grabbed her
own drink and, in the tight space allowed by Colin and the bar, she
whirled around then pushed him back, her hand on his chest.

One step, two then she got up
on tiptoe, leaned toward his ear and whispered fiercely, “That man
is an alcoholic!”

“I can hear you,” Paul
sing-songed and Sibyl closed her eyes in distress.

When she opened them, Colin
Morgan was grinning at her.

Grinning
at her.

And if she thought his voice
sounded lethal several minutes before, it was nothing compared to
the entirely different killer wattage of his grin.

She mentally shrugged off her
highly pleasant reaction to his grin, put her hand back to his
chest and pushed him back again, this time she pushed him around
the side of the bar. She was so determined, she didn’t process the
fact that he let her do this.

“You have to do something!” she
demanded when they’d stopped well away from Paul.

“
About what?” Colin was
watching her like Steve had watched her earlier, as if she was the
most fascinating creature in the world. Except, when Colin did it,
she felt a warmth seep into her belly that she did
not
feel
when Steve did it.

“About Paul,” she explained,
her voice showing her aggravation at his obtuseness just as it hid
her reaction to his proximity. “If he comes here every night and
gets that inebriated, he’s clearly an alcoholic. You can’t keep
serving him.”

The deadly-delicious grin was
back. “He’s our best customer.”

Sibyl was appalled.

“Mr. Morgan, that is just…
completely just…” she was at a loss for words then she found them,
“morally irresponsible.”

The grin turned into a
full-fledged, white smile, the wattage amping up so high, Sibyl was
nearly dazzled.

Although he was barely a foot
from her, he leaned in closer.

“Morally irresponsible?” he
repeated.

She could swear his tone was
teasing.

Teasing!

Was this the man who had held
her hostage, forced her to undress in front of him, accosted her in
his entryway and shouted and cursed at her in his library?

Yes, she reminded herself, it
was.

She straightened her
shoulders.

“We must look after our
neighbours,” she lectured.

“Really?” he asked, his eyes
dancing and not with the jumping lights in the club.

“Yes, especially you,” Sibyl
informed him.

For some unknown reason, he was
walking around her and she had to turn in a staccato pirouette to
follow him.

“
Especially me?” he
asked, stopped abruptly and took a quick step forward in a way that
was predatory. This caused her to take a step back and, when she
did so, she hit a wall. His hand came up to rest beside her head
and he leaned into her again. She had the wall of the club to her
back, him to her front (
close
to her front) and his arm
imprisoning her on the right.

She was trapped.

Her mind screamed for flight
but she stood her ground. “Yes, especially you. As the owner of
this club –”

“
Part
owner,” he interrupted her, still smiling as if
she was highly entertaining.

“
Part
owner,” she amended quickly and steeled herself
against that smile and the annoyance she felt at his obvious
amusement. “You have responsibilities.”

“Yes,” he admitted. “You’re
absolutely correct. I’m responsible for keeping the money coming
in.”

She spluttered at this
outrageous, yet teasing remark then saved herself by taking a deep
breath. “You also have a responsibility to your patrons.”

He leaned closer then stopped
but if he came further forward, even an inch, he’d be kissing
her.

She held her breath.

Colin stared into her eyes.

Then he said, “Paul doesn’t
drive drunk. He has a standing order for a taxi to pick him up at
midnight every night. He’s a wealthy businessman who doesn’t touch
a drop during the day, I know because I have dealings with him. He
has a wife who’s an inveterate cheat and consummate liar who spends
money almost as fast as he can make it and he buys a drink for
every attractive woman who enters this club. He’s a decent man,
most of the time, considering, and is mostly harmless.”

Sibyl was shocked he knew
so much about Paul. She was further stunned that he took the time
to explain this to her, calmly and rationally. She’d never had
dealings with a calm, rational Colin Morgan. She didn’t like it
because she
did
like it and that played havoc on her very
soul.

“Well good,” she decided for
her sanity their conversation was over. “Now that’s sorted, I’m
leaving.”

“Excellent,” he announced.
“I’ll take you home.”

The hand by her head dropped
and his long, strong fingers closed around her upper arm.

Alarmed, she blurted,
“What?”

Colin looked down at her.
“Would you like me to take you back to the medic?”

Sibyl glanced across the bar
and through the crush of people and caught sight of Steve who was
drinking from the pint he’d been delivered. He looked content and
at ease and as if he’d completely forgotten he’d come with a
date.

Sibyl had no desire whatsoever
to return to Steve.

Her gaze dropped to the
floor.

“I’ll get a taxi,” she
announced.

“Don’t be absurd, you live five
minutes from me,” Colin returned.

This was true. And a taxi from
Bristol to Clevedon would cost her thirty pounds. Not that she
didn’t have thirty pounds but she could think of a great number of
things she’d prefer to spend her hard earned money on.

“I’ll get a bus,” she
decided.

Obviously, he disagreed.
Without a word, he turned and then started moving forward, taking
her with him. Divesting her of her drink, he deposited it on the
bar without breaking stride, the whole time he brought her along
with him with a firm but gentle hand on her arm.

“Mr. Morgan –” she began,
looking at him and having to quicken her pace to keep up with his
casual advance.

“My name is Colin,” he said
distractedly and stopped. She was about to open her mouth to say
something but looked around as to why they stopped.

They were standing by Steve and
his group of friends. Colin’s hand had dropped but not away from
her. His arm slid around her and settled tightly around her waist,
not, she noted not-so-vaguely, as if she was a trophy to show off.
Instead, his hold was proprietary, blatantly so. Colin Morgan was
claiming her right in front of her date, an aggressive, ruthless
move that stole her breath and any words she might have been able
to utter.

Steve’s friends noticed Colin
and Sibyl first and their open-mouthed stares made Steve turn
around.

“I’m taking Ms. Godwin home,”
Colin announced the minute he had Steve’s attention. Before Steve
could put into words the angry, stunned surprise on his face, Colin
guided Sibyl out the door.

Sibyl moved with him mostly in
order not to make a scene.

When they were outside
the club and walking down the pavement was when she asked angrily,
“Well that… that… I don’t even know what
that
was. Why did you do
that?”

“I would guess he’d eventually
go looking for you, I saved him the trouble.” Colin had dropped his
arm from around her waist but caught her hand in his as they
walked.

She was too taken aback by his
behaviour to recognise the familiar intimacy of his hand holding
hers while guiding her down the pavement. Before this dawned on
her, he turned into a car park that was two doors down from the
club and she was forced to admit to a secret relief that she
wouldn’t have to trek for miles to get to his car (even when she
didn’t quite understand how she’d managed to get herself in the
awkward position of accepting a ride from him in the first
place).

He strode purposefully,
and she noticed distractedly, with immense masculine grace, towards
a gleaming, black, sporty, convertible Mercedes, all the while
holding her hand.

She stared at the car in
horror.

“You own a Mercedes?” she
breathed.

He had stopped at the passenger
side and dropped her hand. At her comment, he looked at her
sharply.

In an about turn of everything
she’d experienced a week ago at Lacybourne, that entire night he’d
been regarding her with amusement and even, possibly (if she could
credit it) admiration.

Now, however, he was staring at
her with an expression of distaste, something about him with which
she was far more familiar.

He also did not answer,
possibly because the answer was obvious.

He unlocked the doors with an
expensive-sounding “bleep” and, without a word, he pulled hers
open, guiding her in before closing it with more force than he
needed to use.

Once he’d settled into his
seat, started the car and expertly reversed, she couldn’t help
herself, she’d lived too long in Mags’s house to let it go, she had
to say, “What kind of gas mileage does this car get?”

“I’ve no idea.” His voice
suddenly sounded bored.

Sibyl ignored his tone and
persevered. “Mr. Morgan, I know it’s none of my business and I
dislike people who lecture about this kind of thing, but as this is
a sports car, you should know that it’s likely it burns fuel like
nobody’s business. In this day and age, considering the state of
the environment, everyone should have a car with fuel economy. You
should consider a hybrid at the very least.”

Even though he was driving, she
felt his body go somehow still.

After a moment, in a voice not
bored in the slightest, he asked, “I beg your pardon?”

Sibyl felt like an idiot,
lecturing him on fuel economy and decided to stand down.

“It’s none of my business,” she
muttered.

“Sibyl,” he said her name for
the first time and she felt the effect of it physically, almost as
if the sound of her name on his lips, uttered in his rich baritone,
pulsated through her body, and she caught her breath. He continued
without noticing her extreme, and bizarre, reaction. “This is a
high performance vehicle. The fuel economy is excellent. You can
save yourself from worrying that you will be tainted with
guilt-by-association by riding in my car. I’m not unduly destroying
the environment.”

Sibyl was inordinately pleased
his tone held no anger or even the slightest hint of it (not to
mention the fact that he wasn’t “unduly” damaging the ozone
layer).

“That was rude. I apologise. My
mother is an environmental activist and sometimes it spills over,
but, um… that said, I agree with Mom that we should all do our
bit.”

He didn’t respond and she
tried not to look at him but instead felt the lovely, smooth nearly
soundless ride of his “high performance vehicle”. She’d never
ridden in a Mercedes (all her cars, and her family’s, were jalopies
that they rode into the ground before buying other, used, jalopies)
and she had to admit (even though she would
never
tell Mags), she
enjoyed it.

Colin deftly negotiated the
difficult Bristol roads and entered the A38 at Cumberland Basin and
Sibyl stared at the beautifully lit Clifton Suspension Bridge as
they passed by.