Lacybourne Manor (Ghosts and Reincarnation #3)(107)

Sibyl’s surrender had been complete. Colin instantly recognised just how much she had been holding back when she opened her heart to him fully. He found the offer of it into his care a gesture so precious, he wasn’t certain how to handle it but he was certain that he would not, under any circumstances, let it go.

Regardless, the last two weeks of Sibyl had been a form of torture. True, most of it was a splendid kind of torture, but it was torture nonetheless. He couldn’t imagine a lifetime of it, just as he was looking forward to it. He was pleasantly contemplating their children (lots of them) and then old age. Sibyl could use some wrinkles, a few extra pounds (perhaps a stone or two) and a dozen children to slow her down.

If she didn’t slow down, she’d likely kill him. And if she didn’t (or he didn’t) control her rampant benevolence, she’d kill them both.

The sweet torture had started immediately after their morning at Lacybourne.

Before he had learned about her, he had planned to catch up on work while her parents were in England. He wanted to give her some private time with her parents, therefore, he’d set up meetings in Manchester and Leeds the first week and the second, he was to be in London for an entire week of nearly back-to-back meetings he’d postponed since Sibyl.

The first week they were in town, he attended only one dinner with her and her family. Claire had gone home the night after dinner at Lacybourne (or, as Sibyl described it, “The Dinner of Doom”) to return to her family. Phoebe and Mike had stayed on to spend some time with the people who they knew (as Colin told them) would soon be part of their extended family.

Colin had arrived late at the Indian restaurant and they’d all been ensconced in a huge booth and tucking into their starter.

The minute Colin arrived at the table, Mags or Phoebe would hear of Colin sitting anywhere but right beside Sibyl. As Sibyl was to the back at the very inside of the booth next to a window, Scarlett, Mike and Sibyl had to shift out so Colin could slide in. Once he was in, he was crushed against the wall with Sibyl practically in his lap. She’d ordered a starter for him and another upheaval was caused when everyone handed their plates around to each other.

Forced to rest his arm along the back of the booth in order to accommodate himself and Sibyl in their spare space, he ate with one hand, his left. He had no problem with this, it left his right hand free to stroke the skin at the nape of Sibyl’s neck and feel her delicate shivers beneath his fingers.

During dinner, the conversation was tangled, Scarlett, Mike and Mags in a fierce verbal battle of one-upmanship as to who could tell the most outrageous story (Mags won by a landslide). Not in the line of fire, Colin kept to himself, enjoying the feeling of Sibyl pressed contentedly against his side while, any time she’d want to share her humour with him, she looked over her raised shoulder, resting her chin against it as she prized him with one of her gorgeous smiles.

Bertie, seated opposite him, noticed Colin’s absence from the conversation and took it upon himself to draw him into a private one of their own. At first a one-sided private conversation where Bertie explained to him (in detail) how he felt about what he described as the “Henry, the Second and Thomas Becket fiasco”. Colin eventually found himself drawn into Bertie’s passion for his subject and into a discussion about it, thinking Bertie was undoubtedly a popular professor considering both of these things.

When they left the restaurant and arrived at their assorted cars, Mags said to Sibyl, “I’m guessing you want to spend the night at Lacybourne.” This was not so much a guess as a command when she produced (to Sibyl’s stunned glare) a small overnight bag that Sibyl obviously didn’t pack and knew nothing about. Mags handed it to her daughter with a meaningful look.

Bertie sighed.

Phoebe and Mike looked dumbstruck.

Scarlett chuckled.

Colin could have kissed her.

Sibyl took the bag with a killing look at her mother and slid into the Mercedes.

“I told you my mother was odd,” she announced when he reversed out of the parking spot.

“I’m not complaining,” he pointed out, manoeuvring the car out of the lot.

“You wouldn’t,” she grumbled, clearly embarrassed.

“Would you like me to take you back to Brightrose?” he queried politely even though he had no bloody intention of doing any such thing.

“No,” she mumbled.

“Are you sure?” he couldn’t keep the smile out of his voice.

She made an irate noise.

“You have better sheets at Lacybourne,” she told him and he burst out laughing.

He spent the rest of the week letting himself into Brightrose in the dead of night, calming an always excited Mallory and then sliding into bed beside her long after she went to sleep. Once there, she would snuggle against him or, more to the point, he pulled her into him. He usually left long before she or her family woke or just in time to give her grumpy morning face a kiss before leaving to get to work.

Saturday and Sunday were days of revelation.

Mike and Phoebe had gone home on Friday morning after exchanging addresses, phone numbers and e-mails with the Godwins.

Saturday morning, Colin took Sibyl and her family to Bourton-on-the-Water and the morning passed in peaceful tranquillity (if you didn’t count Sibyl shouting like a drill sergeant at her lagging family and marching them into the newly discovered BMW).

Then, late morning, Colin’s tranquillity fragmented. While in a fudge shop, Sibyl saw a young boy at the counter trying to buy a box of fudge and coming up short by twenty pence. Sibyl sidled up beside the boy and slid the twenty pence to the clerk. This not being a kind enough gesture, one Colin would never think of doing, she then handed the boy a two pound coin.