Lacybourne Manor (Ghosts and Reincarnation #3)(95)

Because the dawning light finally rose in her dim brain and it all made startlingly clear, hideous sense.

“I know what you thought. I know exactly what you thought. You thought I knew who she was.” Sibyl’s hand flew to point at the portrait of Beatrice. “And that I was after the family silver. That’s what you thought!” She screamed these words, her fury completely out-of-control, her voice ringing in the hall. She held tightly to her rage, if she didn’t, she would likely curl up and die.

This was not a dream. This was magic but it wasn’t the light airy-fairy kind. This was dark and ugly and she wanted no part of murdered, star-crossed lovers, the male half of which reincarnated into a misanthropic beast.

Colin started toward her as Mrs. Byrne called out, “Sibyl, you must listen.”

Sibyl didn’t respond, she was watching Colin.

“Don’t come near me! Don’t you even touch me!” she warned but Colin didn’t stop, indeed not only didn’t he stop but he was coming at her with grave purpose. “You wanted to punish me?” she asked acidly. “Well you did! You got my family here to make a fool of me, to humiliate me and you made me your… omph!”

She didn’t finish because she had his shoulder in her belly and then she was being lifted. Her breath was knocked out of her as he threw her over his shoulder and carried her toward the stairs.

She recovered quickly and struggled, shouting, “Let me down!”

He didn’t stop and he didn’t let her down.

She lifted her head, her hair falling away from her face and as he carried her up the stairs, she saw her family and his family, watching their ascent in fascinated, horrified silence.

But no one came to her aid.

Chapter Eighteen

Real Life Magic

Colin put her down in his bedroom and the minute her feet touched the floor, Sibyl started to run toward the door.

He grabbed her by hooking an arm about her waist and yanking her back against his body. She crashed against the length of him and he wasted no time. He reached out, leaning into her, his upper body pushing her torso forward, and he slammed the door.

“Sibyl, five minutes. Listen to me,” he demanded, his mouth at her ear.

“No!” she shouted and struggled, tearing at his hand at her waist. Her mind was whirling, her head was spinning. No one down there helped her, not even her family. They all knew before she did, that was what they were so damned cheerful about. That was why they were all acting so strange.

She felt, at any moment, she was either going to cry, scream the house down or be sick.

Or all three at the same time.

He caught one wrist and twirled her out then used her arm to jerk her forward. She slammed against his hard body while he twisted her arm carefully behind her back. Her other hand came up to push against his chest but he grabbed that too and it joined the one behind her back.

She was pressed full-frontal against his body and completely powerless.

This, of course, made her angrier.

She tipped her head back, her hair flying everywhere. “Let go of me!” she yelled in his face.

He shook her, a gentle but rough gesture that caused her no pain but further angered her all the same.

“Listen to me!” he commanded, his voice an urgent rumble.

“No!” she repeated. “You have nothing to say that I want to hear.”

“I dreamed of you, the night before I met you.”

She became instantly still.

Perhaps that was something she was willing to hear.

“What?”

“I dreamed of who I thought was Beatrice, but she had your hair. It was you. I was making love to you and then you were torn from my arms and I was held back as someone slit your throat.”

Her mouth dropped open and she gaped at him, completely at a loss for words.

What on the goddess’s green earth was going on?

She’d dreamed of him too. The same exact dream. Except it was his throat that was slit.

“Does that dream sound familiar?” he asked, watching her closely.

She blinked and shut her mouth so fast, her teeth clacked together.

Damn, she always got caught in her lies.

“Sibyl, I know you were lying about your nightmare that night. You’re the worst liar I’ve ever met.”

She stayed silent, not ready to let go of her rage and instantly deciding she did not want to hear anymore of this latest revelation. Really, how much could a girl take?

“You’ve had the same dream, haven’t you?” Her eyes went to the door with visions of escape dancing in her head but he shook her again. “Haven’t you?”

“It doesn’t mean anything,” she told the floor to her side.

His hands released hers but he didn’t let her go. His arms tightened around her, holding her to him even as her hands went to his chest and tried to force him away. She didn’t lift her eyes above his throat as she pushed with all her strength.

All this work was to no avail. He didn’t shift an inch.

“Stop struggling and talk to me,” he demanded.

Her eyes lifted to his and she obliged, “You made me your whore.”

He flinched as if she’d struck him and he seemed, for a moment, genuinely to be in pain. And she felt, to her surprise and annoyance (for a moment), upset for him.

“You were never my whore,” he murmured gruffly, his eyes drilling into hers.