Lacybourne Manor by Kristen Ashley

him
against these schemes.
    But then he remembered and it
was as if she embodied every deceitful bitch he’d ever had the
misfortune to encounter.
    “ I said,” he roared,
“who the fuck are you?”
    Tamara jumped away in
shock.
    Mrs. Byrne stood, her hand
coming up in a placating gesture.
    “Mr. Morgan, I don’t think –”
Mrs. Byrne began.
    “ Who the fuck are you? ” the
woman on the couch asked him, her own voice vibrating with
anger.
    And Colin could not believe his
ears. He saw his vision explode in a white-hot fury he had not felt
in years, maybe never felt in his lifetime.
    He knew, without any
doubt, that this woman and her old friend had set this up. She
looked exactly like Beatrice Godwin and Mrs. Byrne would have
noticed that in an instant. The fact that Mrs. Byrne had not
mentioned it, not once during the telephone conversation or her
explanation this evening, showed she was hiding something. They
would have, of course, wanted the element of surprise.
    Who, in their right mind,
viewed a heritage property and brought their dog and cat
for God’s sake?
    Therefore, Colin was not going
to stand in his own damned house and be cursed at by a blatant con
artist.
    “I own Lacybourne Manor and you
were trespassing,” he answered.
    Her eyes flew to Mrs. Byrne
(tellingly, he thought), then she winced and put her hand up to her
temple again.
    “Save the dramatics and just
tell me who you are.” His voice had gone from biting anger to
extreme annoyance and this obvious lowering in the level of fury
caused her remarkable eyes to move back to him.
    “I’m Sibyl Godwin.”
    At that ridiculous
pronouncement, first Colin Morgan blinked at her then he threw his
head back and laughed.
    In his angry amusement, he
missed the confusion that flashed across her face but did catch her
rising to her full height and his laughter faded as he noted
belatedly she was definitely not petite.
    She was not a lot of
things.
    She was not slim. She had a
full, lush body that seemed absolutely built, even divinely
created, for a man’s hands. She did not have blemishless alabaster
skin but had freckles on her goddamned nose. And she did not have
sleek, shining, dark hair but had the most remarkably dramatic,
leonine mane he’d ever seen in his life.
    “I’d ask what’s so funny about
my name but I think there’s been some misunderstanding here –” she
started.
    “There has been no
misunderstanding,” he assured her scathingly. “Do you have a
driver’s license?”
    He noticed she was swaying and
felt he should, out loud, give her points for her performance, she
was very close to scoring a perfect ten.
    Or, at the very least, he
felt he should applaud.
    Her dog had stood with her and
was pressing his nose against her hand and Colin watched in passing
fascination as she gently and distractedly stroked the dog’s
muzzle.
    “Driver’s license?” She was
back to feigning confusion.
    “ Yes, Miss Godwin . I’m
assuming it’s ‘Miss’?” His voice was like ice.
    She stared at him as if he was
a being from another planet.
    “It’s ‘Ms.’ if you must know
and yes, I have a driver’s license. Why on earth –?”
    “Let me see it,” he
demanded.
    “Mr. Morgan, I don’t think –”
Mrs. Byrne attempted to intervene.
    “That’s enough out of you,” he
snapped at the older woman.
    “Colin!” Even Tamara, who had
been completely silent throughout this scene, had enough manners to
object to his behaviour to the older woman.
    “This is… you are… I don’t
believe…” The woman who called herself Godwin was stuttering,
staring at him now with eyes narrowed and flashing a brilliant
green with anger.
    Rather fetchingly too, he
thought with some detachment.
    And she was still swaying
precariously.
    “You need to sit down, dear,”
Mrs. Byrne was saying, ignoring Colin, she gently pushed the woman
down to a sitting position on the couch.
    “ Where’s your
bloody license? ” Colin roared.
    The dog barked,