Sybill by Jo Ann Ferguson

that Trevor appeared to be as honestly interested in Owen’s welfare as he acted, she could not let her feelings convince her to speak foolishly. “He respects my knowledge of managing a household. I think we shall find it fairly comfortable to work together.” She smiled, trying to convince herself the words were not lies.
    Owen placed her hand on his velvet sleeve as he walked toward the door. “I’m glad to hear that, my dear Sybill. Trevor has been with me several years, and I have come to depend on his common sense. I hope he’ll be with me for many years, as you will be.”
    A spasm of fear raced through her. She did not like the possessive sound in his voice. Looking at his time-lined face, she saw his bland expression had been replaced by one which added to her fright. She wanted to step away, but his hand over hers on his arm tightened to imprison her.
    â€œYou are a charming child, Sybill,” he continued softly. “You have your father’s love of life, but you have not yet tested its many adventures.”
    â€œOwen—”
    He ignored her distress. Lifting her captured hand to his lips, he kissed it lightly as his eyes bore into her. “Yes, you are yet a child, dreaming a child’s fantasies, believing totally in the uncompromising colors of truth. It will be delightful to have you beside me as you grow into your womanhood, Sybill.” Releasing her hand, he patted her cheek as he had so often. “I’m alienated from my son, but I have you with me.”
    Sybill did not know what to say. This was not the first time Owen had spoken of her being with him forever. In the beginning, she could pretend she had misunderstood his fervor as he regarded her. Most of the time, he acted as her kindly uncle. Only on occasion did he show that he wanted far more than her companionship.
    Her concerns about how to respond were needless. Owen took over the conversation as he walked with her to view the awakening gardens. Despite his return to the friendly posture he had shown upon her arrival, she used the first excuse she could to escape him. Seeking a haven in her room, she bolted the door so she did not have to worry about an intrusion from Kate. Her life was being flung out of control. When the invitation came from Foxbridge Cloister, she had been sure it would be a mistake to accept it. Now she was even more sure of that, but she was effectively the captive of one man who wanted, her to replace his lost child and another who detested her. She longed to go home, but her only choice was to dress to go to the stable.
    The ride began in silence. Sybill could not think of anything to say that would not be thrown back into her face. Sitting with her back rod-straight, she tried to dampen her unhappiness by enjoying the beauty of the spring day.
    Once winter had been convinced to leave western England, the warm weather swiftly brought blossoms to the trees and the fresh aroma of early flowers. Birds flocked to sing in the hedgerows and called from their nests in the marsh grass. Along the road, the mud was drying into a rocklike hardness. By the middle of summer, it would be a powder to rise in a dusty cloud. She watched as workers prepared the fields for planting. Although she wanted to ask questions about what would be sowed in which field, she was sure she would be snapped at in response.
    After an hour of the wordless journey, Trevor motioned for her to pull her horse to the side of the road. She followed him into the shade of some spring green trees. Her eyes widened when he dismounted and held up his hands to her.
    She placed her hands on his shoulders and leaned forward to slide from the saddle. As his broad hands gripped her at the waist, she was shocked by the strong, increasingly familiar reaction hurtling through her. No touch ever had elicited such a response from her center. The stressful tightness in her stomach altered abruptly to a flutter of