Lacybourne Manor by Kristen Ashley Page B

booth, someone hit the bulls-eye and she’d crashed into
its ice waters.
    “I want to go home,” she
demanded and he hadn’t moved away so she put her hands on the hard
wall of his chest and shoved.
    He didn’t budge.
    And finally after banging her
head, having her license confiscated, being held hostage, forced to
change in front of a male stranger who, according to her very
faulty dreams, was supposed to be the love of her life and, most
importantly, forgetting to count to ten, the full force of her
temper exploded.
    “I want to go home!” she
shouted in his face. “Give me my damned clothes and my bag and my
car keys and my license and let me get out of this crazy
place!”
    He did not react to her fury as
she expected him to. He didn’t move away. He didn’t seem offended
or angered.
    If anything, he moved
closer.
    Sibyl completely ignored it and
announced, “Mr. Morgan, if you want me to leave here and not press
charges then you better step back, let me take my animals and go
home.”
    “ What if I told you I’m
tempted?” he replied bizarrely, his eyes hooded and he looked
(goddess help her, she was going insane too) unbelievably
sexy.
    “Tempted by what?” she
squeaked.
    “By you.”
    Her eyes rounded, she sucked in
her breath so deeply her chest expanded and then she shoved him
with every ounce of strength she possessed. Fortunately this
worked, he went back on a foot.
    Then she cried, “You’re
deranged!” She pulled off the coat and threw it at him, not
noticing that he caught it deftly because she bent down to yank off
the Wellingtons. She’d lost it, in a rage that was completely
out-of-control and so done with Colin Morgan, if she could control it, she
wouldn’t . “You’re like a male Mrs. Rochester
except you have run of the house.”
    She noticed over his shoulder
that Ms. Winter Wonderland, Tamara, was staring at the scene with
polar spears darting from her eyes.
    “You!” Sibyl pointed at the
woman. “Need to lock him up before he does any damage.” Then she
stomped (as much as she could stomp in bare feet) into the Great
Hall. “Now will someone give me my fucking clothes?” she shouted at
the top of her voice.
    “I’d be delighted,” Tamara
returned, her voice calm and smooth.
    In an ungracious tone, Sibyl
replied, “Thank you.”
    “Follow me,” Tamara
invited.
    Sibyl did and gratefully,
Mallory following closely behind, his tail still wagging.
    * * * * *
    Mrs. Byrne had witnessed
this scene and was left watching Colin from across the Great Hall
as Sibyl (looking very appealing in his pyjama top) and Tamara
disappeared up the stairs.
    Colin carelessly tossed the
expensive coat over a chair and saw the older woman look up at the
portraits then back at him and he knew he was meant to understand
her meaningful glances.
    They stood that way, squaring
off like opponents on a battlefield as moments turned to minutes
and then Sibyl, struggling to pull her shirt over her head while,
impossibly, her jacket and boots where tucked under her arm,
stamped down the stairs, muttering to herself such phrases as
“loony bin” and “danger to society”.
    Sibyl stopped, shrugged into
her jacket then bent over to pull on her boots and then she strode
angrily to Colin. He stared down his nose at her.
    He’d seen her earlier
that morning, out the window, in her ridiculous outfit (an outfit
that still managed to look enticing on her) and it was almost as if
he couldn’t control himself. It was almost as if an invisible force
pulled him to the front door to watch her cavorting with her damned
dog.
    She was (he knew, as he was a
connoisseur of woman) unbelievably beddable. His hands itched to
touch her, his mouth was dry with the effort not to kiss her. Last
night, when he found her stubbornly shivering in her sleep, he had
the strong urge he almost couldn’t beat back and very nearly warmed
her with his own body.
    Earlier, every time she’d said
“Mallory” it made his gut twitch