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.