“It smells like lilies.”
Her eyes jerked to his and his were still glittering. But instead of anger, she was shocked to see (and her heart began pounding all the more insistently at the sight), there was an odd, sweet warmth there.
Something was happening to her, something she didn’t understand and something she definitely couldn’t control. She felt the tenseness slide from her body and her bones felt like they were softening. She felt compelled to touch him, to get closer to him, to move her body into his. Her eyelids lowered and she looked at him from underneath her lashes.
Her voice came out, just as soft as his. “It’s my perfume.”
He watched her for a second, his head slowly, nearly imperceptibly, descending to hers and she thought, hysterically, that he was going to kiss her.
And she braced for it. Ready for it. Wanting it.
Then he stopped, she watched his eyes blink and then, his tone back to cool civility, he remarked, “God, you’re good.”
And this was not a compliment. She knew this comment was meant to be insulting, knew it right to the very marrow of her bones.
It felt like she was sitting in a dunking 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 f**king 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.