Free Lacybourne Manor by Kristen Ashley Page A

conclusion.
    “Fine,” she bit out between
clenched teeth, thinking agreement would make him go and then she
could ignore his order and try to get some sleep. “I’ll put it on,
now you can go.”
    He crossed his arms on his
chest as if he was settling in for a show.
    Then he demanded, “Put it on
now.”
    Sibyl’s breath caught and her
eyes bugged out before she breathed, “What?”
    “Now,” he clipped.
    “You’re joking.”
    He didn’t answer but he also
didn’t look like he was joking.
    She started trembling,
she had absolutely no idea what this entire night was all
about. She was the wounded party here, if you counted her head,
literally. All she wanted to do was see his house. If he didn’t
want her to, he could have simply told her to go on her way. Not held
her hostage. Not confiscated her purse. Not treated her like she was
a criminal. Not barked at Mrs. Byrne.
    She thought, somewhat
hysterically, that he was supposed to be the fierce, glorious lover
from her dream. The man who, when his throat was slit and she knew
his life was pouring out of him, she felt such an utter sense of
loss that she would have begged for the knife to slice her own
throat as well rather than to live without him.
    This whole scene was entirely
wrong.
    In fact, it felt
cataclysmically wrong.
    She glared at him and saw the
set line of his jaw, thinking that there was a possibility, if she
defied him, this would get physical.
    She felt a burning shame
creeping up at her total loss of power. She wanted to scream at
him, rail at him, claw at his eyes.
    And, unbelievably, she also
wanted to throw herself in his arms.
    She just stood there staring at
him.
    He could overpower her in a
second. She was not a small woman but he was clearly fit,
definitely tall and obviously far, far stronger than she.
Lacybourne was just on the outskirts of town and surrounded by
forest therefore no one would hear her if she shouted. Ice Princess
Tamara, she doubted, would come to her aid and Mrs. Byrne would be
no help at all but would undoubtedly try, and maybe get herself
harmed in the process.
    And therefore Sibyl had
no choice and she hated that.
    “Okay,” she gave in, feeling
deep embarrassment that her voice sounded shaky. “Turn around.”
    He again didn’t speak, he also
didn’t turn.
    She waited a moment,
realising that his manners did not extend to allowing her a modicum
of privacy and, with a strangled sound, she turned herself,
presenting her back to him.
    She’d never been so humiliated
in her entire life. She felt hot, shameful tears spring to her eyes
and could do nothing to stop them, though she used every bit of her
willpower not to make a sound.
    As quickly as she could, she
whipped off her t-shirt and pulled the pyjama top over her head,
not bothering to take off her bra. She undid the zip on her skirt
in the back and pulled it down, hooking her fingers in her tights
as she did so (careful to leave her panties in place), stepping out
of both pieces of clothing at the same time and dropping them on
her t-shirt.
    She whirled around again.
    “Happy now?” she asked, but
didn’t look at him, hiding behind a curtain of hair because she
didn’t want him to see the tears on her cheeks.
    His answer was to lean
forward and whip back the covers of the bed.
    Bran lifted his head in ill
humour, his yellow eyes indicating his unhappiness at having his
slumber disturbed.
    Mallory, exhausted from the
evening’s escapades, was lying on his side on the floor, his arms
and legs sprawled out in front of him, completely unperturbed by
this new horror.
    Sibyl thought with dismay that
her mother had been wrong about the cat.
    She clambered into the bed,
doing her best to keep her back to him and, when she lay down, he
whipped the covers over her. She curled into a little ball, pressed
her face into the pillows and it didn’t dawn on her as she did this
that he was actually pulling the covers high up her shoulder and
then tucking them tight