Authors: Heather Grothaus

Never Love a Lord (9 page)

BOOK: Never Love a Lord

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Sybilla said nothing. She could say nothing over the sounds of her mother’s wails inside her head.

“But she tried to make up for it, didn’t she?” Julian pressed, a note of intrigue or something Sybilla could not name in his voice. “She got her revenge on de Montfort the very next year, at Evesham, when she brought Edward word of de Montfort’s son’s unguarded army at none other than Kenilworth Castle, a place your mother knew well, and where she was welcomed. Because of her intelligence, Edward surprised de Montfort at Evesham under his own son’s banner, and the reign of Simon de Montfort was no more.”

Sybilla found that she was shaking her head ever so slightly and so she stopped. “You can’t prove any of this,” Sybilla said.

“But it’s true, isn’t it?” She sensed Julian turning more fully toward her.

“No.”

“You’re lying,” he accused her, bitterness high in his voice. “You’re lying to save yourself.”

“No,” Sybilla whispered this time. She turned her head to look at him.

“Then tell me where I have gone wrong,” he insisted, and his gaze was so intense, so sincere, Sybilla felt for a moment that she might just tell him.

But then she saw her mother’s weak body, lying in bed in the days and hours before her death. Heard Amicia’s pathetic weeping alternating with shrill and slurred demands.

Don’t you see now what I have done? You are the fairest, the richest, the most feared in the land. You have Fallstowe at your command and under your protection. Fallstowe and your sisters, Sybilla. Think of them! If you are to keep them, you must do as I say, and if all must be lost, you must take our secrets with you. There is no cause for Alys’s and Cecily’s lives to be ruined as well. Do not dare to dishonor the proud memory of the man who was your father.

“My mother . . . was a brave woman,” Sybilla said. “And now I must be the brave one.”

“Your mother as good as threw you to the wolves,” Julian declared flatly. “And that is why you think you must be brave, why you have adopted such a demeanor as to make yourself intimidating, untouchable. It’s because Amicia feared anyone to know the truth, and now you fear it, too.”

“If I am not brave, Lord Griffin—” Sybilla queried, tilting her head and giving him a curious look, “if I am not brave, what can you promise me? That Edward will be so impressed by my forthrightness that he will give me Fallstowe? Lay the past to rest? Continue to take my money graciously and leave me in peace with my people, to run Fallstowe as I see fit?”

“He will take back Fallstowe, on the grounds that it was entrusted to your mother on a false and treasonous basis,” Julian admitted. “But if you cooperate—”

“If I cooperate,” Sybilla interjected loudly, “he will what? Entomb me in some nunnery with a stipend? Strip me of my title but allow me to marry a shopkeep? Or perhaps he will at last give his temper free rein and have me imprisoned, hanged? Beheading is too good for someone of my station, after all. I should not be afforded such dignity for daring to thwart him for so long.”

“If only you would allow me to—”

Sybilla slid from the stone, her action cutting off whatever Julian Griffin was about to say. “My mother worked her entire life to ensure that my sisters and I would have the lives that we now enjoy. I will not dishonor her sacrifice by running to London and grasping at Edward’s robes, begging for mercy.”

“Your mother was a servant who did what she did to better her own station in life. Her loyalty was always for sale. She was not noble, in any sense of the word. She got her husband killed and she used you,” Julian accused her, his brows drawing together. “She’s still using you.”

In two strides, Sybilla was before Julian. She raised her hand and slapped his face as hard as she could.

“Do not speak of her in that manner again, Lord Griffin,” Sybilla warned, surprised to hear her voice shaking, mimicking the trembling in her body.

He had moved from the stone before Sybilla’s eyes could register it, grasping her by her upper arms and giving her a shake.

“I did not do these things to you, Sybilla,” he whispered harshly. “And it is through no fault of your own that you are in this situation.”

“It’s charming how you think me so innocent.” She mocked him, her eyes searching his face, her skin aching where he touched her. “Have you not heard the tales of Lady Sybilla Foxe, who has sold her soul to the devil?”

“I have heard the tales. But the only devil I believe you sold your soul to was a frightened old woman. I am not cowed by you. I am not indebted to you. And if you strike me again, I will turn you over my knee.”

“I dare you to try it,” Sybilla hissed.

His fingers tightened around her arms and he pulled her up against him, his mouth hovering over hers.

“You don’t tempt me, either,” he said in a low growl.

“Obviously,” she smirked.

He let go of her then and stepped away. Sybilla could see that he was moved, regardless of his staunch denial. It was as if the air between them was alive.

“I’m not innocent, Julian,” Sybilla said, noting the breathiness of her own voice. “I know what you say is true: Edward will not allow me to keep Fallstowe after you confirm that my mother was a fraud. So you tell me: What would
you
do? What would
you
do if someone showed up at
your
gate, poised to report to the world that the life
you
had was not real? That Lucy was not your daughter in truth? That each battle you fought and survived meant nothing. Your home was to be stolen away from you. Your marriage deemed invalid. Everything you had ever had, or loved, or worked for, would be taken from you forever because it was
the law
.”

She paused for a moment. “Would
you
go quietly?”

“No,” he answered in a low voice. “No, I wouldn’t.”

She rushed to him again, but this time, instead of striking him, she laid her right palm boldly against his chest, over his heart. “Then tell Edward that he is
wrong
. Tell him you found nothing of import, nothing that would confirm his suspicions. Don’t let him take Fallstowe from me, from my family. You said when you first arrived that you might be able to help me, so help me, Julian.”

“I won’t lie to him, Sybilla,” Julian said. “Especially since there are things you aren’t telling me.”

“What can I offer you?” she pressed. “What do you want? Money? My body?”

Julian grimaced. “Don’t lower yourself like that.”

“However much Edward has promised you, I will give you in kind.”

He shook his head. “That’s impossible. You must understand that even if Morys had lived, you could not retain Fallstowe. He would have seen you married off and away from here. Tell me what I need to know and come with me to London. It may not be pleasant, but Edward is fair. You may not come out of it any worse than what you would have, had the man who claimed to be your father lived. He’ll likely dower you.”

Sybilla let her hand slide away and stepped back, appalled at the tears in her eyes. “You don’t understand. I gave my word.”

“I, too, gave my word,” Julian shot back. “My future is at stake here as well, Sybilla. Not just mine, but Lucy’s.”

“Then we are at an impasse,” she said quietly.

“No. We’re not. I will tell Edward all that I know, with or without your input.”

She raised her hands slightly and then let them fall. “You may as well kill me now, then.”

Julian approached her once more and took her shoulders. “I don’t want to kill you, Sybilla.”

“Then what do you want?”

“
I want you to tell me the truth
,” he gritted through his teeth. Then he paused. “And I want to kiss you.”

“I thought you weren’t tempted by me.”

“I lied.”

Chapter 10

Her blue eyes sparkled with cool surprise as she looked up at him.

It was true. He did want her. He had wanted her since the first time he had laid eyes on her in Fallstowe’s great hall, sitting in her throne-like chair and receiving him as if she were royalty presiding over a court.

He wanted her because of her beauty, of course, but for so much more as well. Her bravery. Her determination. Her intelligence. Her deliberate defiance of everyone and everything that would try to defeat her, including Julian himself.

“Are you going to kiss me?” she asked, cocking her head to the side and looking at him in an interesting manner.

“I don’t think so,” he said, shaking his head slightly but seemingly unable to tear his gaze from hers. “Not until you trust me. I won’t take anything that is not offered to me completely, and in good faith.”

One of her slender eyebrows rose. “You think me to trust you when it is you who will tattle on me to the king?”

He made certain her eyes were trained on his. “Yes.”

After a moment, Sybilla Foxe gave a huff of disbelieving laughter. She then turned her face away.

“We need to trust each other,” he reiterated. “Edward doesn’t expect me back straightaway. Think upon your options. If you decide that I am your best hope, you will tell me what you know, and then we will formulate our plan to present to Edward.”

She looked back to him and her eyes narrowed. “What are we to do in the meantime?”

Julian shrugged, then looked about the ring as if considering it. “We enjoy our time at Fallstowe. You may go about your daily responsibilities as before—”

“Why, you’re too kind,” Sybilla snipped.

“And in your spare moments, you can better get to know me. And Lucy. A baby should be a novelty to you.”

“I don’t care for babies, actually,” she said airily. “Noisy, smelly things. Always needing tending.”

“You said yourself that you once very seriously considered marriage, so I fail to see how the prospect of an infant could be that very different from caring for a grown man.”

“Indeed.” She at last gave him a wry smile. Frosty around the edges, yes, but it was genuine. Genuinely Sybilla, and it was perhaps the first time that night that Julian had truly seen her.

But now he needed to move away from her lest he go back on his word and kiss her as he wanted to.

He stepped back and let her go, moving to the great fallen down stone in the center of the ring to begin gathering up the remnants of their supper. But in a moment, he felt her hand upon his arm, turning him to face her.

He was quite taken by surprise when she framed his face in her palms and stood up on her toes, pressing her lips to his softly, lingeringly.

She sank back down on her heels after a long moment and her eyes fluttered open. Julian could not draw a proper breath.

“You intrigue me, Lord Griffin,” she said musingly. “And you frustrate me. I feel I shall enjoy your company at Fallstowe.”

“My lady,” he said in a raspy voice.

She gave him a small smile and then stepped away, turning to blow out the candle.

He followed in her wake back to Fallstowe, enjoying watching her astride her great beast, Octavian. The moonlight lit them both, like a charcoal drawing on the landscape, sometimes blending horse and woman together with the very land of Fallstowe. Julian’s conscience shouted and stomped in impotent rage.

That damned Foxe Ring. Was it a magical place? For surely he could not be now working out in his mind how he could keep Sybilla Foxe. They didn’t know each other. They had been at odds from the first by their very natures, let alone because of what Julian had been sent to Fallstowe to do, and what Sybilla was sworn to protect.

He should simply tell her straightaway that Edward meant to reward Julian’s successful investigation by giving him the title to Fallstowe. It was the honorable thing to do.

But then if he took her to bed, he would never know if she wanted him or wanted to keep some part of her demesne. He would never know her true feelings, of that he was certain. She had been trained well to do what was necessary, without regard for emotion.

Wasn’t that the very gist of his and Cateline’s limited friendliness? Edward had made the match by touting Julian’s exploits in battle, making him the famous warrior who had saved the king’s life. It had made for quite the entrance into London’s elite, and had given Cateline the prestige she’d always craved. But she had never loved him. The only times they’d made love were after feasts where Julian had been the toast of the gathering, women throwing themselves at him, men seeking his counsel, and Cateline well into her cups. They’d had nothing in common. She’d never wanted his conversation, his companionship.

Cateline had not been an evil woman; only a woman not in love with her husband.

Julian watched Sybilla Foxe sway in the moonlight. Was she an evil woman? He didn’t think so. Quite the opposite, actually. She seemed to be a woman full of deep passion but with no outlet for it save Fallstowe. Her mother gone, her sisters off with families of their own. Who would be left to love Sybilla Foxe, and to be the recipient of all that passion when her only love, the grand castle, was taken from her?

I’m not innocent, Julian.

She wasn’t stupid, either. So whatever it was she thought herself guilty of, it could not be more dire than what her mother had done.

Perhaps he could not love her. Perhaps he could not save her. But perhaps he could.

The Foxe Ring had not worked its magic with Sybilla and Julian Griffin.

Sybilla had not had high hopes of the legend being any more than fantastical nonsense, but she
was
in the very fist of desperation. If he was such an admirer of history as he appeared to be, she had hoped that the romance of the place might sway him to do her bidding, or at least encourage him to retreat a bit from his position.

But it had failed her. To the very end, he had seemed steadfast in his intention to report his findings to Edward, and to insist that she come to her senses and lay her soul—and her family’s misdeeds—bare to him.

She sighed and threw the coverlet back. It was pointless to lie in bed when sleep was as far away from her as her dead mother. Although perhaps Amicia was closer than Sybilla cared to admit, which was why she found the choking tangle of sheets so unbearable.

Any matter, she rose from the bed and sought her quilted wrapper in the black room, the red coals of the banked fire and the white-lit panes of the window her only points of reference. White light, red light. Good, evil. Which one had Amicia been?

Which applied to Julian Griffin? To Sybilla?

She slipped her feet into her dyed leather slippers and left her room, uncertain of her destination.

Sybilla was not at all startled to encounter Graves in the private corridor leading to the secret door in the wall behind her table in the great hall. The man was a wraith, all knowing, and it didn’t surprise her that Graves had sensed an unsettled soul roaming about his domain.

“Trouble sleeping, Madam?” he asked solicitously.

“A bit, Graves, yes,” she answered. Graves was the only person under heaven that she felt she could be completely honest with at all times. After all, he already knew all of her secrets, and probably a few more that Sybilla herself could only guess at.

“Might I prepare you a toddy?” he offered as she drew near him.

“Only if you’ll join me,” she said, passing him and pulling at the silent and seamless door that would lead to her table.

She halted before the door was even a quarter of the way open, easily hearing the echo of quiet voices in the cavernous room beyond. She held up her left hand, signaling Graves to silence, and then slowly pulled the door open a bit more, searching the shadows for the midnight speakers.

Julian Griffin was pacing slowly in the aisle created by the rows of planked tables, his daughter perched upon his chest, her chubby forearms laid on his shoulder. The nursemaid, Murrin, sat at one of the benches, but her head was laid atop her arms on the table, a piece of sewing forgotten in her lap.

“Lord Griffin, Madam?” Graves asked in a whisper behind her.

Sybilla nodded.

“Is he stealing the fixtures?”

Sybilla felt herself smile and she shook her head absently. She turned her face slightly to direct her whisper over her shoulder. “He’s walking the child. The nurse is asleep.”

“Didn’t we give them a
room?
” he muttered crossly.

Sybilla understood Graves’s frustration. She didn’t like strangers in her home either, even one as handsome as Julian Griffin.

Especially one as enigmatic and unnerving as Julian Griffin.

She couldn’t take her eyes from him as he moved slowly through the shadows of the hall, speaking in a deep, soothing voice to the infant, who was happily chewing on one fist then the other. He seemed quite happy and at peace for such a late hour. They both did.

Would it have been so terrible had the Foxe Ring legend proved true for them? Sybilla thought no. Perhaps he was not overly wealthy, with lands and title to boast of. But he was closely connected to the king, and since he admitted to making London his home, he was likely well received and respected. He was of such repute as to have commanded a royal match, after all. If the Foxe Ring had worked, and Julian took his information to the king, if Sybilla begged for mercy, would Edward allow a match between them?

Sybilla didn’t know how deep Julian Griffin’s feelings for her could run without the magical workings of a legend. It meant little to her that he had admitted a desire for her body—even a prostitute could claim to be desired. Soon she would be without her title, without her money, her power—disgraced. Fodder for gossip. Doors closed, invitations ceased. Nothing to recommend her.

Her eyes followed him closely, marveling at him, up and about in the dead of night, his infant in his arms, while the dumb nurse slept through her duties.

Sybilla wondered what it would feel like to be comforted in those arms. Possibly heavenly.

She blinked and frowned.

“Are we to stand in the corridor all night, Madam?” Graves asked.

Julian Griffin turned on his heel and presented his back to the slice of room Sybilla could see through the doorway. He began walking slowly once more toward the stairs at the head of the long room, and Sybilla backed into the corridor, pushing the door shut before her.

She turned to Graves. “I think I shall beg off a drink, Graves. I feel I might be better able to sleep now.”

The old man stared down his nose at her with narrowed eyes.

“What?” Sybilla demanded, moving past him.

“What?” Graves echoed.

She ignored him, making her way back to her rooms alone, the image of Julian Griffin still pacing running through her mind.

BOOK: Never Love a Lord

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