Page 13 of Never Love a Lord
“I only returned the month before Lucy was born.” He tucked the ledger under his arm. “Would you have us commence here in the hall, my lady?”
“No,” Sybilla said, trying to keep the frown from her face, but she knew she had failed. She stood. “Let us retire to my solar, where we will not be disturbed.” Sybilla turned to walk from the dais.
“Or overheard?” Julian offered from behind her.
Sybilla’s steps did not pause. “That is correct, Lord Griffin. Although I am certain you and our king see my defeat as inevitable, I still have interests that I would protect from gossip.”
“Your sisters, you mean.” His voice sounded directly behind her, although she had not heard his quickening footfalls or thought them to have gained on her so readily. She addedstealthyto her mental list of Julian Griffin’s attributes.
“Yes,” she said curtly. She glanced at him and found that he was studying her again, so she looked away.
“You cannot protect them forever, Sybilla,” he said, and the genuine concern she heard in his voice caused her to glance at him once more. “From gossip, or perhaps more devastating, the truth. They will know eventually.”
Sybilla laid her hand on the latch of the solar door, but instead of pushing it open she turned to face Julian Griffin, her hands anchored behind her back. Her heart was pounding. “And what exactly will they know eventually, Lord Griffin? That the king does not take loyalty to heart? That he would steal the home my mother held for him? That he would slander her? This they already know, I can assure you.”
Julian Griffin was only a pace away from her, and he closed that distance with a single slow step, stopping to look down into Sybilla’s upturned face. She could feel the heat of him through the velvet of her gown, feel the corner of the leather packet brush along the curve of her waist as he stood nearly against her. The door was at her back, but she would not escape him.
“And they already know that only a person of noble blood may hold lands and title for the king,” he said in a low voice, his eyes searching her face. “I find myself intrigued by you, Lady Sybilla.”
She blinked at his sudden departure from the topic of the king, and for a moment no words would come to her. “Most men do,” she answered at last.
“It must be deliberate. Do you encourage their attention?” he asked, his voice going even softer.
“When it suits me.” She took her back away from the door, standing so that the velvet of her bodice brushed Julian Griffin’s tunic. She felt an atypical flush roll over her cheeks as she looked up at him. “Would it benefit me to encourage your attention, Lord Griffin?”
“I think it would,” he said, his face drawing nearer to hers. “But mayhap not in the way you are seeking.”
“Meaning you would not return to Edward reporting that Fallstowe is innocent.”
He shook his head almost imperceptibly. His nose brushed hers. “I promised to bring him the truth.” The breath of his words caressed her lips. “And we both know that Fallstowe is anything but innocent.”
“Then I see no benefit at all to sleeping with you,” Sybilla whispered, her body screaming at her to pull the man to her fully. “Be warned, Lord Griffin—some say I am a dangerous woman.” She tilted her head.
“What a coincidence—I had danger for breakfast just this morning.” His mouth was over hers now, his lips open, almost touching, and she took a breath of his hot exhalation . . .
“Is the door stuck again, Madam?”
In a rush of cool air, Julian Griffin pulled away from her and turned, revealing Graves standing disturbingly close behind him, a large meat cleaver dangling from one hand.
Sybilla thought it would have been quite convenient had the old steward decided to make use of the tool a second ago. Although she would still feel the unfulfilled ache gifted to her by the masculine and imposing Julian Griffin, at least he would be dead and no further trouble to her.
“No, Graves. The door is fine.” She let her breath out through her nose, slowly, inaudibly.
“I say, old man,” Julian offered, gesturing to the weapon in Graves’s hand, “those must be terribly efficient for—oh, I don’t know—killing the errant eel, or what have you.”
“Do you suppose, my lord?” Graves asked, cocking his head as if extremely interested in the idea.
Sybilla frowned at the two men facing each other like adversaries, although their conversation was completely benign—even nonsensical. One would have to go very much out of their way to find a live eel in this season.
“I shall be in the solar if I am needed, Graves. Please have a tray sent up.”
“Tea, Madam?”
Sybilla could feel Julian Griffin’s energy radiating from him like a smithy’s iron. “I think perhaps something stronger is called for, considering the topics Lord Julian insists on prying into.”
The imposing lord was still keenly regarding Fallstowe’s steward. “Why don’t you join us, old man? It’s well known that you—”
“That won’t be necessary,” Sybilla interrupted. Julian turned his face toward her, a look of curious amusement causing his eyes to gleam, and causing the hair at the nape of Sybilla’s neck to prickle. “Graves carries many responsibilities in the hold. I would not keep him from his work for something so pointless as to sate your—as well as our king’s—interest in morbid gossip.”
