Page 61 of Never Love a Lord
No more men . . . only me.
I must protect you.
The image of him grew blurry for a moment and Sybilla blinked, sending a tear down her cheek.
As if he had heard the whisper of wetness sliding over her skin, Julian Griffin’s eyes snapped open and he sat upright in the bed, his left arm braced behind him.
“Sybilla,” he whispered. He seemed not the least bit surprised to see her there. His gaze swept down her body, stuttering as it caught sight of the weapon in her hand. He brought his eyes back to hers. “Have you come to kill me?”
She nodded, only the slightest downward movement of her chin.
He shook his head, his eyes continuing to bore into hers as he slowly threw the covers from his legs and swung his feet over the side of the bed.
“No,” he said.
Sybilla could only whisper, “Yes.”
“No,” he repeated, standing up from the bed, completely nude. “I can only guess at what you were told at Bellemont. It’s Fallstowe, isn’t it?”
“You lied to me,” she said, her voice trembling.
“No,” he said again. “I asked you to marry me.”
“You didn’t mean it. Stop talking.”
“I did mean it,” he said, his face stony as he took a step toward her. “I still mean it. I will marry you tonight if you’ll agree; even now, knowing that it was you at Lewes.”
Sybilla blinked, and she felt the iciness of her heart fracture the tiniest bit, like the pattern on a moth’s wings.
He continued to step toward her, slowly, cautiously, but purposefully. “We are leaving Fallstowe; you, me, Lucy. As soon as can be arranged. We will go abroad, to a country where Edward can never reach you.”
“You would not give up a prize such as Fallstowe,” she said bitterly.
Then he was upon her, Sybilla shrieking as he seized the dagger in her hand and wrenched it away from her, twisting her wrist painfully. He jerked the weapon free and threw it to the shadows, then grabbed her roughly, pulling her against him despite her struggle.
“I don’t want Fallstowe without you,” he shouted into her face.
Sybilla stilled in his arms, but she did not look at him, instead keeping her gaze upon his collarbone.
“I love you, Sybilla,” he said, a touch of anger in his voice. “Yes, the king has promised me Fallstowe, and no, I didn’t tell you. Would you have let me stay had you known? No,” he answered himself.
“You could have told me later,” she accused him. “When you asked me to marry you.”
“And then I would never have known if it was me you wanted or this damned pile of rock!” He took her shoulders and held her away so that he could look into her face. “I was going to tell you anyway, the day I received the letter from John Grey, the day you left for Bellemont. I couldn’t keep it from you any longer; I didn’t want to.”
“That’s a convenient excuse, isn’t it?”
“No, it’s not,” he growled, shaking her. “It’s rather inconvenient that I am giving up a certain future for myself and for my daughter because any future we would have without you in it is not worth living.”
“I don’t believe you,” she insisted, and the cracks around her heart widened.
“Fine. Don’t believe me. Don’t believe me while you are packing your things. Don’t believe me while you are gathering all the coin you can lay hand to. Don’t believe me when we reach the docks and hire a ship in the night to take us across the Channel. Don’t believe me as we race together across the Continent, the three of us.” He took her face in his palms. “But let’s do those things quickly, so that once you do start to believe me, we are far, far away from here.”
And then he kissed her, long and deep and hard, and Sybilla felt her hands reaching for him, grasping at his arms as she kissed him back, her heart breaking open and tears spilling from her eyes as white heat overtook her flesh.
Julian pulled away slightly to speak against her lips. “I love you, Sybilla. I love you so, and I will do everything in my power to protect you, to keep you with me. Please, please, now will you trust me?”
She nodded, the movement jerky and hesitant, feeling as if she would burst with this foreign weight of emotion inside her.
