Page 97 of Never Love a Lord
For the next seven days, he neither sought out Sybilla nor made any overtures toward her on the scant occasions of their passing. She did not take any meals in the hall, that he was aware of. He wasn’t certain where she was sleeping or spending the majority of her days, although he had seen her about the grounds from afar on several occasions.
Once, he had caught sight of her as she descended the tower steps, and he had ducked behind a thick, round column so that he might observe her without incident. She had come to the bottom of the stairs and paused at the half-open door of what had been, until the day before, Lucy’s chamber. Sybilla peered through the opening a bit, and then moved down the corridor quickly.
He wondered if she had been seeking him for a purpose. He wondered what she had thought of seeing the tower room, emptied of bed and table and replaced with a large work surface and several chairs and trunks of his belongings that had just arrived from London. He wondered if she noticed the quill she’d given him, poised for action near his crisp new ledger.
He had scrambled madly to get things in order before this night, and now all was ready. He looked about his new chamber, recently outfitted for the Lord of Fallstowe, and was pleased. He looked down at his costume again, his finest suit of clothes, and resigned himself to the fact that this was as presentable as he could make himself.
He was nervous.
He quit the chamber, making his way to the great hall, and was pleased to note that he passed not a single person en route. Indeed, even the hall itself was conspicuously deserted.
Save for the lone woman seated at the end of one of the common tables on the floor, facing the dais. She wore a gown of midnight blue, the deepest sapphire against her cloud-white décolleté. Her hair was twisted and curled atop her head, wrapped in a gilded cage of delicate metal flecked with tiny jewels.
He was glad she had dressed for the occasion.
“Good evening, Lady Foxe,” he said as he came to stand a pair of paces from her, then bowed rather formally.
“Hello, Julian,” she said softly, looking up at him. Her face looked leaner, her collarbones as delicate as the framework of a swallow’s wing. Her eyes sparkled in the candlelight.
Julian was speechless for a moment, in the face of her beauty and of his own anxiety.
“I thought perhaps we might conduct our discussion elsewhere this night,” he said. “Would you care to accompany me on a ride?”
She frowned only slightly. “All right. Where are we going?”
He assisted her to stand by lightly taking her elbow. “I thought we might visit the Foxe Ring.” He led her down the aisle toward the entry stairs.
She didn’t hesitate but only chuckled quietly, and glanced up at him as they neared the top of the stairs. “At the full moon, no less.”
“Don’t worry,” he confided, liking the way she seemed more at peace and wondering at the reason behind it. “It’s not yet near midnight, so your will shall remain your own.”
“I’m not overly concerned, as its magic obviously failed us the only other time we met there,” she said.
“Don’t discount it yet,” Julian chided. “The old rocks may have a few tricks yet left to play.”
They exited through the doors, and Julian was pleased to see their mounts waiting for them, as he’d instructed. Octavian looked rather distinguished with a spray of flowers across his bold, dark saddle, and in the moonlight he glowed silver.
Sybilla’s gasp was nearly inaudible, but he’d been listening for it. “Julian, what is this?”
“You don’t like flowers?” he asked, tugging on her arm to once more force her to move. “I picked them myself.”
She looked askance at him.
“All right, I didn’t. But it’s a romantic gesture nonetheless.”
“Thank you,” she said, and made use of the mounting stool at Octavian’s side.
He handed her Octavian’s reins and then moved to his own mount, a black Spanish beast, lean and wiry. Julian and Sybilla rode the horses at a walk through the bailey and over the lowered drawbridge. As they turned their horses west and then north, to ride around the backside of Fallstowe, Julian at once saw the tiny glow on a faraway hillock. It looked like a star lying atop the hill.
But Sybilla had not seen it, and he sought to distract her until they were down in the valley and separated from the knoll by a stand of trees now in full greenery.
“I’ve moved my chamber,” he stated.
“I know.”
“You’ve been spying on me?” he teased.
She smiled up at him for only a moment. “I’m certain you are much more comfortable. Lucy’s rooms are lovely. How do you find the tower room for working?”
