Page 12 of Never Love a Lord
Sybilla felt one of her eyebrows rise.
“What on earth are you doing, Murrin?”
The baby’s head whipped around at the sound of her father’s voice, and Lucy began once more to frantically kick her legs, as if she would run to the lion-haired man if only the insufferable nurse would put her down.
“Lady Sybilla wished to examine Lady Lucy,” Murrin replied in a rather unsure voice.
Sybilla leaned back in her chair and picked up her cup once more as Julian Griffin strode toward them. Under one arm he carried a thick, bound leather packet, which he laid on Sybilla’s table before turning to the nurse and taking charge of his daughter. He smiled down at the infant, and Sybilla could not help but catch her breath at the way his face was transformed.
“Good morning, my darling angel! Good morning!” he repeated softly and kissed each of the baby’s cheeks and then her head through her small white cap.
Lucy reached up and grasped a handful of her father’s hair. “Bah-bah-bah!” she shouted as she jerked forcefully on the lock.
Julian chuckled. “I should say so,” he agreed. He turned his eyes to Sybilla, and she realized that she had been staring at him, studying him. The idea startled her nearly more so than his next words.
“Would you care to hold her?”
Sybilla’s eyebrows rose slightly. “I beg your pardon?”
“Lucy.” He bounced the baby on his forearm. “Most women cannot resist her prettiness, which is why, I assume, Murrin was dangling my daughter like a leg of lamb before you. Would you care to hold her?”
“No.” Sybilla took a slow sip. “I’m not terribly tempted at the idea. You will find, I think, through our time together, Lord Griffin, that I am quite unlike most women.”
“Oh, I’m already aware of that, Lady Foxe,” he replied evenly, and Sybilla glanced up to find him now studying her.
Sybilla cleared her throat delicately. “I trust your first night at Fallstowe was enjoyable? How did you find your chamber?”
His lips quirked slightly. “In truth, I—”
Suddenly, Graves spoke from behind her chair. “Whereisthat boy?” he muttered. Sybilla turned her head to catch him disappearing through the doorway which led to the kitchens.
She turned back to see Julian Griffin also regarding Graves’s hasty departure. The expression on his face was shrewd, thoughtful. But he shook it off and looked at Sybilla once more.
“Everything was as I expected it to be. Thank you,” he said, with a nod of his head.
Lucy Griffin had apparently grown weary of their talk, as she chose that moment to voice her displeasure at her father’s lack of attention. Murrin stepped to the lord’s side, her arms held open.
Julian kissed the child more times than were necessary, in Sybilla’s opinion, and then handed her over to the nurse. “Sweet dreams, my precious,” he said, his hands trailing away from the baby as if loath to release her. “Papa shall come for you straightaway at noon.”
Murrin made the silly motion of lifting the baby’s hand to wave at her father, before giving Sybilla a quick curtsy and departing from the hall. Sybilla wanted to roll her eyes—it was simply nauseatingly sweet.
Julian turned his attention back to the leather packet still lying on the table. He reached for it and then used it to gesture toward Sybilla.
“Shall we begin the interview?”
Sybilla’s eye narrowed. “What’s that?”
Julian glanced down at the thick, ledger-like bundle, and then back at her. “Your life, Lady Sybilla.”
She chuckled, disbelieving. “My life, you say?” She set her cup back down on the table. The tea was ice-cold now, although the handle had grown warm from her gripping fingers, which she placed on her lap beneath the tabletop, out of sight. “I daresay my life comprises more than a hand’s-breadth of pages.”
“My penmanship is quite fine,” Julian countered. “I needed to keep my findings compact for transport.”
“All the way from London?” Sybilla said snidely.
“No.” Julian’s eyes found hers. “All the way from France,” he corrected her quietly.
She held his gaze, but in her chest, Sybilla’s heart beat madly.
