Page 32 of Never Love a Lord
She did look tired, and Julian felt a pang of guilt as she preceded him up the long flight of stone steps. Perhaps at first glance one would not be able to tell—her posture was still regal, relaxed; her steps light and agile. But Julian had seen it in her face—the worry, the intensity of her gaze mirroring the thoughts in her mind. Her gown was pressed into creases behind her legs, as if she had spent much time squatting, and little tendrils of black hair had escaped from her coif, coiling against her neck where they had dried like discarded snippets of silken thread.
They didn’t speak as they made their way to Julian’s tower room, theshushand scrape of their shoes taking them farther away from the business and worry of Fallstowe proper—far below now, it seemed—with a rhythm that was not unlike the opening beats of a song.
Julian felt a ripple in his stomach. A quickening of his heartbeat, as her scent rolled back on him with each swish of her skirts. He felt his desire for her grow. And he cursed himself for a fool, both in the feeling of want and the idiocy of inviting her to his chamber alone.
He was to deliver her to the king.
He wanted to protect her.
She had ignored lawful summonses and held property not belonging to her.
Fallstowe was her home.
She didn’t care for babies.
Julian wanted to hold her in his arms.
At last they reached the landing, and Julian stepped around Sybilla and opened the door to his room. He told himself it was only his wild imaginings that saw her hesitate once more before stepping over the threshold.
“I’ve not been up here in years,” she mused quietly, looking around the room as Julian started to push the door shut. He thought better of it, and pulled it flush with the wall instead.
Her eyes flicked to the conspicuously open door, but she did not comment on it. “Does it suit you?”
He shrugged and gave her a smile as he crossed straight to his trunk, fishing his ring of keys from inside his tunic. “It’s rather unique that the chamber so well reflects the weather beyond the walls.” He went to one knee before the trunk, moving the candelabra to the floor before handling the lock.
She chuckled softly and walked to the far window, ducking her head to peer through the slats of the shutter. “A kind way of saying that it’s cold, I understand. It’s why my fa—” She broke off. “Morys often spent many hours up here alone, going over his accounts. He said it was because no one dared climb all those steps to disturb him, and he could feel the air while still being removed from the constant demands of the castle.”
Julian pulled the hasp of the lock free and laid the keys and forged piece aside on the wooden floor with a soft clatter. He glanced at her while he raised the lid.
“Did he know he wasn’t your father by birth?”
Sybilla was quiet for several moments, so that Julian did not think she was going to answer. He turned his attention back to the depths of his trunk and reached for the thick leather packet resting inside.
“I don’t know,” she said quietly. “He certainly behaved as though I was his daughter.”
Julian paused, his portfolio resting on his bent knee, and looked at Sybilla. She seemed absorbed by the narrow view through the window.
“She told him nothing of her past, did she?”
Sybilla shook her head, her coif barely moving. “She said he hadn’t cared. She let him believe what he thought was true about her birth and her family. He asked her once if she fancied visiting her home, and she told him that there was no place on earth she would rather be than Fallstowe. Perhaps it was the one time in her life that she could be completely honest. He never asked her again.”
Julian scooped up his ring of keys from the floor and then took the packet in his hands and gained his feet. He walked to the side of the bed and placed the portfolio on the coverlet, working at the closure. He tried to keep his tone light.
“It’s one instance in which you are very much like your mother, isn’t it?” he asked. “There is no other place on earth that you would rather be, either.”
She turned her head to look at him then, Julian catching the slight movement from the corner of his eye.
“I would forsake heaven itself for it,” she said quietly. “Although perhaps for different reasons.”
He made no further comment while he opened the leather flaps and searched through the pockets inside for the small item he sought, while he thought that Amicia Foxe surely did forsake heaven for the mess she had left behind her. Surely she would rot in hell for how and whom she had deceived.
His fingers touched ornate carving, but Julian let the piece rest now that he had located it. He stood aright and let his eyes linger on Sybilla’s face. She didn’t look away in false meekness, nor take offence at his appraisal. She only looked back at him with her startlingly blue eyes.
“You’re in a lot of trouble, Sybilla,” he said evenly.
She nodded, no exasperation or sarcasm on her face. “I know.”
“I want to help you.”
