Never Love a Lord by Heather Grothaus Read Free Book Online Page B

solar.

Chapter 6
    Julian let his eyes follow Sybilla Foxe’s lithe back as she ducked into the shadows of the solar beyond the doorway. He felt his nostrils flare with the lingering scent her passing left in the close corridor. He rejected his most base urge to follow close on her heels, barring the door after them both. Instead, he turned swiftly back to the old steward, who didn’t so much as flinch at the sudden attention paid him.
    “Will there be anything else you require, Lord Julian?” he asked, his dark eyes seeming far too young and sparkling to be set in a face so thin and lined.
    “Yes, Graves,” Julian said in a low but amicable voice. “You may stop trying to kill me.”
    The old man’s pale lips actually twitched, a skeletal smile. “Whatever do you mean, my lord?”
    “You know exactly what I mean,” Julian said. “It’s not going to work. Ice in the bath, live eels at the breakfast table—you must think me feeble to succumb to such frivolous threats. After hearing of your reputation, I expected more. I must say I am slightly disappointed.”
    “Too subtle?” Graves asked, his face pulling into a long expression of forced concern. Then he glanced down at the small ax still dangling in his right hand before meeting Julian’s eyes directly.
    The old man said not another word, only turned on his heel and slithered soundlessly into the shadows. If Graves had intended to kill him outright, he could have performed the deed in countless ways since Julian’s arrival. The old man must have ulterior motives for his rather juvenile actions; beyond encouraging Julian to depart Fallstowe, obviously. Julian watched the place where Graves had disappeared from sight for a moment more, and then turned to step through the open doorway after Sybilla.
    He closed the door soundlessly behind him as his eyes searched the shadows for her. Sybilla Foxe stood at a large square window set in the stone exterior wall of the solar. Her silhouette was black against the bright gray gloom of day, only a small fire in the hearth to combat the quiet. Her chin was tilted down, her gaze seeming to go beyond the wavy panes and race along Fallstowe’s lands all the way to the horizon. She seemed completely lost in her own mind—or perhaps somewhere far beyond that horizon her eyes so desperately regarded—and Julian wondered if she realized he had joined her.
    “What prompted Edward to order you to France?” she asked suddenly, indicating that she had been acutely aware of his arrival.
    Julian stepped more fully into the room, his eyes seemingly unable to look away from her any longer than it took to glance down while he slid his portfolio onto a small, three-legged table.
    “He didn’t order me to France.” Julian continued his stroll toward her, as if drawn, and when she turned her face slightly to regard him, he was struck by the depth and clarity of her blue eyes, cut by the bright gray light which seemed to make them glow like sea glass.
    He came to stand close at her side. Julian guessed not many dared invade Sybilla Foxe’s personal space, whether out of respect or fear or awe. He was pleased to see the slight crease between her eyebrows as she was forced to lift her chin to regard him, her question clear in her eyes.
    “I sought his permission to go,” he obliged her mildly, and turned to mirror her posture, looking out over the pie-shaped sliver of bailey and then to the rolling hills disappearing in the fog beyond.
    “Why?” she asked quietly.
    Julian drew a deep breath and sighed. There was no reason not to tell her. “Because I knew that if you were so bold—or so desperate—as to deny our king, it was very unlikely that you would simply give me the information I sought unless I had already determined a fair amount of it as fact on my own.”
    He felt her turn her gaze back to the window. “I see. Like Edward, you sought to try me and my family in your mind.”
    “Not at all,” Julian insisted. “Our