fallen down stone in the center of the ring to begin gathering up the remnants of their supper. But in a moment, he felt her hand upon his arm, turning him to face her.
He was quite taken by surprise when she framed his face in her palms and stood up on her toes, pressing her lips to his softly, lingeringly.
She sank back down on her heels after a long moment and her eyes fluttered open. Julian could not draw a proper breath.
“You intrigue me, Lord Griffin,” she said musingly. “And you frustrate me. I feel I shall enjoy your company at Fallstowe.”
“My lady,” he said in a raspy voice.
She gave him a small smile and then stepped away, turning to blow out the candle.
He followed in her wake back to Fallstowe, enjoying watching her astride her great beast, Octavian. The moonlight lit them both, like a charcoal drawing on the landscape, sometimes blending horse and woman together with the very land of Fallstowe. Julian’s conscience shouted and stomped in impotent rage.
That damned Foxe Ring. Was it a magical place? For surely he could not be now working out in his mind how he could keep Sybilla Foxe. They didn’t know each other. They had been at odds from the first by their very natures, let alone because of what Julian had been sent to Fallstowe to do, and what Sybilla was sworn to protect.
He should simply tell her straightaway that Edward meant to reward Julian’s successful investigation by giving him the title to Fallstowe. It was the honorable thing to do.
But then if he took her to bed, he would never know if she wanted him or wanted to keep some part of her demesne. He would never know her true feelings, of that he was certain. She had been trained well to do what was necessary, without regard for emotion.
Wasn’t that the very gist of his and Cateline’s limited friendliness? Edward had made the match by touting Julian’s exploits in battle, making him the famous warrior who had saved the king’s life. It had made for quite the entrance into London’s elite, and had given Cateline the prestige she’d always craved. But she had never loved him. The only times they’d made love were after feasts where Julian had been the toast of the gathering, women throwing themselves at him, men seeking his counsel, and Cateline well into her cups. They’d had nothing in common. She’d never wanted his conversation, his companionship.
Cateline had not been an evil woman; only a woman not in love with her husband.
Julian watched Sybilla Foxe sway in the moonlight. Was she an evil woman? He didn’t think so. Quite the opposite, actually. She seemed to be a woman full of deep passion but with no outlet for it save Fallstowe. Her mother gone, her sisters off with families of their own. Who would be left to love Sybilla Foxe, and to be the recipient of all that passion when her only love, the grand castle, was taken from her?
I’m not innocent, Julian.
She wasn’t stupid, either. So whatever it was she thought herself guilty of, it could not be more dire than what her mother had done.
Perhaps he could not love her. Perhaps he could not save her. But perhaps he could.
The Foxe Ring had not worked its magic with Sybilla and Julian Griffin.
Sybilla had not had high hopes of the legend being any more than fantastical nonsense, but she was in the very fist of desperation. If he was such an admirer of history as he appeared to be, she had hoped that the romance of the place might sway him to do her bidding, or at least encourage him to retreat a bit from his position.
But it had failed her. To the very end, he had seemed steadfast in his intention to report his findings to Edward, and to insist that she come to her senses and lay her soul—and her family’s misdeeds—bare to him.
She sighed and threw the coverlet back. It was pointless to lie in bed when sleep was as far away from her as her dead mother. Although perhaps Amicia was closer than Sybilla cared to admit, which was why she found
He was quite taken by surprise when she framed his face in her palms and stood up on her toes, pressing her lips to his softly, lingeringly.
She sank back down on her heels after a long moment and her eyes fluttered open. Julian could not draw a proper breath.
“You intrigue me, Lord Griffin,” she said musingly. “And you frustrate me. I feel I shall enjoy your company at Fallstowe.”
“My lady,” he said in a raspy voice.
She gave him a small smile and then stepped away, turning to blow out the candle.
He followed in her wake back to Fallstowe, enjoying watching her astride her great beast, Octavian. The moonlight lit them both, like a charcoal drawing on the landscape, sometimes blending horse and woman together with the very land of Fallstowe. Julian’s conscience shouted and stomped in impotent rage.
That damned Foxe Ring. Was it a magical place? For surely he could not be now working out in his mind how he could keep Sybilla Foxe. They didn’t know each other. They had been at odds from the first by their very natures, let alone because of what Julian had been sent to Fallstowe to do, and what Sybilla was sworn to protect.
He should simply tell her straightaway that Edward meant to reward Julian’s successful investigation by giving him the title to Fallstowe. It was the honorable thing to do.
But then if he took her to bed, he would never know if she wanted him or wanted to keep some part of her demesne. He would never know her true feelings, of that he was certain. She had been trained well to do what was necessary, without regard for emotion.
Wasn’t that the very gist of his and Cateline’s limited friendliness? Edward had made the match by touting Julian’s exploits in battle, making him the famous warrior who had saved the king’s life. It had made for quite the entrance into London’s elite, and had given Cateline the prestige she’d always craved. But she had never loved him. The only times they’d made love were after feasts where Julian had been the toast of the gathering, women throwing themselves at him, men seeking his counsel, and Cateline well into her cups. They’d had nothing in common. She’d never wanted his conversation, his companionship.
Cateline had not been an evil woman; only a woman not in love with her husband.
Julian watched Sybilla Foxe sway in the moonlight. Was she an evil woman? He didn’t think so. Quite the opposite, actually. She seemed to be a woman full of deep passion but with no outlet for it save Fallstowe. Her mother gone, her sisters off with families of their own. Who would be left to love Sybilla Foxe, and to be the recipient of all that passion when her only love, the grand castle, was taken from her?
I’m not innocent, Julian.
She wasn’t stupid, either. So whatever it was she thought herself guilty of, it could not be more dire than what her mother had done.
Perhaps he could not love her. Perhaps he could not save her. But perhaps he could.
The Foxe Ring had not worked its magic with Sybilla and Julian Griffin.
Sybilla had not had high hopes of the legend being any more than fantastical nonsense, but she was in the very fist of desperation. If he was such an admirer of history as he appeared to be, she had hoped that the romance of the place might sway him to do her bidding, or at least encourage him to retreat a bit from his position.
But it had failed her. To the very end, he had seemed steadfast in his intention to report his findings to Edward, and to insist that she come to her senses and lay her soul—and her family’s misdeeds—bare to him.
She sighed and threw the coverlet back. It was pointless to lie in bed when sleep was as far away from her as her dead mother. Although perhaps Amicia was closer than Sybilla cared to admit, which was why she found
Similar Books
