Never Love a Lord (Foxe Sisters)

by Heather Grothaus

  “And while your mother enjoyed the attention and luxury she received at Kenilworth, she was no fool. She was in serious trouble. Very serious. And she knew that it was only a matter of time before Lady de Montfort grew bored with the novelty of her and—” Julian paused. “I’m sorry, Sybilla. I—”

  “Go on,” she demanded curtly.

  “And she was pregnant,” Julian finished. He gave her a moment of silence. “With you.”

  Sybilla wanted to drop her head and close her eyes as the reality of her situation crashed onto her like a weight of stone, but she would not allow a display of weakness now. So instead she looked away from Julian Griffin, through the stones and into the blackness of the night-hidden hills.

  “It was a soldier from de Montfort’s army, on the return from Gascony,” Sybilla said calmly, as if speaking about some historical fact from long ago, and yet she could hear her mother’s voice in her ear just as clearly as when she’d first found out. “Oddly enough, he was her protector. Had she not given herself to him, she would have been at the mercy of the baser men. She would have been raped daily. Probably would have died before gaining England, which would have suited de Montfort at the time, I can only imagine.”

  She looked back to Julian and saw sympathy on his face. In a way, it was a relief. He continued the story that Sybilla already knew too well.

  “She was in serious trouble,” he repeated. “And she had heard of the legend of the Foxe Ring. She became separated from de Montfort’s hunting party, but with purpose, desperate to find the old ruins and try it. When she found Morys Foxe about the ruins, she took her shot, not knowing that she was about to seduce the greatest ally of de Montfort’s enemy.”

  “The king,” Sybilla supplied.

  “Your mother was rumored to be a beautiful woman. Young. Morys Foxe was neither beautiful nor young. Perhaps it was the romance of the legend—”

  “It wasn’t,” Sybilla said bitterly.

  Julian was quiet for a moment. “What I don’t know is if she ever confessed to Morys that you were not his child. For all intents and purposes, he claimed you as his own.”

  Sybilla looked away again. “It doesn’t matter. Even if Edward insists on declaring to the land that my mother was a fraud, without a single drop of noble blood in her veins, he has no proof that I am not of Morys Foxe’s issue, and neither do you. King Henry awarded Fallstowe to my mother after”—she paused—“after Morys died at the battle of Lewes, defending the Crown against the English barons and de Montfort.”

  “He died because once again de Montfort called on your mother to pay more debt,” Julian answered. “He threatened to out her, to out you as illegitimate, cast a pall on Morys and your sisters. She gave in, and Morys was killed.” He paused. “It’s treason, Sybilla. Your mother committed treason against the Crown. Against her own husband.”

  Sybilla said nothing. She could say nothing over the sounds of her mother’s wails inside her head.

  “But she tried to make up for it, didn’t she?” Julian pressed, a note of intrigue or something Sybilla could not name in his voice. “She got her revenge on de Montfort the very next year, at Evesham, when she brought Edward word of de Montfort’s son’s unguarded army at none other than Kenilworth Castle, a place your mother knew well, and where she was welcomed. Because of her intelligence, Edward surprised de Montfort at Evesham under his own son’s banner, and the reign of Simon de Montfort was no more.”

  Sybilla found that she was shaking her head ever so slightly and so she stopped. “You can’t prove any of this,” Sybilla said.

  “But it’s true, isn’t it?” She sensed Julian turning more fully toward her.

  “No.”

  “You’re lying,” he accused her, bitterness high in his voice. “You’re lying to save yourself.”

  “No,” Sybilla whispered this time. She turned her head to look at him.

  “Then tell me where I have gone wrong,” he insisted, and his gaze was so intense, so sincere, Sybilla felt for a moment that she might just tell him.

  But then she saw her mother’s weak body, lying in bed in the days and hours before her death. Heard Amicia’s pathetic weeping alternating with shrill and slurred demands.

  Don’t you see now what I have done? You are the fairest, the richest, the most feared in the land. You have Fallstowe at your command and under your protection. Fallstowe and your sisters, Sybilla. Think of them! If you are to keep them, you must do as I say, and if all must be lost, you must take our secrets with you. There is no cause for Alys’s and Cecily’s lives to be ruined as well. Do not dare to dishonor the proud memory of the man who was your father.

  “My mother . . . was a brave woman,” Sybilla said. “And now I must be the brave one.”

  “Your mother as good as threw you to the wolves,” Julian declared flatly. “And that is why you think you must be brave, why you have adopted such a demeanor as to make yourself intimidating, untouchable. It’s because Amicia feared anyone to know the truth, and now you fear it, too.”

  “If I am not brave, Lord Griffin—” Sybilla queried, tilting her head and giving him a curious look, “if I am not brave, what can you promise me? That Edward will be so impressed by my forthrightness that he will give me Fallstowe? Lay the past to rest? Continue to take my money graciously and leave me in peace with my people, to run Fallstowe as I see fit?”

  “He will take back Fallstowe, on the grounds that it was entrusted to your mother on a false and treasonous basis,” Julian admitted. “But if you cooperate—”

  “If I cooperate,” Sybilla interjected loudly, “he will what? Entomb me in some nunnery with a stipend? Strip me of my title but allow me to marry a shopkeep? Or perhaps he will at last give his temper free rein and have me imprisoned, hanged? Beheading is too good for someone of my station, after all. I should not be afforded such dignity for daring to thwart him for so long.”

  “If only you would allow me to—”

  Sybilla slid from the stone, her action cutting off whatever Julian Griffin was about to say. “My mother worked her entire life to ensure that my sisters and I would have the lives that we now enjoy. I will not dishonor her sacrifice by running to London and grasping at Edward’s robes, begging for mercy.”

  “Your mother was a servant who did what she did to better her own station in life. Her loyalty was always for sale. She was not noble, in any sense of the word. She got her husband killed and she used you,” Julian accused her, his brows drawing together. “She’s still using you.”

  In two strides, Sybilla was before Julian. She raised her hand and slapped his face as hard as she could.

  “Do not speak of her in that manner again, Lord Griffin,” Sybilla warned, surprised to hear her voice shaking, mimicking the trembling in her body.

  He had moved from the stone before Sybilla’s eyes could register it, grasping her by her upper arms and giving her a shake.

  “I did not do these things to you, Sybilla,” he whispered harshly. “And it is through no fault of your own that you are in this situation.”

  “It’s charming how you think me so innocent.” She mocked him, her eyes searching his face, her skin aching where he touched her. “Have you not heard the tales of Lady Sybilla Foxe, who has sold her soul to the devil?”

  “I have heard the tales. But the only devil I believe you sold your soul to was a frightened old woman. I am not cowed by you. I am not indebted to you. And if you strike me again, I will turn you over my knee.”

  “I dare you to try it,” Sybilla hissed.

  His fingers tightened around her arms and he pulled her up against him, his mouth hovering over hers.

  “You don’t tempt me, either,” he said in a low growl.

  “Obviously,” she smirked.

  He let go of her then and stepped away. Sybilla could see that he was moved, regardless of his staunch denial. It was as if the air between them was alive.

  “I’m not innocent, Julian,” Sybilla said, noting the bre
athiness of her own voice. “I know what you say is true: Edward will not allow me to keep Fallstowe after you confirm that my mother was a fraud. So you tell me: What would you do? What would you do if someone showed up at your gate, poised to report to the world that the life you had was not real? That Lucy was not your daughter in truth? That each battle you fought and survived meant nothing. Your home was to be stolen away from you. Your marriage deemed invalid. Everything you had ever had, or loved, or worked for, would be taken from you forever because it was the law.”

  She paused for a moment. “Would you go quietly?”

  “No,” he answered in a low voice. “No, I wouldn’t.”

  She rushed to him again, but this time, instead of striking him, she laid her right palm boldly against his chest, over his heart. “Then tell Edward that he is wrong. Tell him you found nothing of import, nothing that would confirm his suspicions. Don’t let him take Fallstowe from me, from my family. You said when you first arrived that you might be able to help me, so help me, Julian.”

  “I won’t lie to him, Sybilla,” Julian said. “Especially since there are things you aren’t telling me.”

  “What can I offer you?” she pressed. “What do you want? Money? My body?”

  Julian grimaced. “Don’t lower yourself like that.”

  “However much Edward has promised you, I will give you in kind.”

  He shook his head. “That’s impossible. You must understand that even if Morys had lived, you could not retain Fallstowe. He would have seen you married off and away from here. Tell me what I need to know and come with me to London. It may not be pleasant, but Edward is fair. You may not come out of it any worse than what you would have, had the man who claimed to be your father lived. He’ll likely dower you.”

  Sybilla let her hand slide away and stepped back, appalled at the tears in her eyes. “You don’t understand. I gave my word.”

  “I, too, gave my word,” Julian shot back. “My future is at stake here as well, Sybilla. Not just mine, but Lucy’s.”

  “Then we are at an impasse,” she said quietly.

  “No. We’re not. I will tell Edward all that I know, with or without your input.”

  She raised her hands slightly and then let them fall. “You may as well kill me now, then.”

  Julian approached her once more and took her shoulders. “I don’t want to kill you, Sybilla.”

  “Then what do you want?”

  “I want you to tell me the truth,” he gritted through his teeth. Then he paused. “And I want to kiss you.”

  “I thought you weren’t tempted by me.”

  “I lied.”

  Chapter 10

  Her blue eyes sparkled with cool surprise as she looked up at him.

  It was true. He did want her. He had wanted her since the first time he had laid eyes on her in Fallstowe’s great hall, sitting in her throne-like chair and receiving him as if she were royalty presiding over a court.

  He wanted her because of her beauty, of course, but for so much more as well. Her bravery. Her determination. Her intelligence. Her deliberate defiance of everyone and everything that would try to defeat her, including Julian himself.

  “Are you going to kiss me?” she asked, cocking her head to the side and looking at him in an interesting manner.

  “I don’t think so,” he said, shaking his head slightly but seemingly unable to tear his gaze from hers. “Not until you trust me. I won’t take anything that is not offered to me completely, and in good faith.”

  One of her slender eyebrows rose. “You think me to trust you when it is you who will tattle on me to the king?”

  He made certain her eyes were trained on his. “Yes.”

  After a moment, Sybilla Foxe gave a huff of disbelieving laughter. She then turned her face away.

  “We need to trust each other,” he reiterated. “Edward doesn’t expect me back straightaway. Think upon your options. If you decide that I am your best hope, you will tell me what you know, and then we will formulate our plan to present to Edward.”

  She looked back to him and her eyes narrowed. “What are we to do in the meantime?”

  Julian shrugged, then looked about the ring as if considering it. “We enjoy our time at Fallstowe. You may go about your daily responsibilities as before—”

  “Why, you’re too kind,” Sybilla snipped.

  “And in your spare moments, you can better get to know me. And Lucy. A baby should be a novelty to you.”

  “I don’t care for babies, actually,” she said airily. “Noisy, smelly things. Always needing tending.”

  “You said yourself that you once very seriously considered marriage, so I fail to see how the prospect of an infant could be that very different from caring for a grown man.”

  “Indeed.” She at last gave him a wry smile. Frosty around the edges, yes, but it was genuine. Genuinely Sybilla, and it was perhaps the first time that night that Julian had truly seen her.

  But now he needed to move away from her lest he go back on his word and kiss her as he wanted to.

  He stepped back and let her go, moving to the great 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 w
as 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 the choking tangle of sheets so unbearable.

  Any matter, she rose from the bed and sought her quilted wrapper in the black room, the red coals of the banked fire and the white-lit panes of the window her only points of reference. White light, red light. Good, evil. Which one had Amicia been?

  Which applied to Julian Griffin? To Sybilla?

  She slipped her feet into her dyed leather slippers and left her room, uncertain of her destination.

  Sybilla was not at all startled to encounter Graves in the private corridor leading to the secret door in the wall behind her table in the great hall. The man was a wraith, all knowing, and it didn’t surprise her that Graves had sensed an unsettled soul roaming about his domain.

  “Trouble sleeping, Madam?” he asked solicitously.