Never Love a Lord Read Online Free PDF Page A

center of the floor, its mattresses appearing freshly made with a thick coverlet and numerous pillows. A small yet ornate table and two chairs were placed beneath one of the shuttered arrow-slit windows, a deep trunk beneath the other. A single candleholder on both the table and the trunk gave the room a cozy, private glow. A narrow wardrobe stood guard near the miniature hearth which was already ablaze with a modest fire. Upon sight of the small wooden tub set before the crackling flames, Julian wondered if perhaps he had judged Sybilla Foxe too harshly.
    She had ordered a bath for him.
    He strolled over to peer down into the water, tugging already at the gold buttons of his tunic, while two of Fallstowe’s servants carried his own trunk into the chamber and set it at the end of the bed. The water was black, owing to the lack of proper illumination of the room as well as the shadows thrown by the fire, but Julian could imagine the luxury of sinking into the warm, cleansing haven. A small stool bearing a stack of woven linens and a rough cake of soap stood at the ready. The smell of soured milk and mead was bringing the bile to the top of his throat.
    The servants had quit the room save for Graves, who now stood near the door, obviously waiting for Julian’s attention.
    “Will there be anything else this evening, my lord?”
    “Thank you, Graves, but I am certain I shall be quite comfortable.”
    The old man bowed and then took his own leave, closing the door soundlessly behind him. Julian waited for a scraping of lock to reach his ears, but none came. He raised his eyebrows in surprise again as he removed his tunic and dropped it in a heap by the tub and made his way to the table beneath the window.
    Julian flipped the latch on the wooden shutter and pushed it open, shivering once convulsively at the increased breeze brought into the room. He bobbed and turned his head, gauging the extent of his view before crossing to the other window and doing the same. He sat sideways on the end of the trunk, removing his tall boots while he watched the disassembly of his army.
    Edward would likely not be pleased. And Erik had been furious at first. But the king had not sent Julian to Fallstowe because of his penchant for foolishness. In the midst of the commotion below, he saw Erik standing on the driver’s seat of the ornate carriage that had carried Julian and Lucy to Fallstowe, a long, blazing torch in his hand. From the castle it appeared that the man was examining the conveyance to see that it was readied for travel.
    Julian twisted around to seize the candleholder behind him and stood, leaning on the edge of the window and thrusting his arm and the candleholder through the square opening and waving it in an X fashion. He withdrew his arm and peered out. Erik was returning the X gesture with his torch. After a moment, the man climbed down from the carriage and resumed his duties of dismantling the camp.
    Julian replaced the candleholder on the trunk and smiled to himself as he undid his breeches. When the soldiers were dispersing, a pair of men would be left behind with knowledge of Julian’s location inside Fallstowe. He was very glad he had made it a point to ask Sybilla Foxe for a lower chamber.
    He kicked his breeches to the floor and then strolled to the tub in his hose and undershirt, still grinning at his cleverness. As he removed his silk shirt, he brought to mind the memory of a panting Lady Sybilla trapped in his arms. Her body had fairly pulsed against his in her surprise and fury, and the smell of her skin, wafting up warmly from the curve of her neck, had been fragrant and sweet and at odds with her frosty demeanor. Julian had barely been able to think around the bawdy imaginings of what it would be like to take her in his bed.
    Perhaps she was not the devil everyone in the land—including the king—thought her to be. Perhaps she was just protecting what was hers, what she thought her mother, and then herself,