Never Love a Lord by Heather Grothaus

Author:Heather Grothaus [Grothaus, Heather]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: C429, Extratorrents, Kat
ISBN: 9781420130881
Publisher: Kensington Publishing Corp
Published: 2013-01-01T08:00:00+00:00

Chapter 17

He should have known she would already be gone.

It was not yet dawn when Julian marched into Fallstowe’s quiet and humid stables the next morn, but the hands were already alive with work, spreading bedding, forking out waste, feeding and organizing and oiling leather accoutrements. Julian knew when he saw the busy activity that Lady Foxe had been early in their presence. He threw his riding gloves to the dry, dusty floor with a curse and then forgot them, turning to stare out the wide-open doors into the still dark stable yard, his hands on his hips.

He could follow her to Bellemont. Likely should. But he feared the outcome of that pursuit would not be desirable for either of them. Sybilla would be even more furious with him than she was at the present time, and there was no telling how she would retaliate if backed into a corner. There would be plenty of his own men at Bellemont to subdue her, perhaps return her forcefully to Fallstowe, but at what cost?

At that moment, Julian felt like the stupidest man alive. He didn’t know what had come over him yesterday after reading John Grey’s response to his query. He must have read it a thousand times in the span of a few hours. Read it, reread it, his mind turning the innuendos and veiled answers to his questions into a maelstrom of jealousy and confusion, until his rage was such that he could not stop until he found an outlet for it.

As Amicia Foxe was already dead, he’d chosen the next best subject—the symbol of her hold over her daughter, the symbol of the men Sybilla had had before him. And he had destroyed it.

Foolish, selfish, stupid act! Rash to the extreme, when Julian had always prided himself on his logic and clear thinking. He had destroyed her personal possessions in a most terrifyingly violent manner.

And then he may as well have called her a whore. He didn’t know where that had come from. He certainly didn’t view her in that light, and the logical part of his brain was well familiar with the tales of her romantic escapades. They didn’t matter. They were in the past.

Sybilla had been right when she’d called him a hypocrite. How many women had he known before Cateline? He cringed at the nameless faces that flickered through his mind in a blur, the memories of dark, wine-soaked nights over some tavern, in crude field tents and luxurious brothels. At least Sybilla had chosen her companions with some eye for their character. Julian could not claim even that. He was ashamed. Sorry. Angry. And confused.

Could he love her already? Surely that couldn’t be it. Romantic love—the type that was meant to last forever and ever—it took years to cultivate. To know a person, to grow to love them, despite their flaws. Perhaps even because of them.

Didn’t it?

But when he tried to envision his future, his and Lucy’s future, Sybilla Foxe was there. He couldn’t imagine not seeing her every day.

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