“We’re not quarrelling,” she replied coolly. To quarrel with a man would imply that Sybilla held passionate feelings for him, and she could not afford that, not even with a man such as August Bellecote.
“Good,” he said emphatically, although his lowered brow betrayed his doubt in her sincerity. “Good, for I would notwant this beginning to be marred by resentfulness over some silly thing I said in jest.”
This beginning. Sybilla would have laughed were the whole thing not so very sad.
“Shall I call on you tomorrow?” he continued. “After your guests are departed and Fallstowe is once more at peace?”
At that she did laugh. “Fallstowe is never at peace, August. But no, my schedule is quite full for the next month.”
His frown deepened on his handsome face. “The next month? Surely you cannot expect me to wait that long to see you.”
And off we go,thought Sybilla. “There is much to do before Alys’s wedding. I do hope you and Oliver will come.”
August laughed. “My brother would not miss a chance at a hall populated by women whose heads are full of domestic notions. He feels it makes them romantic and reckless, therefore bettering his chances of a conquest. He was sorely put out at missing the feast due to the unfavorable winds that kept him abroad.”
“I shall look forward to seeing him—and you—in one month, then,” Sybilla said.
At her words, her meaning quite clear, August sat up fully, his wrists resting on his lap. His expression was almost incredulous.
“So that’s it, eh? I am no better than the others?”
Sybilla turned her face away, so as not to have to meet his eyes.
“I thought perhaps you waited so long because we would be—”
“Different?” Sybilla supplied, looking at him now. He would become angry now, and Sybilla could acceptanger. “You thought that one night with you would cause me to fall helplessly in love with you? That we would be married and have children and live out our joined lives in incomparable bliss?” Sybilla forced a laugh. “‘Twas good, August, but not that good.”
His chiseled face ruddied and he stood from the bed. “You care for me not at all beyond one night of sex, is that what you’re saying?”
“I’m sorry if you thought it to be more. We are still friends, of course.”
“I don’t believe you,” he said quietly. “In fact, Sybilla Foxe, I think you’re lying through your teeth.”
Her eyes flew to his, and she could feel the shivery panic in her belly. God, what she would give to have a man like August Bellecote at her side permanently.
But she was spared from what he was to say next by an insistent rapping on her chamber door. That was no servant’s polite query.
“Sybilla! Are you awake?”
‘Twas Cecily.
“You should go, August.” She would not look at him again. “Yes, Cee.”
Her chamber door opened and her younger sister rushed into the room with a demure swish of drab skirt. As soon as Cecily saw August Bellecote standing at the bedside, she gasped and brought a hand to her eyes.
“Oh my! I am sorry.” Cecily turned bright red and her eyes were directed to the rug under the bed. “Sybilla, why didn’t you tell me you weren’t alone?”
“He’s not naked, Cee. And you didn’t ask if I was alone, only if I was awake. It’s alright—Lord Bellecote was just leaving.”
“Lady Cecily, lovely to see you again.” August bowed toward her sister.
“Lord Bellecote. Er … ah, good morning,” Cecily stammered.
August turned back to Sybilla. “I will be back, Sybilla.”
Sybilla met his eyes then, although she had been determined not to. It was the only way. “Don’t bother,” she said flatly and succinctly.
He stared at her for a long moment and then bowed to Cecily. “Good day.” Then he stormed through the still-open chamber door, slamming it closed after him.
