Ondine Read Free

ancient haunts! If a beast of a husband is not enough, he adds a family curse—”
    “ Anne!” Both eyes snapped open. His voice was quiet, but it carried the dangerous edge of a razor. He was suddenly on his feet, stalking her in a way that both thrilled her and made her wish uncertainly that she might take back her taunts. He began to speak again in that soft tone that was also threatening. She backed toward the solar door. “On many things I agree with you, Lady Anne. My wife is a gentle creature, and, yes, she has been called upon to face a legend-riddled past! But she meets no beast in her bed at night, I assure you. Where gentle is, gentle comes. When you have craved a beast, my lecherous lady, you have received one. But mat is in the past, Lady Anne. Genevieve is two months with child, and beast that you call me, I would not hurt that gentle lady I call wife upon the forfeit of my own life.”
    “You don’t love her!” Anne cried out. “You married her only to fulfill a promise! You—”
    “Anne, I pray you! Ply your charms upon Charles this evening, for I am sorely vexed. No matter what your feeling for Genevieve, she is my wife, and she carries my heir. Anne, leave me be.”
    She paused at the doorway, men tossed her beautiful mane of black hair over her shoulder. “Carries your heir, does she, Warwick? I doubt she expects to survive its birth!”
    A step brought him to her. His fingers bit into her shoulders, and he shook her so that her head lolled; but though her teeth rattled, she did not care. She was in his arms, if only for a moment.
    “Anne, by God! I dislike the thought of force against your … fair sex, but twist your knife no further!”
    “Warwick!” she cried out, leaning against his chest, a sob catching in her throat. “I love you, I need you! And I can make you happy, where she cannot!”
    “Anne!” he exclaimed, more softly now, for though he knew she could easily sway to one lover from another, he felt that she did care for him. “Anne … I have taken a wife. A gentle wife. And I will not bring pain to her soul, for I do love her gentle heart.”
    Anne jerked from him with a scowl darkening her features. “You will come back to me, Warwick Chatham! I swear it! By Christmastide next, you will seek the passion of my arms!”
    She spun about and left him. Warwick sighed, feeling again all the little strains and bruises in his body. He started to limp back to his chair, then paused, staring at the door to the bedchamber.
    Genevieve stood there.
    She appeared almost ethereal in the fire’s gentle glow, her hair so pale a gold it neared white, her lovely flesh so light as to be translucent. Her eyes, fine powder blue, were wide and stared at him. Her delicate fingers held tight to the door.
    “You heard?” he asked her, regretful that she had witnessed such a scene.
    Genevieve nodded, but then she smiled. “I… had a nightmare, Warwick, and I hoped …” Her sentence faded as she walked to him. She slipped her slender arms around his neck, and her eyes held gratitude as they sought his. “Thank you so much, my dear lord!”
    Her lashes lowered and she rested her cheek against his chest, feeling the hard, sure pounding of his heart. She knew his virility; she knew his strength. Yet no man could have dealt more gently with his wife.
    “I… I fear that I have disappointed you greatly,” she whispered, “and yet in this court, you cling faithfully to me. What… pride it gives me, Warwick.”
    Warwick lifted his hand to smooth her pale shimmering hair; then he lifted her into his arms and returned to the chair, holding her in his lap. “You do not disappoint me, love,” he told her, cradling her close.
    Genevieve, with her head bowed, smiled sadly. She knew that he lied, but did not accuse him of doing so. For all his great tenderness, she could not accustom herself to his strength in their bedchamber. She feigned sleep many nights to avoid her duty, though she had found that