The Warlock's Daughter Read Free Page A

as she saw the answer.
    “Yes, the usual life of a spinster living with a relative. Only you are far too young and lovely to deserve the name, much less be resigned.”
    “You consider I should be doing all those things for a husband, I imagine.”
    “For yourself, in your own home, though the man you may choose to join you would also benefit.”
    “And have legal right to my services, not to mention ownership of the house?” There was a waspish edge to her tone.
    “The house may or may not belong to the man,” he said, “but the home is always the woman's province where a man is only a guest. She can make him as comfortable or uncomfortable as she pleases.”
    “But not be easily rid of him?” She gave him a steely look.
    He halted and a frown appeared between his dark brows. “Does that mean you want me to leave you? You have only to say the words and I will be gone.”
    “We were not,” she said with acid satisfaction, “speaking of you.” She kept her steady pace.
    Renfrey made no reply. Catching up with her in two strides, he walked on a few steps before he said, “What of your father? Have you seen him recently?”
    “I've not seen him at all,” she answered. “He went away when I was a few weeks old.”
    “You never knew him, then. A pity.”
    “So I've often thought. My aunt, of course, feels otherwise.”
    His words measured, he said, “I believe he did what he thought was best in leaving you with her.”
    It was Carita who stopped this time, forcing him to come to a halt beside her. Her voice compressed, she said, “You speak as if— Can it be you know him?”
    Renfrey's gaze was considering. “I met him once.”
    “Where? How did he look? Was he well?” Excitement made the words tumble from her in near incoherence.
    “It was in Paris, I think,” he answered, taking her questions in turn. “Or was it Rome? A distinguished gentleman, cosmopolitan, learned. He had a great interest in antiquities. And he seemed in robust health.”
    She moistened her lips. “It was he who told you about me, wasn't it?”
    “We talked of your mother, of her death and how much he missed her. He had received reports of you which worried him. There was a suggestion that I might seek you out if ever I found myself in New Orleans.”
    She digested that and found it disquieting. She said, “For what purpose?”
    “The meeting? No purpose was given. I should think, however,” he went on deliberately, “that it would be for the usual reason—the thing which most concerns a man with a daughter who is a beauty with independent ways.”
    “Courtship? Marriage?” The words were tight as she turned her head to stare straight ahead.
    “If it should come to that. There is, of course, no obligation. On either side.”
    “That's all that passed between you?” She could not help looking at him again, searching for she knew not what. There was nothing in his face that should not have been there. Delicately and in silent trepidation, she sent out a mental probe for more.
    Odd. There seemed to be a barrier which prevented her from penetrating his thoughts. She had never encountered such a thing before.
    His features hardened momentarily before an ironic smile tugged at his lips. He said in answer to her question, “What else should there be?”
    “A great deal. My father might, if he had been fair, have given you a warning.” She inhaled on a small gasp. The words had been in her mind, but she had not meant to say them aloud.
    “Of what kind?”
    Should she speak? Was it at all wise? She had never given herself away before, but then she had never been in a position where she felt it might be required.
    Controlling her breathing with valiant effort, she said, “He might have told you it was dangerous to know me.”
    “Dangerous,” he said as if had never heard the word.
    “Even deadly,” she added. “Especially if you should—presume to love me.”
    “There is a reason, I suppose?” The inquiry was