Читать книгу Midnight Eyes - Sarah Brophy - Страница 7

She heard the gathering long before they reached the hall.

The low murmur of many voices sounded like the roar of a multitude in her mind. She had lived in her isolation for so long that the sound of the people from the Keep and the nearby villages gathered to see her was terrifying. The noise clouded her senses and dislocated her from the world. She moved as if in a dream.

And the only real thing in her dream world was the man beside her. The warmth from his body seemed to calm the panic that was trying to form a cold knot in her stomach.

He held her close to his side as if she was made of the finest crystal.

This gentleness was perhaps the most surprising thing about her warrior. Instead of the exasperation and anger at her panic that she had expected, he had simply lifted her from the floor and looped her arm through his, placing his other warm hand reassuringly over hers.

She was enclosed entirely in the strength of his almost-embrace.

He had led her slowly from her sanctuary. It had been only the calm in his deep voice as he had talked softly to her that had given her the courage to take the first step. And the next. But now, in the face of so many others, it wasn’t enough.

“We are at the door of the main hall now. You’re doing well,” he murmured encouragingly, but even his calmness could no longer still the chaos that suddenly swarmed to life inside her. The strength that had got her to the doors of the hall now fled.

She felt rooted to the spot with panic.

“I can hear people. How many people?” Her voice squeaked in rising terror. “There are too many people.”

He let her hand drop and wrapped his arm around her trembling shoulders, drawing her more tightly into the cocoon of his warmth.

She lacked the strength to deny the comfort he offered.

She leaned into his warmth, barely resisting the urge to bury her face in his side. He was strong enough to fight off the world, and for the first time in longer than she cared to remember, momentarily she let someone else’s strength be her own.

For this one moment, it didn’t seem to matter that he had been sent by her brother or that she scarcely knew him. Instead, she concentrated on the peace that radiated from him. The only thing that mattered was that she could feel the long, muscled length of him as he held her securely. The smell of man and sandalwood that filled her mind was at once calming but also oddly exciting.

“It’s just the household,” he said soothingly, “and people from the villages near Shadowsend.”

“It sounds like more.” She took a deep, shaky breath. “I’ve been alone too long.”

For a second his arm tightened around her, subtly forcing her to shift her balance into him more completely or risk falling over. She felt him take a steadying breath of his own.

“Well, you are no longer alone.”

He couldn’t explain, even to himself, the tightness he suddenly felt in his chest at her words. The sensation was so strange that he didn’t even try to identify it.

What was easier to understand was the raw anger that accompanied the tightness. It was a wrath being fed by questions that circled his mind, questions whose answers he already knew he wasn’t going to like.

Why had this woman been carelessly dumped in an obscure corner of this remote island? Why had she been abandoned to the protection of this motley group of women and old men? Why had she been left so isolated that she was frightened by her own wedding gathering?

It was past all understanding, but a feral smile lit his eyes as he envisioned trying to get some understanding out of the guilty party. Robert quickly tried to dampen down his anger.

The righteous rage that was boiling in his belly was explosive and he didn’t want this fragile woman to sense the depths of that anger, didn’t want her to be frightened by its intensity.

God knows, he was a little frightened by it himself.

“What is it?” she asked nervously. “You’ve gone all tense. Has something gone wrong?”

He carefully eased his rigid muscles, kicking himself mentally for not being more careful. She might be blind, but his soon-to-be bride was far from stupid. Of course she could sense the anger that he had let momentarily take hold of him and although the focus of his anger was her enemies, he had fought alone too long to let another know all that he thought.

Besides, there was nothing to be done now about the past. There would be time enough for retribution later. For now he didn’t want Imogen to know just how violent a man she was committing her life to.

“It’s nothing,” he said soothingly. “I just couldn’t see the priest, and I’m anxious for the deed to be done.”

She nodded, her sightless eyes instinctively trying to scan the room.

If she felt some small disappointment at the coldness of his statement, well, she had no right to, she told herself sternly. After all, this was only an arrangement of necessity. Just because being held in the arms of this man felt right to her, didn’t mean she could expect him to pretend a sentiment he was far from feeling.

“Now you wouldn’t be looking for me by any chance?” spoke a voice suddenly behind them.

Robert turned and narrowed his eyes at the priest, who simply smiled benignly in return.

“Sorry for the delay,” the man said breezily, straightening already neat vestments, “but I was…uh…elsewhere when your messenger arrived.”

He smiled engagingly up at Robert, who struggled to hide his immediate and intense dislike of the slick little man.

His temper wasn’t improved when the man’s eyes fairly glowed as they rested on Imogen. “And might I say that I have rarely seen a bride looking as radiant as our fair Lady Imogen?” He lifted one of her hands and grazed his lips along the knuckles.

Robert struggled not to growl his disapproval. He would have dearly loved to hit the man. Instead he settled for a good, all-purpose glare that had been known to set even hardened veterans to flight. The priest ignored it.

The priest’s lips lingered over her skin for a moment, but Robert’s displeasure must have registered, because he let go of her hand with a sigh. Robert only just stopped himself from grabbing hold of Imogen’s hand and wiping it clean.

“It’s time to get started, I think.” The priest clapped his hands together with some evident relish. “Give me a small head start and I’ll have the crowd worked up to a fever pitch of prewedding ecstasy for you.”

Robert watched as the little man walked confidently into the room, commanding an instant silence. Robert grimaced a little. It seemed that the priest had everyone in the room already in his thrall.

“Idiot,” he growled darkly to no one in particular.

“Always was,” Imogen said with a small smile.

Robert raised a brow. “You know that pompous idiot?”

“I remember him,” she corrected. “Ian was apprenticed to be my father’s squire. He was a real ladies’ man till he, uh, got ‘his calling.’ I didn’t realize he was the priest of this parish, though.” She shrugged her shoulders. “Roger must have had him installed. Those two were always close.”

Robert’s brows lowered in puzzlement. He couldn’t stop himself from asking, “How do you know it’s Ian without…you know…”

“Without being able to see him, you mean?” she asked, and Robert grunted in reply, more than a little embarrassed by his own awkwardness.

“I just can,” she said slowly, for the first time struggling to explain her dark world. “We are more than just our faces and body. A human is made up of so many other little signals that if you wait for them, it’s easy enough to recognize them. I knew Ian so well as a child, I suppose. The sound of his voice, the top of his finger missing on his right hand.” She smiled her first real smile that morning. “The smooth, arrant nonsense that seems to come out of his mouth every time he opens it. It’s all very distinctive.”

Robert couldn’t help but smile, and some of the irritation he had felt at the sight of Imogen’s hands in Ian’s eased a little. “Arrant nonsense or not he’s going to be the one who marries us.”

Marry. The word was like a cold weight in Imogen’s stomach.

She turned and placed her hand high on Robert’s chest for support. “Are you sure you want to do this? I know you’re only doing it to get the land, but there might be some other way, some other arrangement…” She could hear the panic in her own voice but wasn’t entirely sure whether the panic was because he might say yes or because he might say no.

Robert covered her small hand with his own, trying not to be uncomfortably aware of the callouses and brute strength in his own hands compared to the small softness of hers. “Are you trying to say that you don’t want to marry me?” he asked, as if whatever her answer, it would mean nothing to him.

She hesitated for a moment, then shook her head decisively. There would be no escape. If it wasn’t Robert Beaumont, then it would be someone else. Roger would never allow her to escape this game and she must never forget that. Nor should she forget that Robert was first and foremost Roger’s choice.

Instead of being distracted by the muscles on his chest that she could feel beneath his tunic, she should be thinking of tactics, of survival.

Robert allowed himself only a moment of relief before gathering up his thoughts.

“Good!” he said briskly but couldn’t seem to stop himself from dropping a gentle kiss on her forehead, enjoying the feel of her soft skin under his. “Then let’s go get married, Little One.”

The ceremony passed in a blur.

Afterward, Imogen couldn’t seem to recall anything except the moment when Robert’s strong, clear voice pledged himself to her forever. For a moment she had felt a quickening in her soul, a sense of rightness.

At that moment she had to really struggle to remember that her brother had sent this man. Caught up in that struggle, she barely noticed the cheers as Robert bent to kiss her.

He had hesitated above her for a second, bathing her lips in the warmth from his mouth. The tingle of sensation caused her to let out a small gasp of surprise. Robert swooped on the movement, and claimed her parted lips as his own.

Every nerve ending seemed to come alive in the radiance of that kiss. Fire spread through her body, teasing and titillating every part of her.

That kiss was so entirely beyond her realm of experience that her instincts took control. When she felt his tongue trace her lips demandingly, she opened them wider without question. The only voluntary response she seemed to have left was the one that demanded she lean farther into him, opening herself up completely.

His tongue moved questioningly along her teeth in a slow, teasing movement before withdrawing.

Though the touch had been brief, its sudden absence left her feeling bereft. There had been a long moment when she had managed to forget their audience entirely, but as he moved away from her, their voices could be heard once more, penetrating the fog Robert had spun round her. She had been left momentarily stunned by the knowledge that she had forgotten them all and, more than that, she had actually felt safe. In Robert’s arms, she suspected, anything could seem safe.

She was still reeling from this shock when Robert had calmly announced that he wanted everyone present to pay their respects to the new master of Shadowsend Keep and to his wife. Robert then led her to a chair near the fire without a word and through everything that had followed he had remained standing stiffly at her side. Mary had stationed herself at Imogen’s other side like a silent sentry, but Imogen had felt her trying to give her comfort and strength.

What followed was a hideous confusion. Each person came forward, bowed respectfully, then left the room. There were so many people that Imogen very quickly became confused, but pride wouldn’t let her show it.

Through it all she felt their eyes upon her, felt each of them trying to see her fabled deformity. Some of them knew, and soon they all would. Instead of an easily dismissed mystery, she would become a part of their known world, the Blind Lady of the Keep. It would be the death of the little false dignity anonymity had left her.

When Mary softly told her that the last of them had gone by, Imogen could have cried with relief. Instead she had stood briskly and imperiously, and demanded to be taken back to her bedroom. Robert immediately stepped forward.

She felt his warm hand on her arm and was almost seduced by it but her fear was too raw. She refused to be fooled by the comfort he offered. She shook off his hand.

“No. I want Mary.” Her voice wavered, but she lifted her chin defiantly.

She clearly heard Robert’s breath whistle between his teeth in shock, but he quickly hid his irritation at her public rejection. “Of course,” he said quietly, but it seemed to roar through the silent room.

Imogen pretended not to notice and regally walked from the room as she had been taught all those years ago, but once in her chamber she dismissed Mary as soon as she could. She needed more than anything to be alone with the chaos that now filled her.

She collapsed into a chair, covering her face with her hands, feeling more afraid than she had ever before in a life filled with fears. She now had fear about what was real and what was false in this world turned strange.

She had almost believed in that kiss.

For a moment she had almost believed that it wasn’t all an elaborate game. She had almost lost herself in the man. Almost.

It was pitiful, really, that she had been so easily absorbed into a dream world of his making. She should be grateful for the prying stares of the guests she had felt pulling away the layers of her skin. They had forced her to return to the harsh light of her reality.

And the reality was that they had all wanted to see Lady Deformed, wanted to feel that vague, tantalizing thrill that came with touching her corruption. Perhaps they had even been a little disappointed that her disfigurement hadn’t been more apparent, that they couldn’t actually see her ugly darkness. She could never let herself forget that, no matter how tempting it was to do so.

Her deformity was the darkness that only she could see but for a moment Robert had blinded her even to that and she couldn’t allow him to have that power over her. She could never allow herself to lose sight of what she had become, of who had made her that way.

She must never forget that Roger had robbed her of her vision, robbed her of her youth. She should never forget that the man who had taken her very life away from her was the same man who had sent Robert to her dark prison. If she forgot, Roger would win.

She sighed. It sounded simple but was so hard. It had been too long since she had been held, too long since she had felt the warmth of another’s concern. The forgetting was all too easy. Her reality seemed less real when she found herself drowning in Robert’s roughly tender charms.

And losing herself in that charm could prove deadly.

Robert walked up to the large desk in the center of the room. It was dusty from disuse, but the quality of the oak furniture was evident, he thought with some satisfaction, and he was making sure that the dust wouldn’t last long.

He had given his orders and he expected them to be obeyed. He wanted the Keep cleaned from top to bottom and he had made it painfully clear that there wasn’t one inch of his new home so insignificant that it wasn’t worthy of his inspection.

He looked after what was his.

He ran his hands over the oak table, trying to fire a flare of ownership, trying to find satisfaction in all that this morning’s vows had brought him, but instead a hollow feeling seemed to have lodged itself permanently inside of him.

That emptiness had flickered into life when Imogen had coldly rejected his help, and it had grown to crowd the day.

He had tried to fight it, tried to deny the sudden hollowness of his victory. He had called everyone in the keep together and issued their new instructions, had sorted out the arrangements for a suitable wedding feast that evening and had set about cleaning up the stables in preparation for the horses he had coming in easy stages from the Welsh borders.

Everything was being done as he had commanded.

Even now he could smell the succulent aromas of the feast being prepared in the great hall. No, his great hall, he corrected himself sternly, but the long-awaited concept was stillborn in his mind, swamped by the image of Imogen’s cold face as she had told him he was surplus to requirements. He had not been prepared for the dismissal, not after that all-too-brief kiss they had shared.

Just remembering it brought a pulsing heat to his loins. Holding her in his arms, feeling the innocent heat of her lips under his had shifted the universe. He had forgotten bargains, forgotten his name, and forgotten all but the bit of the world that he had enclosed in his arms.

And then she had turned from him, rejected him.

His mind relentlessly circled the memory. He couldn’t seem to let it go, even though he knew he was behaving like a half-starved dog with a bone.

“My lord,” Mary said quietly from the door that he had left half open.

She was obviously uncomfortable and not sure how to approach the lion in his den. Good, Robert thought savagely, even as a heated flush of embarrassment climbed his neck at being caught staring broodingly at a dusty table. He sat down on the chair behind the table and held his breath as the furniture creaked ominously, horrified at the prospect of being thrown onto his rump in front of this supremely dignified woman. His luck was in, however, and the chair held.

“What do you want, Mary?” he growled.

“I just thought you might like to know that my lady is having a rest before the feast.”

Robert raised his eyebrows in surprise. He never believed for a moment that Mary genuinely thought he needed to know such pointless information. She flushed under his scrutiny and started to shuffle her feet. Her very apparent embarrassment made her look a little more human.

“Is there something more important you have come to tell me, or have you just temporarily lost your mind?” Robert murmured.

It was the opening Mary had apparently been waiting for. She stepped fully into the room and closed the door firmly behind her.

“I just wanted to know if my lady had offended you too deeply.”

He shrugged his shoulders with a careful negligence. “No more than she intended to offend me, I am sure.”

Mary shook her head and frowned in exasperation. “She didn’t mean to be offensive, my lord. Can’t you see that she was reacting, not acting? She wasn’t thinking about you at all.” Her voice pleaded to be understood even as it lectured.

Robert smiled faintly. “I had gathered that much. Her indecent rush to leave the hall was, I felt, a fair indication of her extreme lack of interest in her husband.”

“No!” she said sharply. “That’s not it. You don’t understand. It wasn’t a rational thing. She was too afraid to be logical.”

“Afraid! What had she to be afraid of?” he snapped out bitterly. “I have yet to do anything to frighten anyone. I simply haven’t had time to make anyone afraid.” A feral gleam lit his eyes as he added ominously, “Yet.”

Robert felt momentarily in control until Mary smiled gently, clearly unperturbed by his playacted ferocity.

“It’s not you she fears, my lord, well, not yet, at any rate. Her fears come from a time long before she was threatened with this marriage.”

“Threatened! It wasn’t…”

Mary simply lifted a hand to still his blustering. “This isn’t about you, not yet. It is Roger who is the threat.”

The words had a chilling effect on his anger. “She fears her brother?” he asked coldly.

“Yes,” Mary said flatly. “I can’t claim to know all that’s between them, but I know that Lady Imogen is terrified of him. Every three months the Keep is emptied of all people while the brother visits his sister. When he leaves we return to find more expensive clothes and fashionable fripperies, and Imogen acting like she has been fatally wounded although there is no blood.”

“Why does he come here?” Robert asked calmly enough, but rage burned clearly in his eyes.

“No one but the two of them know for sure. She never seems to be physically hurt beyond a bruise or two, but whatever the truths of the matter, they remain locked together in some evil dance. No, not a dance. That’s not what Imogen calls it.” She paused a moment as she groped for the right word. “A game. She thinks they are playing a game and I don’t believe my lady holds out much hope of winning.”

Robert looked down at his hands and was surprised to see his knuckles white where they clenched the top of the table. Carefully he loosened his grip. “That no longer matters,” he said with deceptive calm. “I am her protector now and as such I will not let anything happen to her in this…game.”

“If she will let you. To Imogen, Roger sent you, and that now makes you a part of the game. She’s frightened that you are Roger’s winning gambit.” She leaned forward earnestly. “That’s why she fears you.”

“She talks to you about this?”

Mary hesitated a moment. “We talked before you came, but since, no. No, now she’s holding on to herself so tightly to stop from falling apart that she can’t let anyone share her fears. She’s isolating herself in her head and it is starting to frighten me.”

Robert stared off into the middle distance, not seeing. He took a deep, steadying breath, trying to gain control of the raw anger that had flared to unexpected life inside of him. He had never experienced a rage like it before, and was at a loss to explain its existence. Moreover, he couldn’t let it rule him now. He needed to be in control, needed calmness to devise a strategy to defeat the man who had suddenly become his enemy. He tried to remember everything he could about the man, even through his anger, a part of him understanding the vital importance of knowing the enemy.

His knowledge was scant at best.

Roger belonged to the lowest set at the court. He was one of the pack of mindless animals that now surrounded the king. As a group they were noxious and prone to all the vices that money could buy, but Roger’s particular perversions could only be surmised.

Robert narrowed his eyes. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to feed his rage. Roger Colebrook. That such a man could even think of using him for his private warfare was abhorrent, and Robert never doubted for a moment that it was indeed a war, for all their calling it a game. Anything that claimed real victims was a war as far as Robert was concerned.

Robert smiled savagely as he spotted Roger’s first mistake. Roger had faulted badly if he thought to use Robert in the collecting of Imogen’s defeat. Robert was not a man to be used by one of the court parasites, not against something he had taken for his own.

And that was the one truth that shone, even through the haze of his anger: Imogen was his, body and soul.

“You’ve given me much to think on,” Robert said slowly. “Thank you for taking me into your confidence. I won’t see that trust abused.”

Mary let out a long sigh of relief. “I’m glad you didn’t see it as an impertinence. I was so afraid that you would, but you needed to understand, needed to see a little of what Lady Imogen sees.”

Robert sat and steepled his hands. “Oh, I see a little now, but I intend to see a lot more. Soon.”

Robert’s easy shouldering of leadership had inspired everyone in the Keep to new heights.

By evening the main hall had been scrubbed till it glistened. Fresh rushes had been gathered hastily and laid, their meadow fragrance quickly masking the mustiness. Enough tables had been located to seat all of the guests, each festooned with holly and ribbons, creating something of a festive air. Over the central dais a canopy of red cloth had been hung and the two chairs that had been placed on it had been decorated with matching ribbon.

The men of the nearby village had spent the morning at the hunt, killing two boars, a young deer and other smaller game, which were given to the cook and some women from the village to dress. The cook had complained bitterly about people expecting miracles, but had still managed to produce any number of mouthwatering dishes with only the most basic of assistance.

Robert felt congenially pleased with the preparations. He should have felt every inch the expansive host as he watched everyone eat, drink and be merry. Everyone, except Imogen beside him, was enjoying themselves mightily, but that omission was the thing that irritated him the most. Imogen was silently fighting him and, damn it, she may even be winning.

Aware of her fear of crowds, Robert had intended to behave the chivalric knight and escort her, also intending to reassure her as best he could, just as Mary had wanted him to.

Imogen, however, had easily forestalled the small gallantry. As the first guests arrived, Imogen had floated regally into the hall, with Mary discreetly leading her. Even as he felt the heat of irritation flare on his face, the vision she presented nearly brought him to his knees. All rational thought dissolved, leaving Robert with nothing to do but stare like an idiot at a queen.

She had changed from her angelic pink into a red velvet robe, but it wasn’t the sultry color that Robert found himself objecting to. No, it was the way the tight lacing made the fabric almost lovingly cling to the curves of her body, and the neckline, which seemed scandalously low to Robert’s suddenly puritanical eyes. They had narrowed when he noticed that every male in the hall had focused his attention on the flimsy lace inset that covered the pale skin at the top of her breasts. She had carefully bound her hair with gold thread, and eschewed the mantle worn by the women of the court, leaving the line of her vulnerable throat naked and, for a moment, Robert was struck dumb with awe. It seemed almost impossible that such a being existed outside of heaven.

He had watched as she walked with a calm dignity toward the dais, obviously trying to hide that it was actually tearing her into small pieces. Only when she got closer did Robert become aware of the whiteness of her knuckles on Mary’s arm.

When the old woman carefully removed those fingers, Imogen dropped into a very correct curtsy in front of him. He, with ill-disguised eagerness, had got up and helped her up the steps of the dais.

Then she ignored him; ignored them all.

She now sat stiffly in her chair, her hands held tightly in her lap, seemingly oblivious to her surroundings. She had remained unmoving when the sumptuous food had been brought into the hall. When the grunts and murmurs of satisfaction filled the large chambers she seemed to draw into herself more tightly.

Robert could almost physically feel the strength of will radiating from the woman, as she deliberately made no attempt to sample the aromatic food just in front of her, but to look at her she seemed entirely unmoved. It was as though she had been turned into a very beautiful statue, as if she was denying herself out of existence—and that was what angered Robert so much.

Robert didn’t want a lady made of stone and willpower; he wanted the blood-hot woman he had kissed that morning. He needed her to be real. He would make her real, he thought with a small, grim smile of determination. Casually he leaned toward her.

“You do know that the food tastes even better than it smells, don’t you?” he asked with a lip-smacking, satisfied noise. “In fact the food is amongst the best I have ever tasted.”

“I’m sure it is,” she said stiffly.

“Then why don’t you try some? You might surprise yourself and actually enjoy it.” He lifted a fragrant morsel from his plate and placed it near her face. He dropped his voice suggestively. “But if it’s not the enjoying that you like, if you find your pleasure in pain and denial, well, then, as your husband I’m sure I can accommodate you.”

“I’m sure you can,” Imogen said through clenched teeth, “but I’m not abstaining for my own personal pleasure. I can’t see where the meal is to eat it.” She lowered her eyes and drew in a deep breath, wincing slightly as she was once more assaulted by the scents rising from the feast. “I haven’t eaten in front of anyone since the…accident. It’s not a pretty sight and I can’t say I have any desire to make a spectacle of myself in front of the whole district solely for your own perverse amusement.”

Robert’s languid cynicism died. He felt a flush of shame heat his face as he realized just how great a mistake he had made.

He hadn’t meant the dinner to be a torture. The hollow feeling of failure opened in his gut. She now not only thought of him as part of Roger’s plan, but also as the oaf who had brought her into a roomful of food to starve.

“Why didn’t you say something earlier?” he said quietly, trying unsuccessfully to hide his embarrassment.

She shrugged her shoulders with a seeming carelessness, her hands clasping more tightly in her lap. “I didn’t see the point.”

“The point,” Robert said with careful slowness, “would have been that you wouldn’t have had to sit there like a martyr, starving at your own wedding feast, if you had mentioned it to me.”

He picked up his own empty plate and began refilling it with the most tempting delicacies and he reached over and filled his goblet with wine. With economical, deliberate movements he carefully loaded a spoon with roast boar and brought it to her lips, trying not to notice the way they seemed to glow rose-red in the candlelight. “Open your mouth, Imogen,” he said huskily, and was unable to stop himself leaning a little closer so that he could bathe himself in the perfume from her hair.

“No…” she started to stay but he took advantage of the moment and shoved the spoon into her open mouth. He couldn’t help but be smugly pleased that he had left her with only two options. She could either spit out the tasty meat and draw attention to herself, or she could eat it.

Robert watched with amusement as she began militantly chewing the meat, grinding it with her teeth as if it was her enemy, swallowing it with exaggerated grimaces.

“I won’t be treated like a child.” Her voice quivered with irritation and outraged dignity. “It’s not…” Ignoring the diatribe, Robert took advantage of her open mouth to pop in a small piece of herb bread. He had to hastily pull his fingers back to avoid the sharp little teeth Imogen brought closed with a snap. A blush of anger flagged her cheeks red as she once more began chewing.

“Trust me, Imogen, I will keep feeding you. Eat and we can argue about it later,” Robert said soothingly. “It’s always a lot more fun to fight on a full stomach, I find. I never meant you to starve, so let me make it up to you so I don’t have to feel guilty for too long. That’s a good girl, hmmm?”

She opened her mouth to speak, but closed it too quickly for Robert to get any food inside. He let out a deep chuckle of appreciation, even as he sighed in exasperation.

“I’ll have to remember that you are no fool. I only got to pull the same stunt twice before you spotted it. You’re obviously going to prove to be quite a test on my creativity.”

Imogen could well hear the smile in Robert’s rich voice, and the open sincerity of it drew a small answering smile from her.

Robert realized helplessly that he was in very grave danger of having his heart snared by the single dimple that danced on her cheek. Never before had he ever worried whether a woman had a sense of humor or not but found himself inordinately pleased that Imogen seemed to.

“Please eat some more,” Robert whispered huskily in her ear. “I find I like to watch you eat.” It was true. There was no denying the primitive satisfaction to be found in feeding one’s wife.

Imogen smiled a little broader. “How can I say no to my lord, when my lord has quite clearly lost some very important parts of his mind?” She opened her mouth and closed her eyes with all the appearance of wifely obedience.

Robert’s eyes were drawn to her open lips, to the way they glistened in the candlelight. They looked tempting, lush and infinitely kissable. Lust, pure and compelling, slammed through him, momentarily depriving his lungs of air.

“Well, your lord has certainly lost control of something,” Robert growled with awe as he reached blindly for some food.

His gaze never wavered as he slid a piece of spiced apple over her waiting lips. Indeed, he watched in rapt fascination as her pearly teeth closed again, more slowly this time, biting into the soft flesh of the fruit. A little of the juice trickled from her lips, and she licked it away with the tip of her tongue.

Robert could barely contain a groan. By God, he thought with astonishment, he was on fire! He had never felt anything like this intensity, and over so innocent a thing!

He had truly thought until this moment that he had experienced all the shades of lust there were. This white-hot burning, however, was unique to his experience. The simple lust that he had always associated with sex had suddenly taken on a tangled web of other, entirely foreign emotions. They seemed to tighten around him till he no longer wanted to escape them. He was in torment.

No more.

He surged suddenly to his feet, not caring if his advanced state of arousal was evident to all or not. He barely noticed that he had knocked over his chair. Imogen flinched, startled by the suddenness of his movements and by the sharpness of wood hitting wood. She turned quickly toward the noise.

“Robert, what happened?”

“Madam, I’m through with eating,” he ground out.

“But I’ve barely started,” she squeaked, her brow furrowing with her confusion.

He reached for her hand, pulling her to her feet and after he had helped her down from the dais, he began to stride from the hall, ignoring the hooting and ribald comments that followed them.

As he pulled on her arm, Imogen had to run to keep up with his longer strides. He slowed down only after the second time she stumbled. Slowed, but wouldn’t be deterred from his ultimate objective. She yelled at him and tried to tug her hand free, but could not catch his attention until they were at at the bottom of the stairs.

He turned, despite the demon that rode him mercilessly, and even managed a smile at the innocent bewilderment on her face.

“Sir, this is madness,” she said breathlessly, all the while trying to reclaim her hand, which remained resolutely held in the warmth of his. It took only a slight tug for Robert to bring her body up to the burning heat of his. The silent sliding movement of her skirts over his thighs was almost his complete undoing.

“This might be madness,” he said hoarsely as he bent and placed an arm under her knees and swung her up to his chest, “but it is a divine madness, Wife.”

She let out a small squeak of protest, but as she felt his powerful strides start up the complaining stairs, she suddenly felt calm. Held against the warmth of his broad chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart, she almost dared to feel safe for the first time since her parents died. For this one, precious moment it was as if Roger and his dark games didn’t exist.

She was amazed to find herself actually snuggling herself against him. Her mind struggled to equate this strange behavior with the terror of her dark memories. She should be running, freezing, screaming or any of the things she did when Roger touched her, but somehow, it just wasn’t the same. Robert surrounded her so completely that he blocked out all of the darkness, leaving her free of it for the first time in her life.

It wasn’t to be trusted, she told herself sternly, even as she let herself enjoy the sensation. He wasn’t to be trusted. This was all an illusion conjured by Roger. She should be trying, however inadequately, to protect herself. She needed to prepare herself for the pain and fear that Roger always brought into her life, albeit that this time he was using this stranger as his weapon.

Instead, she found her arms tightening around her husband’s neck, drawing herself as close to him as she could be.

Robert was right. This all must be some kind of divine madness.