Read Online A Flame Run Wild by Christine Monson - Free Book Online
Authors: Christine Monson
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the time came, if it came, to reveal that they had once been one for a single, enchanted night. If he took her now, she would see through his deception. They were too close to the memory of their night together. He would end by whispering all sorts of idiocies in her ear, telling her of his ridiculous gladness that whatever she was, she was his. But she wasn't. He could never let himself forget that she was Jacques's . . . and Louis's. She belonged to them first and always.
" Dona ," he began, trying to think how he was going to explain not making love to her when she was so ravishing that her very nearness was making him dizzy. Her perfume mixed with the faint scent of the fresh meadows she'd galloped through. ... "Ah, bella Dona . . ." he breathed. As her eyes widened, a tickling sensation seized his nose. He gave a violent sneeze and heard his bride's faint, nervous giggle. He steered her firmly into the room, backed rapidly out and closed the door. His last glimpse of her face told him that she was dumbfounded but vastly relieved.
A half hour later, Alexandre sauntered into the great hall, the look on his face hiding the glum disappointment in his heart. With the pact so obviously completed, Jacques and Louis went quickly over the written contracts, then departed for their own neighboring fief in the north. Alexandre politely saw them off, then climbed the winding staircase to a turret window, where he watched them file homeward. The Signes had been picking at the Brueil borders for nearly three centuries. They would be back, one way or another, and they had left Liliane as their key.
That night, Liliane prayed that Alexandre de Brueil would not change his mind about consummating their marriage, that whatever his reasons, he would leave her alone. Sometime after midnight, she left off tossing in his big bed and began to wander about the spartan chamber. Pacing the cold stone floor she wondered why he hadn't come back. Eventually, she arrived at two possibilities: he was indeed Jean and he reseated her lies and aversion to their marriage: or he was really Alexandre and he wanted only her money as revenge against the hated Signes. However it seemed that he could not possibly be Jean, who had loved her. Her Jean would not have left her alone tonight in such confusion and unhappiness.
Sleepless for the rest of the night, Liliane went to the southern window to watch dawn, rise pink and dusky over the calm sea. Whoever he was, this cold man that she had married, she must try to reach him for his sake as well as her own. Alexandre de Brueil had reason to hate and mistrust her family. Louis had been vicious from childhood and Jacques . . . Jacques was a clever pig who wanted all he had ever seen. He should have been an Italian profiteer with his love of art, gold and deception. Having little interest in women, he was married to a sweet little simpleton who doted upon him and asked no questions. He was as faithful to her as one might be to a particularly comfortable, cushioned chair.
Louis was less predictable. She took care never to be alone with Louis.
And Alexandre de Brueil did not want to be alone with her.
Life would be much easier if he trusted her. As for love . . . She sighed, looking out at the dawn's elusive pink and gold playing over the gray sea. Better take one step at a time, she counseled herself.
* * *
After catching Liliane's Moorish mare, Alexandre was less morose than on his wedding day. He had not slept at all during the night, so at dawn he had gone riding in search of her white mare. The animal was far too valuable to let wander and be stolen; yet in his heart, he thought the return of the pretty mare might please his bride. He had not given her a very pleasant reception, after all. To be different from Jean the poacher was one thing; to be an ogre was another.
The sun had climbed halfway to noon before he found the mare grazing in a meadow near the shore. Luckily, she had not stumbled on her reins
" Dona ," he began, trying to think how he was going to explain not making love to her when she was so ravishing that her very nearness was making him dizzy. Her perfume mixed with the faint scent of the fresh meadows she'd galloped through. ... "Ah, bella Dona . . ." he breathed. As her eyes widened, a tickling sensation seized his nose. He gave a violent sneeze and heard his bride's faint, nervous giggle. He steered her firmly into the room, backed rapidly out and closed the door. His last glimpse of her face told him that she was dumbfounded but vastly relieved.
A half hour later, Alexandre sauntered into the great hall, the look on his face hiding the glum disappointment in his heart. With the pact so obviously completed, Jacques and Louis went quickly over the written contracts, then departed for their own neighboring fief in the north. Alexandre politely saw them off, then climbed the winding staircase to a turret window, where he watched them file homeward. The Signes had been picking at the Brueil borders for nearly three centuries. They would be back, one way or another, and they had left Liliane as their key.
That night, Liliane prayed that Alexandre de Brueil would not change his mind about consummating their marriage, that whatever his reasons, he would leave her alone. Sometime after midnight, she left off tossing in his big bed and began to wander about the spartan chamber. Pacing the cold stone floor she wondered why he hadn't come back. Eventually, she arrived at two possibilities: he was indeed Jean and he reseated her lies and aversion to their marriage: or he was really Alexandre and he wanted only her money as revenge against the hated Signes. However it seemed that he could not possibly be Jean, who had loved her. Her Jean would not have left her alone tonight in such confusion and unhappiness.
Sleepless for the rest of the night, Liliane went to the southern window to watch dawn, rise pink and dusky over the calm sea. Whoever he was, this cold man that she had married, she must try to reach him for his sake as well as her own. Alexandre de Brueil had reason to hate and mistrust her family. Louis had been vicious from childhood and Jacques . . . Jacques was a clever pig who wanted all he had ever seen. He should have been an Italian profiteer with his love of art, gold and deception. Having little interest in women, he was married to a sweet little simpleton who doted upon him and asked no questions. He was as faithful to her as one might be to a particularly comfortable, cushioned chair.
Louis was less predictable. She took care never to be alone with Louis.
And Alexandre de Brueil did not want to be alone with her.
Life would be much easier if he trusted her. As for love . . . She sighed, looking out at the dawn's elusive pink and gold playing over the gray sea. Better take one step at a time, she counseled herself.
* * *
After catching Liliane's Moorish mare, Alexandre was less morose than on his wedding day. He had not slept at all during the night, so at dawn he had gone riding in search of her white mare. The animal was far too valuable to let wander and be stolen; yet in his heart, he thought the return of the pretty mare might please his bride. He had not given her a very pleasant reception, after all. To be different from Jean the poacher was one thing; to be an ogre was another.
The sun had climbed halfway to noon before he found the mare grazing in a meadow near the shore. Luckily, she had not stumbled on her reins
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