Read Online Hotel Transylvania by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro - Free Book Online
Authors: Chelsea Quinn Yarbro
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Barbs." He patted the broad neck again.
Madelaine nodded, then said playfully, "I believe this is the first time I have not seen you in black, Saint-Germain. What is the leather you wear?"
"Elk hide. The tooling shows the story of Saint Hubert and the Stag." He fingered the dark-claret leather that set off the muslin neck cloth he wore. "It is somewhat old- fashioned. The cuffs are sadly narrow by modern standards, but I have had it for some time, and it was made for me in Hungary. I cannot bear to part with it." He raised his brows slightly. "What is troubling you, my dear? You did not call me to your side to discuss Romans or horse-flesh. Was la Baronne boring you to tears?"
"Oh, no," she said brightly.
"Then perhaps you were not pleased by de la Sept-Nuit's advances?" He saw her wince as he asked, and knew he had hit home.
"My aunt tells me that I cannot expect much happiness from marriage, and that I would be wise to be practical. I understand that de la Sept-Nuit is rich and on the lookout for a wife. His mother has given my aunt to understand that he thinks I would do him great credit."
"Oh, no." He laughed. "And you do not want to be a credit to de la Sept-Nuit?"
"It may be funny to you, Comte, but I find it demeaning." She gave an angry toss of her head so that he would not see the sudden tears in her eyes. "I feel like a very elegant slave for sale to the highest bidder."
"Madelaine," he said very quietly, and she turned to look at him, pulling her mare back to a slower trot. "Your aunt means kindly by you. It is all she knows to do."
Her throat tight, Madelaine agreed. "She explained what women should expect. But, oh, Saint-Germain, I want more."
He smiled sadly at this outburst. "I know."
She looked at him challengingly. "I have heard that you have been many places, and done things and seen things. I wish I could go many places and do many things."
There was a curious light in her eyes. "Such a life is very lonely, Madelaine."
Now her face was becomingly flushed, and she spoke in a fierce undertone. "Do you think being married to de la Sept-Nuit would not be lonely? Do you think being married to any of them"—she flung one hand toward the roistering young men farther down the road—"would be other than lonely? At least there is interest in your life."
After a moment he nodded. "Yes, I suppose my life is, in a way, interesting."
"Well, like last night," she said, changing the subject so that she could restore her calm. "You were talking about using steam to power ships. But you were not like Beauvrai, who wants such things because they bring attention to him, though he does not comprehend one jot about such engines. I could tell when you talked about steam engines that you had thought about them. Saying that as the water pushes a mill wheel, so it could be made to push the water, if the power were in the mill. And using boiling water to move those tubes in circles. I don't see why everyone said it was impossible. I thought it looked very simple."
Saint-Germain grinned, showing neat white teeth. "That is because you have not spent a life learning what cannot be done."
The light left her face. "You are wrong, Comte. And I am learning rapidly."
"Shush, shush, Madelaine." He rode a little closer to her, so that his stirrup leather almost touched the girths of her sidesaddle. "Are you so unhappy, my dear?"
"Yes... no... I don't know." She did not look at him, afraid that there might be too much compassion in his eyes, and she might betray herself to him. "I know I am expected to marry, and in time I shall grow bored enough and frightened enough that I will." She looked back over her shoulder at the older group of riders. "See where all the women ride, Comte, even the young women? They are old already." She wrenched her eyes away. "In time, I will be like them and think even of you with cynical amusement." "Madelaine."
"Do not speak to me in that kind way. I cannot abide it. You give me hope and there
Madelaine nodded, then said playfully, "I believe this is the first time I have not seen you in black, Saint-Germain. What is the leather you wear?"
"Elk hide. The tooling shows the story of Saint Hubert and the Stag." He fingered the dark-claret leather that set off the muslin neck cloth he wore. "It is somewhat old- fashioned. The cuffs are sadly narrow by modern standards, but I have had it for some time, and it was made for me in Hungary. I cannot bear to part with it." He raised his brows slightly. "What is troubling you, my dear? You did not call me to your side to discuss Romans or horse-flesh. Was la Baronne boring you to tears?"
"Oh, no," she said brightly.
"Then perhaps you were not pleased by de la Sept-Nuit's advances?" He saw her wince as he asked, and knew he had hit home.
"My aunt tells me that I cannot expect much happiness from marriage, and that I would be wise to be practical. I understand that de la Sept-Nuit is rich and on the lookout for a wife. His mother has given my aunt to understand that he thinks I would do him great credit."
"Oh, no." He laughed. "And you do not want to be a credit to de la Sept-Nuit?"
"It may be funny to you, Comte, but I find it demeaning." She gave an angry toss of her head so that he would not see the sudden tears in her eyes. "I feel like a very elegant slave for sale to the highest bidder."
"Madelaine," he said very quietly, and she turned to look at him, pulling her mare back to a slower trot. "Your aunt means kindly by you. It is all she knows to do."
Her throat tight, Madelaine agreed. "She explained what women should expect. But, oh, Saint-Germain, I want more."
He smiled sadly at this outburst. "I know."
She looked at him challengingly. "I have heard that you have been many places, and done things and seen things. I wish I could go many places and do many things."
There was a curious light in her eyes. "Such a life is very lonely, Madelaine."
Now her face was becomingly flushed, and she spoke in a fierce undertone. "Do you think being married to de la Sept-Nuit would not be lonely? Do you think being married to any of them"—she flung one hand toward the roistering young men farther down the road—"would be other than lonely? At least there is interest in your life."
After a moment he nodded. "Yes, I suppose my life is, in a way, interesting."
"Well, like last night," she said, changing the subject so that she could restore her calm. "You were talking about using steam to power ships. But you were not like Beauvrai, who wants such things because they bring attention to him, though he does not comprehend one jot about such engines. I could tell when you talked about steam engines that you had thought about them. Saying that as the water pushes a mill wheel, so it could be made to push the water, if the power were in the mill. And using boiling water to move those tubes in circles. I don't see why everyone said it was impossible. I thought it looked very simple."
Saint-Germain grinned, showing neat white teeth. "That is because you have not spent a life learning what cannot be done."
The light left her face. "You are wrong, Comte. And I am learning rapidly."
"Shush, shush, Madelaine." He rode a little closer to her, so that his stirrup leather almost touched the girths of her sidesaddle. "Are you so unhappy, my dear?"
"Yes... no... I don't know." She did not look at him, afraid that there might be too much compassion in his eyes, and she might betray herself to him. "I know I am expected to marry, and in time I shall grow bored enough and frightened enough that I will." She looked back over her shoulder at the older group of riders. "See where all the women ride, Comte, even the young women? They are old already." She wrenched her eyes away. "In time, I will be like them and think even of you with cynical amusement." "Madelaine."
"Do not speak to me in that kind way. I cannot abide it. You give me hope and there
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