Read Online My Immortal by Erin McCarthy - Free Book Online

made her spine straighten. “Yes, I am. I have to be there to recognize Lizzie.”
    “No. For one thing, I don’t think this is your sort of party, Marley. Second, people are going to notice you charging through the rooms staring at them. While most of them enjoy voyeurism to a certain extent, they’re not going to appreciate your marching up and shoving Lizzie’s picture in their faces.”
    “I wasn’t going to do that!” Much. “I can be discreet. I have to be there, Damien.”
    “No.”
    “Yes. I’ll check coats or be the caterer or something.”
    “No.”
    “Isn’t everyone masked? How are you going to recognize Lizzie?” He was being irrational and she was getting frustrated.
    “Yes, everyone is masked. I think we’ll do a pirates of the Caribbean theme. Appropriately over the top, which is what people are expecting. Men as pirates, women in as little as possible. Bikinis should do nicely. That will help me recognize Lizzie, since you won’t be there.”
    Marley felt her face go hot. The thought of Damien wandering around a room full of bikini-clad pleasure seekers, studying their bodies in detail, was an image she just didn’t want in her head.
    Especially because if Marley wanted to get in to that party, which she had to do to ensure Lizzie didn’t escape Damien’s notice, she was going to have to blend in with the crowd.
    Which meant she was going to have to wear a bikini and a mask and be scrutinized by men.
    Damien in particular, help her.
    Just the thought of his eyes roving over her bare, bathing suit–clad body made her want to pass out stone cold and wake up when it was all over.
     
     
     
    Damien’s reasons for the bikini theme were legitimate. But he also was very much looking forward to witnessing Marley half naked trying to go incognito through the party. Which was foolish on his part. Playing with the fire of his self-control.
    He knew she intended to sneak in and look for her sister herself. It was there, written in the determination in her eyes.
    He didn’t doubt it for one minute.
    What he did doubt was his ability to maintain the detachment from her he needed.
    With this one, it would have to be look, but never, ever touch, and that was not going to be easy.
     
     
     
    In the beginning, I will own it was tolerable, Angelique. Even though the thick heat of the bayou wrapped around me like wet linens, and I frequently felt fatigued and ill, it was not unbearable. The neighbors came to call, there were dinners and an occasional ball, and the quiet social niceties with the other ladies of River Road. These comfortable moments of tea and sewing, inane chatter and talk of fashion, were pleasant distractions from the stress of my marriage.
    Damien was polite and all that was proper in public, but in private we went on as we started. He had little tolerance for me, and I had no conceivable notion of how to please him. No one taught me how to satisfy a man either in bed or out, how to anticipate his wants and needs, or how to strike that proper chord in conversation with him. I was taught to pour, to powder, to dance, to curtsy, but none of those served me in the slightest in the company of my husband. Damien wanted something, it was quite evident to me, and I didn’t know what it was or how to give it to him. The shame, the failure to please my husband, made me even more nervous in his presence, so that I dropped things, averted my eyes, turned my face against his kisses.
    In retrospect it was not surprising I suppose that his disgust of me increased, and I began to notice the way he smiled at the servant girls, the way he charmed every lady who came to call, how he would disappear for several days into the Vieux Carré. At home he began to dance with several young widows on a regular basis whenever there was music at large gatherings. The widows got his charm, while I got his impatience, his grimaces, his sarcastic barbs that confused me and left me mute, which further annoyed and