Page 32 of Her Dark Seduction
Chapter 10
I strolled in the garden with my husband as the oppressive summer heat pricked against my skin. He gripped my wrist and turned me to him. I fought down my usual, instinctive shiver of revulsion at his touch. Despite the heat of the summer, his cadaverous fingers were cold.
“We have guests arriving tonight, wife. I wish for you to dine in your room. We have much to discuss that is not for the ears of a woman. My guests would not welcome the…distraction.”
“Aye, husband.” I was aware something was afoot. The chatelaine had been busying herself with preparations, overseeing the guest rooms. The kitchen maids ran to and fro preparing enough food for a feast. Though I was curious as to the guests’ identity, I was glad my presence was not required. The less time I spent in the company of my husband or his allies, the better.
I noticed that Sawford was busy—too busy to be lurking in the shadows, and I was grateful for that, too. Instead of having him watch me, I turned the tables and observed him. Underneath that stony demeanor, he began to look wary—almost strained. I doubted if anyone other than I could tell the difference. The day before the guests’ arrival, I spotted him walking toward the solar. The way he carried himself, the occasional glance over his shoulder, told me he was not carrying out Mortlock’s orders. He was on some errand of his own and did not wish to be discovered. I followed him but, almost immediately, it became clear he knew, for he stopped and called out.
“I suggest you contain your lust for me until tonight.”
In shame, I fled and avoided him for the rest of the day, choosing instead to hide myself in my garden at every opportunity. He seemed to be perpetually aware of me—always knowing where I was and what I was thinking and feeling.
On returning to my room, my knees grew weak as I spotted a familiar piece of paper on the floor. With trembling hands, I unfolded it to read the written words:
Courage, Lisetta. Stay safe.
Tarvin
My heart leapt for joy. He was alive! A nugget of hope grew inside me. There was someone who watched over me and wanted to protect me. I was sure he would do nothing to put himself—or me—in any danger. His warning must refer to my husband and his guests. In all likelihood, they were plotting against the king, hence why my husband did not wish for my company while they remained here.
That evening, I dined in my room with Harwyn. The almost continual sound of hoof beats and shouting signaled the arrival of guest after guest, but my husband did not send for me. I told her about the note from Tarvin. She was still concerned Tarvin’s motive was entrapment, and she urged me to use caution. Her own resolve, however, had started to falter. She was beginning to believe, as I did, that I had a friend here.
He might be Baldwin—the knight poor Percy had served. He was about two score in years, with graying hair. He seemed more honorable than the rest of the men in my husband’s employ. I knew little of him, having only seen him occasionally. It made some sense, and would explain Percy’s behavior. Poor young man! Had he known the risks he took and that they would lead to his death? His head was still on the pike. But now it was indistinguishable. The crows had done their work.
The next day, the household was quiet. The guests were possibly with my husband in his study. What were they plotting? Though I was curious, the memory of Papa’s beating was still vivid. My husband was likely to do something far worse if he caught me spying. I might even share Percy’s fate.
As the day drew to a close, I became so lost in my thoughts I did not notice the man approaching me in the passageway outside my chamber.
“Cousin.”
He was tall, lithe, and softly spoken. His handsome features were surrounded by soft, dark blond hair which fell just short of his shoulders. He smiled, but the smile did not reach his eyes. He was dressed in a brilliant, rich-red tunic, embroidered with gold thread. He extended a hand to me; rings glittered on his fingers as he stretched them out.
My husband’s cousin, Wulfric, Baron de Tourrard.
I took his proffered hand, and he gripped mine so tightly I winced.
“You have no idea what a great pleasure it is to see you again, my dear.”
He leered at me, looking me up and down, as a snake might size up its prey before striking. There was little resemblance between the angular planes on his handsome face and my husband’s wizened features, except perhaps around the mouth. Much as my husband disgusted me, I was glad de Tourrard was already married when Papa had begun looking for a husband for me. The prospect of being owned by a man with a reputation for cruelty, surpassing even Lord Mortlock’s, was unimaginable.
He lifted my hand to his lips and kissed my fingers, drawing them into his mouth. He ran his tongue over them and grazed his teeth over my forefinger before biting it. I pulled my hand away.
“’Tis a great pity, Lisetta, that you belong to my cousin.”
“What of your own wife, Monsieur?”
He chuckled, “I would gladly have taken you, had my late wife not been alive, at the time your father was brokering you around. You are wasted on my fool of a cousin.”
“Your wife is dead?”
“Aye,” he took my hand again. “Your eagerness for me is showing.”
“You are too familiar.” I tried to pull my hand away but his hold was firm. I could not disguise the hatred in my voice, but he merely laughed and lifted his hand to brush my face, rubbing his thumb over my lips.
“I want you, Lisetta, and will have you. I hear my cousin is impotent, and you need a real man under your skirts.”
I closed my eyes, his touch making me sick. He stroked my face as gently as Sawford did but, instead of the heat that came at Sawford’s touch, a coldness swept over me, turning my blood to ice.
