A Flame Run Wild by Christine Monson Page B

smile was gone; she was white against the dramatic colors of her bridal costume. Alexandre knew that he must be pale with tension, as well. His eyes were watering with his coming cold, and the hand that clenched his goblet was like ice. The music and cheers of the assembled gathering resounded like the clamor of hounds about cornered prey.
    Alexandre took a deep breath and rising, held out his arm. "My lady?"
    Liliane stood, wavered for a moment, then rested her hand on his arm. "My lord."
    Amid the din of ritual catcalls and congratulations, they left the hall and mounted the stone steps. The winding staircase was narrow, the profound silence of the upper floors making them seem very alone. Liliane preceded Alexandre, and he watched her gently swaying as if mesmerized. His head suddenly felt as if it were weighed down with bricks. He sneezed violently and the echo resounded through the drafty turret.
    "Milord?" Liliane turned. "Are you unwell?"
    She sounds almighty hopeful, he thought, his resentment mixed with sympathy. Does she think I relish bedding her? Damned right, I relish it; she has a shape out of paradise! "Madame need not worry. I shall perform my duty," he answered stiffly.
    Her eyes lit with some amusement. "Duty, milord? Faith, you are more romantic than my cousin Louis.''
    His head lifted in quick challenge. "Come, did you expect romance of this union?"
    "Civility, at least."
    "Ah, then, rest assured, civility you shall have aplenty." His hand went past her ear to push open his chamber door. Their feces were a breath apart.
    "Have you a . . . less civil, less dutiful brother?" Liliane blurted with a hint of desperation.
    Startled, Alexandre hesitated. He saw that she had not meant to question him so bluntly, yet to consummate her marriage with an unpleasant mockery of Jean was obviously distasteful to her. His eyes narrowed as he decided upon his tack. "Scarce two hours under my roof and you have the audacity to suggest my father has strewn the countryside with bastards?" His head tilted slowly as he gave her a wolfish smile. She suspected that he was Jean, but she could not be sure. He would make certain that she knew he was Alexandre, and only Alexandre. Jean was Action; Alexandre was reality. And Alexandre would discover why she had agreed to a marriage that she deemed so repellent. He suspected that Jacques had put her up to something that could prove lethal. He could not imagine that her character was so black that she would make an attempt on his life, but she was undoubtedly Jacques's spy. Whether or not she was willing, she might give away information to feed Jacques's always dangerous ambitions. He would test her faith before letting her know how fully his heart had lain in her hand; he would not yield it again so lightly. "For all I know, half dozen of my brothers may roam with the deer, Dona . I am the only legitimate one—the only one harnessed to duty. If you prefer another lover, I warn you not to take him too close to my shadow. My sense of honor is keen."
    Liliane was both quick to cover her impulsive ploy and take real offense at his implication. Her eyes narrowed with indignant fury. "You mistake my meaning, sir! I merely suggest that you would do better to approach me with something of a lover's tenderness. I am well aware that this match means naught but gold to your coffers, but does that require that you greet me with coldness and insults? I have vowed before God and man to be your wife, and I shall fulfill that vow in every way. My honor, too, is strong. Needs that my honor duel yours, thereby killing all our hope for felicity?"
    Alexandre had already learned that she was magnificent in anger. Now, with her eyes flashing like her jewels, her breasts heaving, she was a marvelous golden vixen, and he longed to kiss her with a passion that matched her own. He also wanted to reassure her, yet he feared she would recognize him as Jean. Alexandre and Jean must remain separate entities until