![[Samuel Barbara] The Black Angel(Book4You)](https://fs.collectorofbookboyfriends.com/460423/thumbs/152x264/samuel-barbara-the-black-angelbook4you.jpg)
unholy life. "—At the end, if I've not been successful in capturing your heart, I would leave you in peace forever. One hundred days of misery, or thousands upon thousands of them?"
In spite of the danger, the idea of being rid of him held allure. "You would leave Hartwood?"
"Aye."
"And what of the financial arrangements we have made? My brothers' return does not solve that."
"Everything will be as we have arranged it—you will have the funds you require. I will—with luck—have gained the political influence I have come to achieve. I'll simply leave you. 'Tis not unusual that a husband and wife do not reside together."
That part was true enough. She narrowed her eyes, considering. If he did not kiss her mouth, she could most likely keep him at arm's length. "Very well. You may have your hundred kisses—though I warn you they'll do you no good." Dryly, she cocked her head. "It isn't as if I am innocent of such things."
A flicker, a darkness—desire?—showed on his face for a moment. In a low voice he said, "Indeed."
And for just a heartbeat longer he held her gaze, and she thought of the brightly embroidered edges of his cloak for no reason she could name. She did not look away.
He stepped forward. "I would like the first kiss now."
Before she even had a chance to panic, he captured her right hand and lifted it to his mouth. He brushed his lips, dry and light, over her fingers, then let her go.
That was all, a single brush of his lips over her hand, but Adriana found herself snared by a thousand details—the light breaking in red-gold arcs over the dark crown of his head, the slight tug of wool over his shoulders making a soft sound, the tip of his ear, almost pointed, like an elf's.
And with a faint sense of despair, she realized she'd been half hoping for more of a kiss than that. Much more.
----
Chapter 4
Cassandra arrived mid-afternoon, windblown from her ride. "Where are they?" she asked without preamble when Adriana, spying her horse and carriage from the music room, had rushed to let her in.
"Asleep, I'm afraid. They'll be down for supper."
Cassandra took off her hat and gave it to a servant. "How do they look, Riana? Are they well? Did they give any explanation of where they were, why they didn't write at all?"
"They look well," she said, taking the questions in order. "Gabriel is very thin, but swears he's not ill. And no, they gave no explanation."
They moved in silent agreement to the music room, close by the front doors. It had been their mother's favorite room, and seemed to be the place they migrated when something serious needed to be discussed. A harp sat in one corner, dusted daily though no one played it; and a variety of instruments in cases stood along the south wall. Adriana liked the room for its greens and golds; for the wallpaper she had helped her mother choose when she was seven or eight—a pattern of pheasants and stylized fruit in a cheerful blend; and for the relative quiet. She often came here to read.
She perched on a settee now, and took up the sewing she'd put down, waiting for Cassandra's restless energy to dissipate on her turns through the room. Which it finally did.
"I thought them dead," she said, and suddenly turned from her pacing so quickly her skirts washed forward with a swish. "But that will wait. How did you find your husband?"
"What do you mean? You saw him." She shrugged. "His nickname is apt."
"You know what I mean, Riana. Was he gentle with you? Do you suit?"
A faint heat edged her ears. Leave it to Cassandra to rush in where others would look away. "Those are private matters."
Cassandra made a soft noise of impatience. "Well, I'd agree that one wouldn't wish to stand out in the streets and shout it around, but between sisters—who've shared much more—it seems a logical question."
It was true they'd shared these secrets with one another. When Adriana, dazzled by the first heady attentions of Malvern, had needed to whisper her secrets to
In spite of the danger, the idea of being rid of him held allure. "You would leave Hartwood?"
"Aye."
"And what of the financial arrangements we have made? My brothers' return does not solve that."
"Everything will be as we have arranged it—you will have the funds you require. I will—with luck—have gained the political influence I have come to achieve. I'll simply leave you. 'Tis not unusual that a husband and wife do not reside together."
That part was true enough. She narrowed her eyes, considering. If he did not kiss her mouth, she could most likely keep him at arm's length. "Very well. You may have your hundred kisses—though I warn you they'll do you no good." Dryly, she cocked her head. "It isn't as if I am innocent of such things."
A flicker, a darkness—desire?—showed on his face for a moment. In a low voice he said, "Indeed."
And for just a heartbeat longer he held her gaze, and she thought of the brightly embroidered edges of his cloak for no reason she could name. She did not look away.
He stepped forward. "I would like the first kiss now."
Before she even had a chance to panic, he captured her right hand and lifted it to his mouth. He brushed his lips, dry and light, over her fingers, then let her go.
That was all, a single brush of his lips over her hand, but Adriana found herself snared by a thousand details—the light breaking in red-gold arcs over the dark crown of his head, the slight tug of wool over his shoulders making a soft sound, the tip of his ear, almost pointed, like an elf's.
And with a faint sense of despair, she realized she'd been half hoping for more of a kiss than that. Much more.
----
Chapter 4
Cassandra arrived mid-afternoon, windblown from her ride. "Where are they?" she asked without preamble when Adriana, spying her horse and carriage from the music room, had rushed to let her in.
"Asleep, I'm afraid. They'll be down for supper."
Cassandra took off her hat and gave it to a servant. "How do they look, Riana? Are they well? Did they give any explanation of where they were, why they didn't write at all?"
"They look well," she said, taking the questions in order. "Gabriel is very thin, but swears he's not ill. And no, they gave no explanation."
They moved in silent agreement to the music room, close by the front doors. It had been their mother's favorite room, and seemed to be the place they migrated when something serious needed to be discussed. A harp sat in one corner, dusted daily though no one played it; and a variety of instruments in cases stood along the south wall. Adriana liked the room for its greens and golds; for the wallpaper she had helped her mother choose when she was seven or eight—a pattern of pheasants and stylized fruit in a cheerful blend; and for the relative quiet. She often came here to read.
She perched on a settee now, and took up the sewing she'd put down, waiting for Cassandra's restless energy to dissipate on her turns through the room. Which it finally did.
"I thought them dead," she said, and suddenly turned from her pacing so quickly her skirts washed forward with a swish. "But that will wait. How did you find your husband?"
"What do you mean? You saw him." She shrugged. "His nickname is apt."
"You know what I mean, Riana. Was he gentle with you? Do you suit?"
A faint heat edged her ears. Leave it to Cassandra to rush in where others would look away. "Those are private matters."
Cassandra made a soft noise of impatience. "Well, I'd agree that one wouldn't wish to stand out in the streets and shout it around, but between sisters—who've shared much more—it seems a logical question."
It was true they'd shared these secrets with one another. When Adriana, dazzled by the first heady attentions of Malvern, had needed to whisper her secrets to
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