A Perfect Secret by Donna Hatch Read Free Book Online

without her.
    Then he’d throw her back to her precious viscount of a husband before she could steal away his fractured heart and grind it into powder.

CHAPTER 6
     
    Hell felt heavenly. Safe. Warm. A fire crackled nearby and faint traces of the last summer roses wafted on the air. With her eyes still closed, Genevieve lay on her back, afraid to open her eyes. She stretched cautiously. Softness met her limbs. If she didn’t know better, she would have thought she lay in a featherbed.
    But that wasn’t possible. Was it?
    Genevieve opened her eyes to a blur of white. She blinked until she focused upon a white canopy with red flowers arched overhead. Disoriented, she blinked again. Her head felt stuffed with the feathers of a dozen pillows. She flexed her toes and fingers, running her hands over the texture of fine linens, the softness of a bed. She shifted again, testing her muscles. Dull pain met her motion, as if she’d fallen and had suffered bruises all over. Which meant she still lived.
    She frowned. That was not possible. Her last memory was ....
    Oh, Heaven help her, her last memory was throwing herself into a river in numb unconcern with the intent to actually commit the horrible crime of suicide. Her parents would be horrified. She was horrified.
    A dim memory wormed into her mind of a strong pair of arms holding her close, the rocking motion of horseback, a familiar scent, fleeting voices.
    Realization dawned. Someone had rescued her. Genevieve looked beyond the canopy to the intricately carved ceiling and woodwork painted crisp white and rich blue. Late afternoon sunlight spilled through the velvet-draped windows. It all painted an incongruous setting for her plight.
    She almost groaned out loud. She lay within a bedroom of a house, probably near the river. In England. Near his northern estate. She still belonged to him .
    “Good afternoon.”
    She jumped at the sound of a voice and turned her head toward the speaker. She gaped. With golden hair, eyes as blue as forget-me-nots, and exquisitely chiseled, patrician features, none other than Christian Amesbury looked back at her.
    Her heart started a slow, painful thud. Heaven help her, but he was even more handsome now than ever. Her dormant heart awakened. The only man she ever loved—the only man she would ever love—sat within reach. She ached to return to that optimistic girl she’d been when she met Christian. The complete opposite of her husband, Christian represented safety and love and everything good in the world.
    Did he know she’d tried to drown herself? Fresh waves of shame heated her face and she wanted to pull the covers up over her head.
    Christian leaned forward, putting his face at the same level as hers. Still as broad through the shoulders and muscular as he’d been … was it only a year ago?... he dwarfed the dainty floral chair upon which he sat. How was it possible he’d grown even more handsome? The only flaw to his perfection was a small scar at the outer corner of his right eye. Vaguely, she wondered how he’d gotten that scar. It hadn’t been there before.
    She moistened her lips. “Christian. Where am I?”
    He sat back and folded his arms as his full, sensitive mouth curled into distain. “You’re in Castle Tarrington, my ancestral home.”
    “I see.” She’d known, of course, that Wickburgh had brought her within a few leagues of the Tarrington county seat, but never dreamed she’d see Christian. “How long have I been here?”
    “A few hours.”
    Hours, not days. That was good. Wasn’t it? She glanced at him, undone by his presence. And not a little disconcerted by the fearsome scowl marring his handsome face. She searched for something to say and babbled the first thing that came to her mind. “I didn’t know you lived here.”
    His restless gaze flicked her way. “No doubt. Otherwise you wouldn’t have come to the area.”
    No, but her husband never heeded her opinion so her objection would have been