Silver-Tongued Devil (Louisiana Plantation Collection) by Jennifer Blake Read Free Book Online Page A

grown used to the signs. And I have no use for futile arguments.”
    “Or any other kind?”
    “Oh, I’m as high-handed as a Turkish dey, and prone to violence, besides. Something you might find helpful to keep in mind.”
    “I’m not likely to forget it.”
    He laughed, a forced sound. “So you never overlook an injury, never forgive an error of understanding? What a lovely marriage it’s going to be. I can see us in thirty years, both gimlet-eyed and scarred beyond recognition, but still tender enough to bleed.” His voice roughened. “Will you take this, or is it your pleasure to make me force you?”
    She was so very tired, and the stupid tears were wetting her nightgown. Or not her nightgown. Whose? And who had put it on her?
    She dared not think. The best way to prevent that was, of course, the laudanum he held in his hand. Did he know that?
    With lowered lashes and high color, she took the glass and put it to her lips, held her breath, swallowed. The water he immediately pressed upon her was welcome. The effort to keep the bitter draught down was so severe that she shuddered and lowered herself carefully to her pillow with closed eyes.
    “I take it my shirt is safe,” he said after a long, considering moment.
    “Barely.”
    “I’ll send Estelle back to you.”
    She made no answer. A short time later, she heard his footsteps retreating. Or so she thought. She might have imagined it or heard something else entirely. She was certain, however, that the lamp beside the bed was extinguished in silence and with dispatch.
    The darkness of the room expanded, the pain receded. The night lengthened. She drifted, half woke herself with a stifled sob, and discovered she was crying in her sleep. She turned her face into the pillow, trying to control the difficult, acid anguish of loss and grief.
    After a time, the mattress on which she lay sagged to accept a heavier weight. Words flavored with deep maledictions wafted above her head. Firm hands touched her and she was drawn, carefully, against a warm, hard form.
    Sighing, Angelica eased closer, felt herself enclosed in a strong clasp. There was comfort in it and a measure of peace. It seemed, almost, that she had found both there before. The tears ceased.
    She slept. Or perhaps she only moved deeper into her drug-induced dream.
    ~ ~ ~
     
    It was a Sunday. Angelica knew that because of the bells that clanged, now silver-toned and mellow, now discordant, over the city. The sound floated through the two sets of French doors standing open on either side of her bed, one to the balcony above the street and the other to the gallery overlooking the sun-drenched courtyard. From the kitchen area below came the morning smells of baking bread and coffee, and also browning onions for a dish meant as the noon meal.
    Renold lounged in a chair drawn up near the balcony doors for the light while he perused a newssheet with the swift thoroughness that was his habit. With a dressing gown thrown loosely around him, one foot propped on a stool and a cup of coffee waiting beside his chair, it appeared he was placed for some time.
    Angelica had found him there when she woke. She thought he had spent the night on the cot at the foot of her bed. It had been used, for she could just see the crumpled sheets from where she lay. The narrow cot was actually an accouchement bed used for childbirth, a grim reminder of the consequences of marriage. If Renold had passed the night there, however, it was the first time in two nights, since the evening he had told her about her father and Laurence.
    He had been in and out during the daytime, giving orders for her welfare, demanding that she rest, eat, take her medicine, cajoling her into it when commands failed. He was also out of the house for long periods, especially during the evening hours. She had heard him return the night before and thought he had slept in a bedchamber connected to her own by a dressing room.
    The housekeeper, Estelle, had attended