Tears of the Renegade by Linda Howard Read Free Book Online Page A

how physically attractive a man was. If he wanted her company for something other than sex, then she would be happy to be his friend, but the thought of sex without love was abhorrent to her. Making love with Vance had been spiritual and emotional, as well as physical, and her knowledge of the heights had left her dissatisfied with the lower peaks that could be scaled without love.
    Not once, during the dark hours, did she have any doubts about the nature of the relationship that Cord wanted with her. He’d told her bluntly that he wanted to make love to her; she sensed that he was always that honest about his desires. His honesty wasn’t the courageous openness of honor, but merely his lack of concern over what anyone else thought or had to say about him. He was already an outlaw; why worry about ruining his reputation further?
    If only the forbidden weren’t always so enticing! Her mind darted and leaped around his image, held so clearly in her memory. He was wickedly attractive; even talking to him gave her the sense of playing with fire. She had to admit that Cord had certainly captured her imagination, but it was nothing more than that, surely, except for his obvious physical charm. The ways of the wicked have always held a fascination for those who walk the bright and narrow path of morality.
    But that bright and narrow path was where she belonged, where life had placed her, where she was happy. The shadows where Cord Blackstone stood weren’t for her, no matter how intriguing the weary knowledge in his crystalline eyes.
    She slept little, but woke feeling calm and rested. Her inner surety of self often masked such physical weaknesses as tiredness or minor illness; her features might be pale, but there was always a certain calmness that overlay any signs of strain. It was Sunday, so she dressed and drove her eight-year-old blue Audi over to Blackstone House to attend church with Imogene and Preston, as she had always done. To her relief, Preston didn’t mention that Cord had been at the party the night before; he was too interested in relating to Imogene the details of William Gage’s infant political career. Susan commented little, entering the conversation only when she was addressed directly. She sat quietly through the church service, accepted Imogene’s invitation to lunch, and maintained hermood of strong reserve all through the meal. Her in-laws didn’t try to draw her out of her relative quiet; they had learned to accept her occasional silences as they accepted her smiles. Susan didn’t run to a comforting shoulder to unburden herself whenever something troubled her; they might never know what made her deep blue eyes so pensive, and they didn’t ask.
    They had just finished lunch and were moving into the den when Mrs. Robbins, the housekeeper, appeared with a visitor at her elbow. “Someone to see you, ma’am,” she told Imogene, and went about her business. Mrs. Robbins had been with the Blackstones for five years, but she had evidently not heard the rumors and wild tales that had circulated about Cord Blackstone, because there hadn’t been a flicker of recognition in the woman’s features as she admitted him.
    Susan’s eyes swept over his face, and she surprised a look of irritation that drew his level brows together in a brief frown when he saw her. Then the frown was gone, and he crossed the room with his easy grace to kiss Imogene, bending down to touch his lips to her cool, ageless cheek. Once again that astonishing color pinkened Imogene’s face, though her voice was as controlled as always when she spoke. “Hello, Cord. We’ve just finished lunch, or I’d invite you to eat with us. Would you like something to drink?”
    â€œThank you. Whiskey, neat.” His mobile lips quirked at the iron-clad Southern manners that demanded she offer him food and drink, even when he knew that she despised him. Watching him, Susan