The Silver Rose by Jane Feather Read Free Book Online

loving. From childhood, they had shared dreams. As eager, reckless youngsters, they had initiated each other into the mysteries of lovemaking. And then Simon had gone to be a soldier on the battlefields of Europe and Helene had married the elderly Viscount Kelburn. He had left her a widow with three children, and a will that stated all control of her children would pass into the hands of her husband’s brother if she remarried.
    “You would visit the sins of your own father onto some innocent woman,” she said.
    Gently he put her from him and sat up. His face was dark, his eyes now cool and distant. “No, that is not what I would do, Helene. I simply will not tolerate unfaithfulness in my marriage.”
    Helene drew the sheet over her. She stared up at the canopy overhead. “You will apply that to your own conduct?” “Aye,” he said quietly.
    “And when do you marry?” Her voice was flat.
    “I go to my bride’s house on the morrow.” He swung his legs over the side of the bed. A raw, red scar twisted up his leg from ankle to groin, like a thin snake of fire.
    “So soon!” She turned her head on the pillow, and her eyes were filled with anger. “We make love for the first time in a year, and now you’re going!” She closed her eyes tightly, saying almost to herself, “So this is farewell . . . forever.”
    “Aye,” he said as quietly as before. “To our loving, but I hope not to our friendship.”
    “Damn
you, Simon Hawkesmoor.” She opened her eyes and he saw the glitter of tears before she dashed them aside with the back of her hand.
“Damn
you! Why didn’t you say so before?”
    “I thought you understood.” He grabbed the bedpost andhauled himself to his feet. “I thought you would know how it must be, Helene.”
    “You’re no Puritan, Simon. You never have been for all your sober suits and your family’s allegiances,” she declared, sniffing angrily.
    “But you know the history of my family. You know I would not repeat it.” He looked down at her with a mixture of regret and irritation. “Why else do you think I have arranged this marriage?”
    Helene sat up, holding the sheet to her breast, an arrested expression in her eyes. “Whom do you marry, Simon?”
    “You don’t know?” He stared, incredulous.
    “How could I know? I spend no time at court. I have no visitors but you,” she exclaimed. “You said only that you were marrying. Nothing about how it would mean the end of
us.
Nothing about when or who.”
    He sighed. “I am marrying the Lady Ariel Ravenspeare, Helene.”
    “A Ravenspeare!” she breathed. “Dear God in heaven. They killed your father.”
    “I’ve seen enough blood spilled in the last years, Helene. I am awearied of blood and anger and war. My family has been locked in enmity with the Ravenspeares for so long, and each generation deepens the wound, whether with an illicit passion or an act of violence.” He leaned over her, his eyes intense, his voice low. “A marriage made in good faith can only heal.”
    “But they killed your father.”
    “And I will meet them now in peace.”
    Helene turned from him. She knew that look, the sudden clenching of his jaw, the hardness of purpose in his eyes, the power of will behind the quiet words. When Simon Hawkesmoor was in this mood, he was unmovable. He was a man of such paradoxes. A man of war who loathed conflict in his private life. A man of massive strength whose loving touch was so tender and gentle it would not crush the petals of a rose. But above all, he was a man of powerful convictionsand principles. He stood way above the petty disputes, the spite, the opportunistic betrayals of the political court. No party claimed his allegiance, and he lived in no one’s pocket. For this he was both respected and feared. A man who could not be bought.
    She lay silent, listening to him as he moved awkwardly around the chamber, dressing himself. She heard the clunk of his belt buckle as he put on his swordbelt, and