The Widow's Kiss by Jane Feather Read Free Book Online Page A

speared a sausage and ate it off the point of his knife.
    “Answers, not evidence?” she inquired, her smile taut, but her sloe eyes clear and seemingly untroubled.
    “Is there a difference?”
    “I think so.” Suddenly despite her underlying desperation Guinevere found that she was enjoying this battle of wits and tongues. She had always reveled in sharpening her wits in discussion or verbal sparring. Magister Howard would engage in legal and logistical arguments as a purely mental exercise, but only her second husband, the girls’ father, had enjoyed the thrust and parry of a two-edged discussion. Timothy Hadlow had been a most unusual man: he had not considered it beneath him to lose an argument to a woman.
    She said,
“Evidence
tends to imply a belief in somewrongdoing.
Answers
merely look for explanations to a puzzle. There are no puzzles to be unraveled in the deaths of my husbands. Each and every one has a simple explanation.” Her appetite had come back and she gestured to a page to serve her from a brace of woodcocks he held on a charger.
    She pulled the bird apart with her fingers and nibbled one of the small crisp legs, watching her opponent as he considered his answer.
    Hugh said in measured tones, “Then it is true that I look for evidence of suspicious circumstances in those so-convenient four deaths.”
    Guinevere drank wine before she said sharply, “Tell me, Lord Hugh, are you here to look for such evidence or to ensure that you find it?”
    He made no answer for a moment, then said with a flash of anger, “You impugn my honor, madam.”
    Finally she had stung him. She could see it in the slight flush beneath the weathered bronze of his complexion, in the rigidity of his mouth, the set of his jaw.
    “Do I?” she said sweetly, setting down the now clean bone before delicately licking her fingers one at a time.
    Hugh found his gaze abruptly riveted to the tip of her tongue between her warm red lips, the contrasting glimpse of white teeth. He didn’t think he had ever seen such a sensual gesture and for a moment his anger at her insult faded.
    “Mama … Mama …” Pippa's piping voice suddenly ruptured the closed tense circle that contained them. Unconsciously they both relaxed as their intense privacy was invaded.
    “What is it?” Guinevere smiled at her daughter, whose small face was brightly flushed with excitement beneath the plaited golden crown of her hair.
    “Can I ask the boy to dance with me? They’re playing a galliard and I practiced the steps just this morning.”
    Guinevere caught Pen's dismayed countenance, Robin's sudden blush as he realized that he’d been so busy satisfying his ravenous appetite that he’d neglected a social duty to his hostess, not to mention missing a perfect opportunity.
    “It's Pen's birthday, Pippa, she must lead the dancing,” Guinevere said gently.
    Robin coughed, scrubbed at his mouth with his napkin, and said in a throaty rush as he jumped to his feet, “Lady Pen, will you permit me …” Hastily he wiped his hand on his thigh in case there was any residue of boar grease before extending it to Pen in invitation.
    Pen blushed delicately and rose from her stool, giving Robin her hand. He led her down from the dais to a smattering of applause from the diners who rose in couples to join them in the stately moves of the dance.
    Pippa bit her lip and made a valiant attempt at a smile as she joined the applause.
    Hugh tossed his napkin aside and stood up. “Come, little maid, let us see how well you’ve mastered the gal-liard.” He offered his hand with his warm and humorous smile and Pippa jumped eagerly to her feet, sending her stool spinning.
    “Oh, I’m very good, my dance master told me so. Actually, I’m better than Pen,” she confided in an unsuccessful whisper. “I have more rhythm and I’m lighter on my feet. I wonder if that boy will notice.”
    “Your sister is a very graceful dancer,” Hugh said re-pressively. “You will have