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

to be more than ordinarily good to give a more elegant demonstration.”
    “Oh, I am,” Pippa assured him, totally unaware of any snub as she skipped beside him down to the floor.
    Guinevere rested her head against the carved back of her chair, closing her eyes briefly. She felt for a minute utterly exhausted, wrung out as if she’d been in some kindof wrestling match. Then she sat up again, took a sip of wine, and watched the dancing. Pen and Robin were very earnest, Robin watching his steps. Pen's bottom lip was caught between her teeth, evidence of her own concentration. Conversation was obviously beyond them, Guinevere thought with an inner smile, some of her desperation and fatigue lifting as she watched.
    Pippa was bounding around looking like a tiny green butterfly flitting around her tall partner. For all his square bulk and soldierly bearing Hugh of Beaucaire moved with smooth grace, Guinevere noted, and he didn’t appear to find anything incongruous in his exuberant and minute partner. Pippa, unlike her sister, was talking nineteen to the dozen, and Guinevere saw how Hugh seemed to select only certain parts of the stream for a response. A man who didn’t believe in wasting energy in futilities, Guinevere reflected. He was still smiling, his eyes were warm and filled with amusement as he bent now and again to respond to Pippa, and once more Guinevere wondered how two such separate personalities could exist in the same body.
    She became aware of a strange tingle on her skin and a sudden wash of heat bringing the color to her cheeks. The last time she had felt like this was when she had first seen Timothy Hadlow. It had been on a Twelfth Night when the Lord of Misrule reigned and nothing was forbidden. She had laid eyes on Timothy Hadlow and he had laid eyes upon her. She could feel his hand now gripping hers as he led her wordlessly to that little room, barely more than a cupboard, where they had fallen to the floor, tugging and thrusting clothing aside in a glorious explosion of passion. She could see his bright hazel eyes in her mind's eye now, laughing down at her as he held himself above her, moving slowly within her, gauging her mounting excitement until the moment when he …
    God's bones!
She could feel the warm liquid arousal inher loins, the deep pulse in her belly, the heat of her skin, the jolt of excitement. No man before or since Timothy had given her this wondrous lusty desire.
    Until now …
    No, it was absurd, lunacy! Hugh of Beaucaire was her enemy, dedicated to bringing about her death, to robbing her and her daughters. This was not a man to lust after.
    The stately measures of the galliard came to an end and Pippa darted away from Hugh and ran up to Robin, her voice rising above the minstrels’ strings and the buzz of voices in the hall. “Did you see me dance with your father, Boy? I mean Robin. Don’t I dance well? Will you dance with me now? It's a country dance. We can all dance together … you, me, and Pen.” She tugged at their hands, pulling them back to the floor.
    Hugh came back to the table; he was laughing, his stride light as he took the steps to the dais two at a time. “What a jaybird she is!” He sat down as the page pulled out his chair. He reached for the goblet and drank deeply. “Just listening to her gives me a thirst.”
    Guinevere smiled faintly. His proximity was setting her senses swirling. She could detect a hint of lavender, a trace of rosemary from his hair as he leaned sideways to help himself to a manchet of bread from the basket on the table. A man concerned with personal hygiene was an unusual one indeed, particularly when he’d been so many weeks upon the road.
    To distract herself, she leaned back in her chair and told the page to tell the kitchen staff to bring in the birthday cake.
    “I think, my lady, that if I may be so bold I’ll beg Pen for the honor of a dance,” Magister Howard called up from his place well above the salt at the long table in