The Libertine (Taskill Witches 2)

Never regained her reputation. The comment shouldn’t have bothered Chloris, because Lennox had gone to such lengths to keep their meetings secret, but bother her it did. I must end it. Now.

Jean frowned. “Promise me you will not consider such a desperate act.”

It was hard to force a smile, but force it she did.

Jean’s mouth twitched at one corner and for the briefest moment Chloris sensed jealousy in her. Surely not? Jean had so much and seemed happy. Could it be that she was so enamored with Lennox that she begrudged Chloris’s ability to seek him out, if she chose to?

“Good. Now I must supervise the household or nothing will get done.” Jean rose to her feet, then hesitated. “I hope it is not my own happy news that has set you thinking such wild, desperate thoughts about that rogue and his barbarian ways.”

Chloris felt strangely adrift. The conversation had enlightened her, but Jean’s parting words were oddly barbed. Barbarian ways? He was wild hearted, that was true, but she had never encountered a man who deserved that slur less than he did. Am I bewitched? The wild urge to laugh hit her. Even if he was bewitching her, she still knew charm when she encountered it, and there was no denying the Witch Master’s charm. Rising to her feet, she shook her head. “No, it is not your happy news, rest assured.”

When Jean left Chloris felt oddly wistful. Had her instincts been in charge she would be running out to the stable to fetch a horse to ride into the forest. Luckily she was keeping a check on those instincts—barely, but she was. Instead she went to her room to fetch her mahogany inlaid writing box. It was time to bring order to her life once more. She carried the box downstairs to the drawing room.

The drawing room desk was conveniently positioned in a bay window overlooking the terraced gardens. She set her writing box on the desk and placed her reticule nearby. Taking up her seat she opened the box—a gift from a dear friend and neighbor at home in Edinburgh—and arranged its contents carefully, opening the ink well and readying the quill. She would write to him immediately, calling an end to their clandestine meetings.

She placed the blotting pad to one side and dusted off the leather-covered writing slope before repositioning the sheet of parchment on it. Turning away, she stared out at the gardens, admiring the luscious shades of green within her field of vision. But as she gazed, she suddenly remembered that it was that very place he had paced across to visit her in secret. Chloris stared out at the gardens, picturing it a

gain. What a striking figure he had made, and how fast it made her blood pump, the sight of him on his way to her.

But it was wrong, and she had to end it.

Write to him and be done with it, she told herself, and forced her quill to the page.

Master Lennox

I write to you first with an apology that I did not attend the meeting you kindly arranged for us this morning. I am most grateful for your efforts regarding my malady. However, I feel I will not be able to pursue the matter further. Therefore I am canceling the ongoing arrangement forthwith.

That you have engendered change in me is undeniable, and I am most grateful. I will remember your efforts to help me most fondly.

Chloris

Chloris stared down at the page and gave a rueful smile.

She would indeed remember his efforts fondly, more than fondly. She had the feeling they would keep her warm on many a cold night. She had attempted to state her case plainly and politely in the brief note. Yet when she read back over it, it sounded like some sort of jest, made so by its understatement about the powerful, unforgettable encounters she’d had with him.

Sighing deeply she put down her quill and reached for the blotter. Pressing the wooden roller firmly over the parchment, she told herself once again it was for the best. And she was grateful, she just could not trust herself to let it go further, especially in the light of Jean’s comments. She had already sinned, and now she must force herself back to the more honorable path, no matter how hard it was to resist such an amorous lover who was so readily available to her.

She folded the parchment, sealed it with wax and set it aside.

Outside, a sound drew her attention. She caught sight of young Rab racing down the terrace with Tam close behind. Their nursemaid was also in tow, hitching up her skirts as she attempted to catch them. Chloris smiled then stared down at the letter she had begun to write the day before.

Dearest Gavin.

It was so hard. Every time she tried, her thoughts drifted. First into guilty admission of her infidelity, then further, into breathless remembering of each and every forbidden touch, each kiss, each thrust.

Forcing herself to concentrate on the letter, she reminded herself that this was a small task, one that she had undertaken many times before. Usually she would tell him of her activities, but she could not tell him or anybody of what she had done these past three days. Prior to that she had written to Gavin twice a week since she had come to her cousin’s home in Saint Andrews. At first it had been a reasonably pleasant task to reassure him of her increasingly robust health and query after his trade in Edinburgh. Gavin did not reply, but she felt it was part of her wifely duties to keep him informed of her well-being, in order to reassure him of her health and, more specifically, her ability to bear him a child.

It was never an easy task. Any manner of communication with Gavin was fraught, painful and dangerous, but putting ink on the page was easier than sitting through a dinner with him, knowing what would follow.

For some reason she found it harder than ever.

Was it the guilt?

She put down her quill and sat back in the chair. She had allowed a man who was not her husband to be intimate with her, to touch her in ways that would be considered shocking. Her motives had been genuine, and although there had been pleasure in it—pleasure such as she had never known—she had honestly pursued the endeavor for the sake of her marriage.

I do feel guilty, though, because I enjoyed his touch.

Chloris never allowed herself to shy from the truth for long. She did not consider herself brave, but she was honest with herself. She believed her most reliable characteristic was the ability to endure. Her failure as a woman made her more timid than she might have been otherwise. For that she mourned. She saw women who managed their position so much better than she did, but it was her failure to fulfill the basic duty of a wife that crippled her will and her spirit.