The Libertine (Taskill Witches 2)
“The old ways.” He grew serious for a moment and she caught sight of a weary look in his expression. “What we believe in and practice are simply old ways, passed down from mother to child.” His eyes darkened. “It is time for the Church and its slaves to cease the persecution of those who differ from them.”
Chloris felt oddly moved by his comments, and her mood leveled. “But I have heard that people like you are still hunted down. Surely you take a risk every time someone comes into your home for help.”
He considered her thoughtfully. “Those who come to us in earnest have little cause to be angry and oust us. Is that your intention?”
Remembering her own need and its intimate nature, she shook her head in shame. “No, I...”
He cocked his head to one side, as if considering her comment. “You think I should be more cautious than allowing a strange woman into my home?”
Somewhat affronted, she rounded her eyes at him.
He laughed softly then bowed his head. “Perhaps you are right. Perhaps I should be more cautious. It was Maura Dunbar who advised you to come here. I do not recognize you. In what way are you an acquaintance of Maura?”
Chloris immediately regretted her comments, for they had drawn her into a deeper conversation. “She is a servant at the home of a friend of mine.”
More accurately, Maura was the servant of her cousin Tamhas Keavey, with whom she was visiting. Chloris was unwilling to draw her cousin into it. Tamhas was a prominent landowner and a member of the town council of Saint Andrews. He would be appalled to know she was here with people who he thought should be strung up for their beliefs and practices.
The man studied her then nodded thoughtfully. “Intriguing.” His eyes glittered darkly. “As you are known to Maura I will choose to trust you to stay a while longer in my home.”
Again Chloris’s face heated. She had the feeling he was more than a little amused by their exchange. Before she could respond he moved, quick as lightning, and reached for her hand. His action took her by surprise and she was unable to react before he unfastened her kid glove, tugged it off and touched her bared hand.
“You wear a wedding band, I see.”
“Yes, I—”
He rested her glove over the doorknob.
Chloris stared at it. She knew what it signified. He no longer barred the door. If she picked up the glove she would be on her way.
“Tell me,” he continued, “do you wish to be with child, or to avoid that situation?”
Still he held her hand, keeping her close to him. She should have been affronted by his forthright questioning, and yet he was so strangely compelling that she whispered her response. “I wish to...to be with...” It was his stare, so bold and suggestive, that made her falter. Pulling her faculties together, she braced herself. “I wish to fall pregnant with my husband’s child.”
He considered her at length. All the while he stroked the tender skin on the inside of her wrist with one finger, softly, drawing her to him.
Try as she might, she could not summon the will to pull her hand free.
“Tell me your name.” His voice was so melodic, so seductive.
She swayed.
When she did not respond he inclined his head. “Your given name will suffice.”
“Chloris,” she whispered.
“Chloris.” He repeated it as if exploring the word that drew her attention, learning it inside and out. “Chloris.” He said it even slower, rolling the word around his mouth as if tasting it—as if tasting her.
Her legs went weak under her.
He reached his free hand out.
She flinched, thinking he was about to touch her face.
He paused, then pulled a spring blossom from her hair. Chloris realized it must have been trapped in the loose tendrils that had escaped her lace cap during her hasty ride. What surprised her most of all was his actions. First he examined the small bud as if it were of great importance, and then he slipped it into his pocket. “You have no child.”
“No. I am barren.”
“I doubt that.” His comment was glibly stated.