Lord Deverill's Heir by Catherine Coulter (books to read for 13 year olds .txt) 📕

was acutely aware of everyone’s feelings when they came close to him. Yes, Suzanne wanted him, the bitch. But he would not go to her, would he? Surely not, even though Suzanne was so gay and beautiful with her blond hair. No, he wouldn’t betray her.

The week that she had not lain with the comte had served to nurture her romantic belief that their physical union was an exquisite proof of his love for her. She had even prayed that she would feel delight at the touch of his hands, moan when his lips touched her.

She began to grow nervous as she waited in the dimly lit stall. Surely he must have been detained by a very pressing matter. She was on the point of rising to look out the front doors of the huge barn when she saw him slip silently into the stall.

“Oh, my love, I was growing worried.” She threw her arms about him, pressing kisses to his throat, his shoulders, his chest. “Is there a problem? Did someone keep you overlong? It wasn’t Suzanne Talgarth, was it? She was trying to make you come to her? Tell me everything is all right.”

The comte kissed the top of her head, then gently pushed her down onto the cloak.

“What is this about Suzanne? If she tried, ma petite, to make me come to her, I would laugh in her face. I would tell her that I do not like the pink-and-white English girls with their bovine faces.” He dropped gracefully onto the cloak beside her, looking at her sweet face, at the besotted look in her almond-shaped eyes, eyes so like her mother’s. “No, dear Elsbeth,” he said, lightly stroking his fingers over her smooth cheek, “I was merely in conversation with Lady Ann. It would not have been polite to leave her abruptly.” She leaned forward and clasped her arms about his neck. She felt guilty at her doubts. She felt like a shrew because she had questioned him. She wasn’t worthy of him. Yet here he was, he had chosen her. She felt a light kiss touch her hair and waited for him to pull her into his arms.

But he didn’t jerk her wildly against him. She waited. Nothing. She drew back, puzzled, her eyes growing darker in her worry. Surely after a week he should want her. Had Suzanne been at Evesham Abbey after all? Had he lied to her? No, she wouldn’t think that, not for a minute. She also wouldn’t think about the relief she felt that he wasn’t taking her clothes off.

“What is wrong, my love?” she whispered against his neck. “What has happened to upset you?”

He sighed, coming down onto his side, balancing himself on his elbow.

“You are perceptive, Elsbeth. You see a lot.” He saw the pleasure his easy words gave her. She would be anything he wanted her to be, do anything he asked of her. At least he prayed it was so. He considered his next words carefully, saying at last, “You must know that the earl and I do not deal well together. His antipathy toward me grows daily. I believe if he could manage it, he would kill me. No, no, Elsbeth, it’s all right.

I can deal with the earl. You know, I wonder why he hasn’t ordered me to leave, but he hasn’t. It is strange. I do not understand him nor do I understand this hatred he has for me. I have done him no ill.” Elsbeth could not help herself. “Kill you, oh no! Surely that is going too far. Besides, you wouldn’t allow it. You are brave and strong and smart. He is nothing compared to you. You wouldn’t allow anyone to harm you. I hate him. What shall we do?”

She believed everything she had said. So passionate she was. He had found himself wondering about that passion of hers, if perhaps he’d not seen her as she really was, but listening to her now, the passion in her was real, very real. And he knew that passion was the same in all things. He smiled at her. He could be sure of her now.

She clutched at his sleeve. “He hates you because he is jealous of you, Gervaise, I know it. He sees that you are everything that he is not. He despises you for it. Oh God, what will we do?” Completely satisfied, the comte smiled a tender, slightly bitter smile, and said softly, “You are always so sensitive to the feelings of those around you, Elsbeth. Perhaps you are correct about the earl, perhaps there is something in him that makes him feel less the man when I am around. But it doesn’t matter. Evesham Abbey belongs to him. I am merely a guest. I can become uninvited anytime.” He shook away the pain of it, and took her small hands between his. “In any case, just a while ago he more or less ordered me to leave Evesham Abbey by the end of the week.

Our time together grows short, my love.” The earl hadn’t really ordered him, but it had amounted to the same thing. He had merely asked Gervaise to the library, closed the door, faced him, saying finally, “You will wish to leave Evesham Abbey by the end of the week.” Nothing more, just that, for the longest time. And he had looked at Gervaise with that cold deadness in his eyes, his body perfectly still, and Gervaise had felt such an instant of fear, that he found he could not yet speak. “What? Not a word? You have nothing at all to say to me?” Still, Gervaise had said nothing, merely shrugged his shoulders.

“There is a lot about you that offends me, comte. But I have allowed you to stay—for many reasons. But those reasons will resolve themselves very soon now. The end of the week. Now, leave me.” And that had been all that was said. Gervaise left the library, leaning against the wall