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betrothal, an imp of perversity seized Joanna. She would not give him the satisfaction of mentioning her memory again. |
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"I," she said haughtily, "had to take Brian out. Since I did not feel obliged to stand and watch him, I came here to sit a while." She did not wait for a comment, but asked, "Did you come in to dinner today?" |
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"You must know I did not." |
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"I did not know itand it is just as well you did hot, for there was no dinner fitting for you ordered." |
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A silence fell. Geoffrey did not say, as Joanna expected, that he had eaten worse fare than the servants had when on the march. He got slowly to his feet, almost as if he did not realize what he was doing. He came a step or two closer to Joanna and stretched a hand to touch her loose, flowing hair. Undone from its braids, it hung nearly to her knees, gleaming bright as red gold even in the moonlight, which bleached both their faces bone white. |
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"Where have you been all day?" Joanna asked breathlessly, less because she cared than because she had to say something quickly. |
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"Hiding from the devil," Geoffrey replied thickly. |
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He had a handful of her hair now, and he lifted it to his face. In spite of the roses that hung all around them, its scent was different, sharp and spicy-sweet, an odor to which Geoffrey could not put a name. He closed his hand on the hair and pulled gently. Perforce, Joanna came closer. She put up her own hand, ostensibly to make him let go, but when she touched him she made no effort to unwind his fingers from what they held. |
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"Whatever do you mean?" she asked, very nearly in a whisper and without any real knowledge of what she said. As that past day at dinner, she was quiveringly aware of Geoffrey's physical being, of his male odor, of the warmth of his body, of the strength of his hand under hers. |
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The answer she got was not in words. Geoffrey's free hand went round her and drew her tight against him. His mouth came down hard on her slightly parted lips. This was |
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