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Page 437
Chapter Twenty-Five
As the days of a sweet, rich summer passed, Joanna found to her discomfort that fear was not the worst enemy with which she had to contend. Although she had more than enough to do in the overt management of her mother's and Geoffrey's lands and in the more tactful, and thus more time-consuming, inspection of Ian's property, she was very far from content. She could not blame her restlessness on boredom. Between the antics of Simon, whom she took with her to the keeps of Ian's vassals, and the stupidity (or too-great shrewdness) of the wives of the vassals and castellans who were serving with Ian, she had plenty to occupy her.
Not to put a fine shroud on a stinking corpse, Joanna had to admit that what she craved was Geoffrey's body. She was not, as she had feared, racked with constant pangs of fear. Occasionally, it was true that a huge hand seemed to grip her entrails and wrench at them until she could have screamed. Most of the time, however, her thoughts were far more pleasant although almost as unsettling. What her mind dwelt upon was Geoffrey's caresses, his hands and lips on her body, and the sweet culmination of that eagerly sought torment. She found herself sitting with eyes closed over her embroidery murmuring, "Beloved, beloved, come home to me," which surprised her. Joanna was not given to the use of endearments, except to small children like Simon.
Once, to occupy her mind, she had tried to determine why' that was so. It was true her mother did not very often call her by sweet names, but she was free enough with "dear hearts" and "beloveds" to Ian. And Ian had always used love words to his stepdaughter. Yet, Joanna thought, I

 
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