Falling Stars Read Online Free PDF Page B

white,” he said. “White muslin. Silk makes... a different sound.” His voice dropped lower still. “Another sort of... whisper.”
    As slowly and reluctantly as he uttered the words, her gaze moved up to his. Their eyes caught and held a heartbeat too long, while the corridor grew darker and hazier, thick with shades of the past.
    They broke free in the same instant, turning from each other and instinctively quickening their pace. As if they both sensed that some dangerous abyss had opened in the hallway, they hastened for the safety of the drawing room.
     
    ***
     
    Two cornsilk braids formed a thick coronet about Christina’s head, the severe style softened by a few wavy tendrils framing her pale countenance. No plumes or lace, ribbons, or jewels adorned the simple coiffure, only the shimmering threads of gold fire where the candlelight played. It lit the silver dust in her eyes as well.
    The rest was fire and ice: the graceful arch of her neck, the snowy smoothness of slender shoulders, and the swelling curves, blindingly white against the vivid russet of her silk gown. A diamond pendant shot fire sparks, as though the flesh it touched set it aflame. Marcus dragged his gaze away for what must be the thousandth time this night, and tried to attend to the story Christina was reading aloud. Of all books, she’d chosen Frankenstein, as though this day had not been gothic enough.
    Whenever Marcus came near her, the memories rose like ghosts, palpable as her scent. When she moved, the whispering silk beckoned him nearer, and he was mortified to find that it was as hard to keep away now as it had been ten years ago.
    Then, he’d almost envied the men he generally despised, because they, unlike the black sheep of the Greyson family, might woo her openly. He, on the other hand, hardly dared look at her, because to look was to long for, and he hadn’t yet developed the skill of disguising his feelings. If anyone guessed those feelings, they would snatch her up and take her away, far from his corrupting influence.
    Ten years ago, he’d been hemmed in by others’ disapproval of his character. At present, he had to hem himself in, because he didn’t approve of what he felt. He shouldn’t be so obsessed with her.
    He was too tired to cope with this, Marcus decided. He should just go to bed. Now. Christina was turning the page, and he was just opening his mouth to excuse himself when a servant entered and, with an apologetic bow to the company, hastened to Penny.
    The footman said something in a low voice. Penny put down her knitting and rose.
    “Well, this is not convenient,” she said, “but tomorrow would be less so, and one must be grateful for that, at least. Julius, you must order the carriage brought round. Sally Turnbull’s first has decided to make his debut this night,” she explained, “and the midwife cannot be found.”
    Her husband frowned. “For heaven’s sake, Penny, there are scores of women in the village—”
    “She is young and frightened, and she’s asked for me.”
    “You can’t go in your condition, especially on such a cold night—”
    “My condition, indeed. Your mother was eight months gone with Marcus when she helped a neighbor in a similar case.” Penny moved to the door. “I’ll fetch what I need, and I’ll expect to find the carriage waiting when I’m ready to leave.”
    Christina put down the book. “I’d better come with you,” she said as she stood up.
    “Certainly not,” Penny said. “What if one of the children wakes with a nightmare? You won’t wish to leave Marcus alone to tend to a frightened child. He became distraught over a smock, recollect.”
    She left, and a grumbling Julius after her.
    Christina sank back onto the sofa.
    The room grew oppressively still. Marcus took up a poker and stirred up the fire.
    “I wonder who—or what—has made off with the midwife,” he said into the taut silence. “Frankenstein’s monster, undoubtedly. Poor, confused