Prelude to Heaven Read Online Free PDF Page B

marriage. If Lady Aubry was often “indisposed,” well, there was nothing so extraordinary about that. The servants knew, of course, but they would never tell the truth. If they did, they would never find employment again because no one wanted servants who told the family secrets. If the authorities were able to find her and take her back, she knew she would be accused of murder. She doubted her pregnancy would gain her any sympathy.
    And what if Nigel wasn’t dead? What if somehow he had survived? Tess shivered with fear, and tried to quell it at once. She’d shot him, but she hadn’t stayed to examine the results of her handiwork. She’d seen him lying there, his body still enough for death and blood oozing from the wound at his temple.
    He had to be dead, she told herself, willing it to be true, forcing her thoughts away from that awful night in Kent and back to her present situation.
    If she stayed here, what would happen? Would Monsieur Dumond expect her to become his mistress in exchange for a roof over her head? Would he humiliate her? Beat her?
    Yet, if she left, what would become of her then, wandering alone on the roads? She contemplated the very real possibility that she would have her baby in a ditch along the roadside.
    No, somehow, for the baby's sake, she had to convince Alexandre Dumond to let her stay here, at least until her baby was born.
    He wasn't like Nigel, she thought, again engaging in what she knew might very well be wishful thinking. No other man could be that cruel.
     
    ***
     
    Alexandre sat in the tavern and drank his wine. The other tables were crowded, but his was not. He drank alone and did not speak to anyone. No one spoke to him. But the stares and low murmurs of disapproval made it clear his presence had not gone unnoticed.
    Everyone in the village knew about Anne-Marie, of course. Some, he knew, pitied him, refusing to believe the worst. Others feared him, certain of his sin. Still others knew that he simply wanted to be left alone, and they respected his wishes.
    Lise, the barmaid, paused at his table. She did not fall into any of the other categories. She wanted him. Some women, for reasons he could not fathom, found an aura of danger irresistible. She leaned forward to refill his glass, giving him a plain view of what she could offer him. His gaze traveled slowly from the outline of her breasts beneath the white muslin, past the lips that parted seductively, to the brown eyes watching him with more than passing interest. He shook his head slowly.
    Her lips pouted and she reached out a hand to stroke his arm. Gently, he grasped her wrist and pushed her hand away.
    “Lise!” The sharp cry of the girl's stout maman rang out from the doorway of the kitchen.
    With an indignant flick of her skirt, Lise moved away. “Celibate as a monk,” she muttered.
    At the next table, a man grabbed her skirt and gave it a playful tug. “I'm not,” he told her, laughing.
    She yanked her skirt from his grip. “Oh, leave me be, Gaspard,” she snapped, slamming her bottle of wine down in front of him and striding away. Her mother followed her, sending Alexandre a frown over her shoulder. The mother’s disapproval, he concluded cynically, no doubt added to his attraction in the daughter’s eyes.
    He returned his attention to the girl, watching her back as she walked toward the kitchens, her long black hair swinging between her shoulder blades, and he felt a hint of regret. He hadn't had a woman in a very long time, and Lise was a pretty girl. She could be his for the taking any time she could escape her mother's careful supervision. But she was right about him. Celibate as a monk. Over three years now. What the hell was he waiting for?
    He leaned down and grabbed the sack at his feet. In it were the bread, butter, and olive oil he'd come into the village to obtain, as well as the packet of sable paintbrushes he had ordered from Marseilles. Swinging the sack over his shoulder, he tossed a few