Forever His(89)

What had she intended when she came to him in the orchard that day of Tourelle’s visit? Was revealing her orders a daring act of bravery, in utter defiance of her overlord, or a smoothly cunning trick?

Did she seek to save him, or to trap him?

And what of her strange attacks of panic, which had become more frequent as they had left his castle farther behind? Were they reality or ruse?

He had no answers. She had led him in such circles that it was impossible now for him to sort truth from lie. And more difficult still to untangle any of it from desire.

His throat was dry, even as he looked at her and thought the word. Desire. Need. Night by night, hour by hour, he had constructed a wall of defense against it, refusing to think of her as aught but she or her or wife. He had told himself that she was merely a woman, no more and no less attractive than any other he had known.

But when he looked at her, even the briefest glance, the others he had known merged into naught but a vague memory of curves and smiles and silken hair and fleeting pleasures.

She was more than that. So much more. She was the stormy clash of gray and blue in sea-deep eyes. The scent of thyme and lavender and roses. And a troublesome kitten, and odd hats. The mutinous tilt of a feminine chin.

She was a blaze of sweet passion in his arms.

She was the sound of giggles in his kitchen.

And she had entwined herself through his life so deeply that he could not tell where the connection between them began or ended.

Or whether he wanted it to end. For in a way that no other woman ever had been, she was important to him. He should want her out of his life, more than ever, yet he wanted her with him. More than ever.

And it was because of her, because he was concerned for her, that he found himself at this keep that he had never wished to look upon again ... steeling himself to face a woman who liked him even less than his wife did: his belle-soeur, his sister-in-law, who might well greet him with an arrow through his throat.

If she was in a good mood.

***

Lady Avril’s brown hair hung down her back, unbound and tangled. It made her look younger than her twenty years. Gaston found her where the servants had said he would: in the solar, seated before the window. In Gerard’s favorite chair.

She was staring down at her needlework, though her hand rested upon it unmoving and the sun’s light had long since faded. The fire on the hearth had burned low.

She had been in here the entire day, they had said, but even from where he stood, Gaston could see that she had worked only a few stitches.

“Avril?” he said softly.

She did not reply, or acknowledge him at all, and he did not know what else to say. Her guards and retainers had been overjoyed to see him. Their mistress, they revealed, was still deeply depressed over her husband’s death, she had not been eating well, and they were most concerned.

Especially since she was with child.

Gaston could still barely believe that stunning news, but beneath the folds of the loose-fitting black gown she wore, he could see the roundness. She was well along. Her maid had said the child was expected in another three months.

His brother’s child.

The idea brought a strange, tight feeling to his throat. What was it he had thought? Life in the midst of death.

Yet he had stepped into this chamber expecting to be greeted by an earful of curses, not by this wan, silent ghost. Looking at her now, he found it impossible to picture the fire-tempered lady who had so captivated his brother. So changed him.

“Avril?” He took a step toward her. “Why did you—”

“If you ask me whether the child is Gerard’s, I swear to God I will strike you dead.”

She had not moved, or even lifted her gaze, but her words stopped him in his tracks. And made him feel a bit better. Though the tone was lifeless, the threat was pure Avril.

“I do not question the child’s parentage,” he assured her immediately.

“Ah, but you cannot claim it did not cross your mind, beau-frère. Is it not what you have demanded that I do? Replace him? Find another man?”

“I have encouraged you to marry again,” Gaston corrected quietly. “For your own sake. Have you not given thought to what I suggested when I saw you last?”

“Nay. Have you given thought to what I suggested?”

“Since I am standing here before you, it should be obvious that I have not thrown myself into Hell’s deepest pit to burn for all eternity.”

She lifted her gaze to his at last. There was only the smallest spark left in her green eyes. “The suggestion stands.”

Gaston held his temper in check. “Avril, why did you—”

“Have you come to tell me that I must leave here?”

That struck him like a blow. How could she believe him capable of such cruelty? Did she actually think that he would throw her out? In her condition? “Nay,” he grated out. “We are on our way to Father’s keep. This is your home, and shall be for as long as you wish. As I told you before.”