Tempting the Wolf by Greiman Lois

Author:Greiman, Lois [Greiman, Lois]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Romance, Historical, Paranormal, Fantasy
ISBN: 9780060783983
Publisher: Avon
Published: 2006-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 13

There was truly very little to do in the colonnaded, moldering elegance of Bath. Very little… except to watch the white lady.

In his mind, O’Banyon did not call her Lady Colline. Nor did he call her Antoinette. For neither address quite suited her. Indeed, sometimes it seemed to take her a moment to even recognize the name. As if it didn’t belong to her. As if she were someone else entirely.

She sat now at a table in Spring Gardens speaking to an elderly woman and ignoring her sherry.

“So you’ve still not tested the waters?” the old woman was saying and took another sip of her drink.

“No, I fear I have not,” said Antoinette. She was dressed in a white gown shot with pearlescent strands. Her gloves extended well above her elbows, almost reaching the delicate silver tassels that hung from the center of her capped sleeves. Her eyes were shaded by the wide brim of a lacy bonnet. “Do you find them to be as spectacular as everyone suggests?”

“Well, I have bathed in Queen’s Bath innumerable times and drank enough water from the Pump Room to float His Majesty’s man o’ war, and yet…” She paused long enough to drain half her libations. “I am still old. But on the other hand, I am still alive… I believe.”

The countess smiled. “Sometimes that is the best any of us can hope for.”

“True indeed,” agreed the other, but suddenly her brows lowered. “Oh hell’s wrath, there’s my daughter,” she said and draining the remainder of her liquor, hobbled to her feet. “If you’ll excuse me,” she said, “I go to be berated. Though how I raised a prude, I’ve no idea.”

O’Banyon approached the countess a moment later. An old man with a gnarled staff gave him a nod and a smile, but O’Banyon barely noticed for the countess was all he could see. Setting a bottle of wine and two glasses on the table, he settled into a nearby chair, poured a measure of jewel-bright wine in each, and took a seat.

The countess raised a brow at him. “As you can see,” she said, “I’ve not yet finished my refreshment.”

“Nor shall ye,” he said. “Tell me, lass, why have ye come here?”

“To Bath?”

“Aye.”

” ‘Tis a place of some repute.”

“Oh aye,” he said, “I can see ye are enjoying its rejuvenating waters.”

She smiled wryly. “Perhaps I appreciate the relaxing atmosphere.”

“In truth, lass, I dunna believe ye can relax.”

True, to the casual observer, she might well seem content, at ease. But he was not a casual observer. He was, as Lady Anglehill had so astutely suggested, a man obsessed.

So be it.

“Whatever are you talking about?” she asked and settled back into her chair slightly, as if she were reclining to study him. ‘Twas a sign of increased tension and an increased desire to prove the opposite.

He watched and wondered why. Truth be told, most women liked little better than to speak of themselves. Which was most probably also true of men, though he’d never cared enough to find out for certain.

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