Thief of Hearts by Teresa Medeiros

Author:Teresa Medeiros [Medeiros, Teresa]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3, mobi
Tags: Historical Romance, Erotic, Adult
ISBN: 9780553590142
Google: 27ojqifmub4C
Amazon: 0553590146
Barnesnoble: 0553590146
Goodreads: 1054298
Publisher: Bantam
Published: 1994-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seventeen

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Lucy stumbled across the lawn, each clumsy thud of her feet breaking the powdery crust of snow. Her heart hammered in her ears as if to drown out the echo of Gerard's crass dismissal. Icy flakes battered her face, melting as they encountered the warm tears coursing down her cheeks.

She didn't know where she was going until she saw the homely old oak, its harsh silhouette blurred by a dusting of snow. She sank to her knees beneath the shelter of its branches, hugging herself as the cold seeped into her naked limbs.

The night whispered its mournful secrets in the creak of the withered branches. Lucy bleakly surveyed the snowswept vista, wishing for the bitterness to pronounce it ugly. But she would be lying if she did. The hills rolling down to the river still sparkled with a heavenly iridescence. The snowflakes still waltzed and twirled to the silent music of the icy gusts. Lucy shivered. It was all so beautiful. So treacherous. Like love itself.

She buried her face in her hands. Gerard didn't want her any more than her father ever had. He might lust after her as all those men had lusted after her mother, but he would never love her. Her body, still tingly and slightly tender from his loving attentions, throbbed in contradiction.

What terrible flaw did she possess that made it so impossible for anyone to love her?

After tonight, there wouldn't even be anyone to watch after her. No one to keep the light in the gatehouse burning after midnight. No one to stand beneath the old oak at dawn. No one to blow smoke rings at her nose or tease her until she sputtered with indignation. After tonight, Gerard's rich laughter would be nothing more than a memory, a haunting echo of a brief interlude in her colorless life.

Lucy's fingernails dug into her elbows as she doubled over, bracing herself for a fresh torrent of tears. But her pain ran beyond tears into a soundless cry of agony. When she finally lifted her face to the murky sky, it was as dry and barren as the winter wind whisking through her soul.

A flicker of light in the darkened windowpane of the library caught her eye. An acrid bitterness burned her throat. Her father couldn't spare the time to wish his only daughter good night, but he could work until the wee hours of the morning. He was probably reviewing his memoirs, gloating over his feats of derring-do transcribed in her own tidy hand.

Lucy climbed to her feet, her spine rigid. The wind molded her thin gown to her legs, reminding her of the night she'd stood on the deck of the Tiberius and watched the Retribution melt out of the mist. Gerard had been right about one thing. She would have been better off clinging to her fantasies of a dashing pirate than risking her heart to the fickle affections of flesh-and-blood men.

She started for the house, her strides brisk with purpose.

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