Adele wanted Geoffrey desperately. She must see him. She was quite certain she could not live without him. He had become an obsession. Instead of taking a lover, she used herself, while thinking of him. Once they were together, once they were in each other’s arms, she would know that her fears were foolish and misplaced. He loved her, she was sure of it. And as he would not come to her, she had been daring—she had gone to him.
Besides, she had something to tell him, something that would change their relationship forever, something that could not wait. And after this day, Geoffrey would not be able to elude her, not ever again. After this day, the bond between them would never be revoked.
Geoffrey was incredulous. He paused as he leaned over a long table spread with scrolls, gazing up at the young deacon who stood in the chamber’s doorway. They were in one of the chambers in Canterbury’s cathedral, from which most of the see’s business was conducted. “I beg your pardon?”
“There is a Lady Ferrars here, my lord, and she wishes to speak with you.”
Geoffrey straightened. He was disbelieving and furious, but fortunately Anselm was in London. Dear God, hadn’t she understood what his refusal to come to her meant?
It was not that his huge lust had died. Hardly. But she was married now, and Geoffrey would not cuckold a man he happened to respect. Other men might have no qualms about doing so, but he was not like other men—he had never been like other men. Indeed, this added factor finally meant that he would be the victor in his own private war with himself. “Show her in,” he said irritably.
Adele swept into the room. Geoffrey’s body tightened. She wore a red wool mantle, and the hot color suited her. Despite his resolve, which remained firm, she was ravishing.
“My lord,” she whispered, curtsying.
Geoffrey murmured a nonsensical greeting, but did not touch her to help her to rise. The deacon had gone, unfortunately, leaving them alone. “Lady Ferrars, I see that matrimony agrees with you,” Geoffrey said briskly. The sooner she was gone, the better. He did not trust himself after all.
Adele’s gaze blackened and her sultry smile died. “Of course it does,” she managed.
“And how is the groom?”
Her eyes blazed. Pointedly she shot a dark look at the open door, but Geoffrey ignored it. “Henry is in Tutberry,” she finally said. “He has been there for several weeks.”
“So I have heard,” Geoffrey said wryly. Adele had sent him a dozen messages, each and every one reminding him that she was alone. “How can I help you, Lady Ferrars?”
She stared with unspoken urgency. “I am on my way to my brother’s estate in Kent. I wish to pass the night here, my lord.”
Geoffrey was furious. Such a request was common and could not be refused, for travelers were always granted a bed and meal in any abbey they happened to pass by. St. Augustine’s was just across the way. “You are speaking with the wrong man, lady,” he murmured. “The abbot will gladly put you up.” But what did Adele think to achieve by this effort on her part? he wondered. She would not be able to sneak out of the abbey gates after dark—or did she hope to gain an afternoon rendezvous in a wooded glade? Knowing her as he did, it was entirely possible.
And despite himself, knowing what such a rendezvous promised, he grew hard and thick.
“I am very tired,” Adele said. “I thought to stop here and rest first.”
Geoffrey was silent, so that no evidence of arousal would linger in his tone. “Of course, Lady Ferrars, as you wish.”
Her eyes snapped. “Indeed, I do not feel well. I think I might have to remain for several days before continuing my journey south.”
Geoffrey was about to make a comment when he realized what she was doing. She had taken her hand and placed it beneath her mantle upon her silk-clad abdomen. She caressed herself.
In a low voice, her gaze holding his, she said, “Perhaps I should not be traveling at all.”
‘Twas not his place to ask—not if they were unfamiliar with each other—but her gesture was unmistakable. Swiftly Geoffrey went to the door and shut it. He faced her, disbelieving. “If you are with child, Lady Ferrars, you should not be on the roads.”
“Then I have erred,” she said huskily. But she was smiling, triumphant.
Geoffrey was frozen. Adele was with child.Was it his?
Adele suddenly swayed. “I feel quite faint,” she murmured.
Geoffrey caught her before she swooned, and she leaned heavily in his arms. A heartbeat later she had turned in his embrace, smiling up at him. “At long last,” she said hoarsely, making no attempt to hide her excitement.
For one instant, his gaze wandered from her lush mouth to her heaving bosom. Her mantle had opened, and as she wore not one thing under her fine silk tunic, her nipples, large and erect, were clearly visible, as was every inch of her voluptuous figure. Geoffrey saw no sign of a pregnancy. “Are you with child?” He set her away abruptly.
Instantly she was back in his arms. “We must meet!”
Geoffrey gripped her wrists, forcing her to break her hold upon him. “No, Adele, it is over.”
She inhaled. Then she twisted wildly. “I will kill you!”
