assure herself as she checked her reflection in Marianne's dressing table mirror, perhaps once he viewed her in the clear light of day, he would no longer find her appealing. She was, after all, far different from the glamorous women Shade usually preferred to take to his bed.
The dress she was wearing today was a drab shade of brown, every bit as sedate as yesterday's black garb. As she buttoned her long cuffs, Rachel was vaguely surprised that the skin on her wrists hadn't been branded by his hot lips.
Shaking off the evocative, too-perilous memory, she tied her hair back into its neat coil at the nape of her neck. She took another quick glance at herself in the mirror. Her eyes, unhighlighted by any cosmetic magic, seemed oddly different to her today.
She leaned closer, studied her reflection judiciously and groaned as she realized the difference was a certain awareness in their depths that had not been there the last time she looked. Awareness and an undeniable eagerness to see Shade again.
She turned to leave the bedroom, then, on impulse, pinched her cheeks. Hard, until they glowed a healthy pink. Not wanting to consider the implications of such behavior, she followed the enticing scent of coffee down the stairs to the kitchen.
Marianne was sitting at the table, reading the International section of The Washington Post and drinking from an earthenware mug. She looked up and smiled when Rachel entered.
"Good morning. Would you like some coffee?"
"Good morning. I think I would, thank you."
Rachel studied the pregnant woman with a professional eye. The first trimester of pregnancy was never easy; from the smudged circles beneath Marianne O'Donahue's eyes and her unhealthy pallor, Rachel discerned that hers was proving exceedingly difficult. Which wasn't a surprise, considering how worried she must be about her husband.
"Don't get up." Rachel poured a cup of the fragrant black beverage from the carafe of the electric coffee-maker, and took a tentative taste of the drink that during her time on earth had been declared a forbidden, sinful drink of infidels.
Later, she recalled, Pope Clement, a convert of the bracing brew, had given coffee official Christian status by actually baptizing it.
"I hope I didn't keep you awake last night," Marianne said. "I couldn't sleep, so I turned on CNN."
Watching for news of her husband on the twenty-four-hour news channel, Rachel supposed. That explained the voices she'd heard downstairs. The voices she thought belonged to Marianne and Shade. Obviously he'd been in bed when she entered his bedroom.
"You didn't disturb me at all." The first sip had burned her tongue. Rachel blew lightly on the coffee and tried again. "This is very good," she said, "but do you think you should be drinking it in your condition?"
"Oh, I always stick to herbal tea." Marianne raised her mug as if to back up her claim. "I've always found coffee too strong for my taste, but Shade likes it thick enough to stand a spoon upright."
"Speaking of Shade," Rachel said with feigned casualness, "has he come down yet?"
"Hours ago. He said he had some business to attend to and would be back in a while." Marianne's soft, shadowed eyes revealed her discomfort with the rest of the message. "He also told me I wasn't to let you out of my sight."
Rachel took another sip, enjoying the way the caffeine surged through her system. "I'm so pleased he trusts me."
Marianne could not miss her dry tone. She folded her hands atop the newspaper. "How much do you know about Shade?"
Rachel shrugged. "Enough."
Marianne studied her thoughtfully. Rachel knew she was censoring her words. "Life hasn't been easy for Shade. It wasn't for Conlan, either. But different people respond to life experiences in different ways."
Rachel sat down in a chair across the table from her hostess. "I know he's had a difficult life. But he certainly doesn't make things very easy."
"No." Marianne smiled at that. "Shade is not an easy man to know. And
The dress she was wearing today was a drab shade of brown, every bit as sedate as yesterday's black garb. As she buttoned her long cuffs, Rachel was vaguely surprised that the skin on her wrists hadn't been branded by his hot lips.
Shaking off the evocative, too-perilous memory, she tied her hair back into its neat coil at the nape of her neck. She took another quick glance at herself in the mirror. Her eyes, unhighlighted by any cosmetic magic, seemed oddly different to her today.
She leaned closer, studied her reflection judiciously and groaned as she realized the difference was a certain awareness in their depths that had not been there the last time she looked. Awareness and an undeniable eagerness to see Shade again.
She turned to leave the bedroom, then, on impulse, pinched her cheeks. Hard, until they glowed a healthy pink. Not wanting to consider the implications of such behavior, she followed the enticing scent of coffee down the stairs to the kitchen.
Marianne was sitting at the table, reading the International section of The Washington Post and drinking from an earthenware mug. She looked up and smiled when Rachel entered.
"Good morning. Would you like some coffee?"
"Good morning. I think I would, thank you."
Rachel studied the pregnant woman with a professional eye. The first trimester of pregnancy was never easy; from the smudged circles beneath Marianne O'Donahue's eyes and her unhealthy pallor, Rachel discerned that hers was proving exceedingly difficult. Which wasn't a surprise, considering how worried she must be about her husband.
"Don't get up." Rachel poured a cup of the fragrant black beverage from the carafe of the electric coffee-maker, and took a tentative taste of the drink that during her time on earth had been declared a forbidden, sinful drink of infidels.
Later, she recalled, Pope Clement, a convert of the bracing brew, had given coffee official Christian status by actually baptizing it.
"I hope I didn't keep you awake last night," Marianne said. "I couldn't sleep, so I turned on CNN."
Watching for news of her husband on the twenty-four-hour news channel, Rachel supposed. That explained the voices she'd heard downstairs. The voices she thought belonged to Marianne and Shade. Obviously he'd been in bed when she entered his bedroom.
"You didn't disturb me at all." The first sip had burned her tongue. Rachel blew lightly on the coffee and tried again. "This is very good," she said, "but do you think you should be drinking it in your condition?"
"Oh, I always stick to herbal tea." Marianne raised her mug as if to back up her claim. "I've always found coffee too strong for my taste, but Shade likes it thick enough to stand a spoon upright."
"Speaking of Shade," Rachel said with feigned casualness, "has he come down yet?"
"Hours ago. He said he had some business to attend to and would be back in a while." Marianne's soft, shadowed eyes revealed her discomfort with the rest of the message. "He also told me I wasn't to let you out of my sight."
Rachel took another sip, enjoying the way the caffeine surged through her system. "I'm so pleased he trusts me."
Marianne could not miss her dry tone. She folded her hands atop the newspaper. "How much do you know about Shade?"
Rachel shrugged. "Enough."
Marianne studied her thoughtfully. Rachel knew she was censoring her words. "Life hasn't been easy for Shade. It wasn't for Conlan, either. But different people respond to life experiences in different ways."
Rachel sat down in a chair across the table from her hostess. "I know he's had a difficult life. But he certainly doesn't make things very easy."
"No." Marianne smiled at that. "Shade is not an easy man to know. And
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