Free Jo Beverly by Winter Fire Page A

downstairs. Ashart was already at the table.
    Lady Calliope greeted her with a cynical gleam in her eye. “I gather you’re to become one of the family. Don’t know whether to congratulate you or wonder at your wits. Sit and eat. You’re late.”
    Genova apologized and took some bread and meat, though she wasn’t sure she could swallow.
    “That’s what comes of all this disorder,” Lady Calliope grumbled. “Babies, then Ashart, now this. You’ll be of use to neither man nor beast with your head in the flowers.”
    Genova almost objected, but she caught a warning look from her false beloved. She bit vengefully into cold beef.
    “That Cupid is a damned awkward fellow,” Ashart said. “Here he is, preventing me from leaving Rothgar’s lair as soon as you are safe there.”
    Genova swallowed a mouthful in a lump in order to argue, but Thalia exclaimed, “You will stay, Ashart? How delightful that will be! And it will give you and Beowulf a chance to make peace. Old disagreements should be put to rest.”
    Ashart grimaced. “Don’t build your hopes, Thalia,” he said gently. “The problem has grown like a fungus in damp. Rothgar and I clash regularly over preferments at court, seats in Parliament, legislation, even purchases of art.”
    Genova seized on that. “Then perhaps you shouldn’t come, my lord.” With a languishing look, she added, “Though of course it will pain me to part.”
    Without disturbing his cool sophistication, Ashart managed to mirror her expression. “You are hardier than I,
pandolcetta mia.
To be apart from you would be more than I could bear.”
    Little
sweet bread, she thought with amusement. “But your presence might cause discord, dearest.”
    “Fear not, beloved. Rothgar and I are experts at frigid navigation.”
    Genova shivered at that image. She sipped coffee, searching for ways to change his mind. Impossible with Thalia, resilient as always, fighting on the other side. Even Lady Calliope was making no objection.
    When word came that the coaches were ready, Genova accepted her fate. She saw one bright aspect. If the marquess stayed at Rothgar Abbey, she’d havetime to persuade him to accept his duties. And after all, she wasn’t an inexperienced girl to be constantly a-tremor over a rake’s tricks.
    Servants hurried in to swathe them all for the chilly moment between inn and coach. Ashart supplanted the maid waiting to assist Genova.
    She could see no way to object, even when he stepped close behind her—closer than any servant would. He draped the cloak over her shoulders, sliding his hands forward to put the clasp into her hands close to her throat.
    She swallowed, able to imagine herself wavering like a person seen through baking hot air.
    A rake’s tricks!
    She took the clasp and stepped away, fumbling in her attempt to fasten it. Only when she’d managed it did she turn.
    A footman—one of his own, she reminded herself—was assisting Ashart with his riding cloak. Ashart clasped it at his neck, transforming before her eyes into the predatory stranger.
    Danger.
That awareness did not make him one jot less exciting. Quite the opposite, in fact. How could the physical be so at odds with the mind?
    He pulled on leather gauntlets and escorted her out of the room and into the warm coach. Everyone was in place, including Sheena and the baby, who was awake and at his charming best.
    Genova watched Ashart swing onto his horse, his cloak falling behind him. The breath of both horse and rider misted in the crisp morning air, which was hardly surprising. Only her disordered imagination saw the picture as hellish.
    “So, shall we have a Christmas wedding?”
    Oh, Lord.
Genova turned to Thalia, feeling beleaguered by Trayces. “It’s too early to think about that.”
    “Oh no, dear. Delay is such a mistake, and Christmas weddings are supposed to be blessed by good fortune.”
    “I could never marry without my father present.”
    “He could come! We could send this