Free The Light in the Darkness by Ellen Fisher

enough peace in her life since her parents had died. Looking at the stars seemed to be the only thing that could quiet her mind and make her feel calm.
    Walking silently toward the massive front door, she heard someone’s voice. She hesitated, fearful of being caught. Then she recognized it as Grey’s voice. Apparently he was talking to himself. Perhaps, she thought, he was as daft as she herself was.
    Curiosity getting the better of her, she crept nearer the study door, from behind which his voice drifted. The door was ajar, and she peered cautiously around it. Her husband was slouched in a leather-upholstered easy chair, his tanned features deeply shadowed by the light of the guttering candle perched on the edge of his secretary desk. His empty eyes, black in the candlelight, were fixed on a portrait over the fireplace. And he appeared to be addressing it.
    “I miss you,” he said hoarsely. “I miss you so much.” Though the words were blurred with drink, there was no mistaking the note of love and longing that shaded his voice. “I wish—that you could be here with me—”
    And then he paused, apparently listening for a response.
    Jennifer drew in her breath so sharply that she was afraid he would hear her, but his attention was focused completely on the portrait. He
was
mad, she realized dully, yet the realization did not bring horror, only pity. It mattered not one bit to her that her husband was insane, for she believed that she herself was none too sane. Who was to define sanity, in such a mad world? But the grief on hisface was enough to make anyone pity him, even someone like Jennifer, who could feel so little.
    Grey started murmuring again, too quietly for her to hear the words. She glanced quickly at the painting over the black-painted mantel. It depicted a lovely woman, with ice blue eyes and snow blond hair, clad in a pale blue satin gown with lavish ruffles of lace adorning the low neckline. In her bodice was a single pink rose. Jennifer stared from the portrait to Grey’s ravaged face, and she understood.
    Grey was talking to Diana.
    Now Grey’s voice grew louder, as though he were arguing. “I know I shouldn’t have brought her here, beloved, but I only wed her so that I could be left alone. Alone with you.” A pause. “Please don’t be angry with me, love.”
    In his mind, Jennifer realized, Diana was angry with him for installing another woman in her place. Now he began to plead with her. “Please, dearest, I didn’t mean any harm. Come back, beloved—please come back!”
    And then he collapsed back into his chair and sank his head wearily into his hands, still murmuring, “Come back … come back.…”
    Still peering anxiously around the door, Jennifer’s eyes widened. Astonished, she watched as the cold, bitter man she had married wept like a child.

SIX
    “O h, God, Grey, I’ve missed you.”
    Grey regarded his mistress sardonically, no trace of affection discernible on his face “More to the point, I suspect,” he drawled, “you’ve missed the amusement I provide.”
    To illustrate his point, he let his hand drift from her mahogany hair to her bare breasts, lightly brushing over nipples that were erect in the chilly January breeze. She moaned, protesting huskily, “Truly, Grey, I have missed you. As well as the amusement you provide.”
    Grey shrugged indifferently and turned away, much to her dismay. His body had been sated for now, and he no longer had any interest in her as she sprawled on the ground. Her body was lovely, voluptuous yet firm, but he had no use for her once she had satisfied his lust. He had not missed her in the least.
    He buttoned his breeches and brushed away sundry bits of pine straw that were clinging to his elegant, if somewhat disheveled, clothing. Usually they made love in an abandoned, crumbling cabin that had formerly been slave quarters, but Grey, made more amorous than usual by his six weeks of abstinence, had been impatient. The cold weather