TemptressofTime Read Online Free Page A

you
welcome?”
    Irritated at being confronted by the two men who had spoken
fewer than a half-dozen words to her the entire week, she drew herself to her
full height and thrust her nose to within a fraction of an inch of his. “For
giving me these. Which,” she added, shoving a linen square at him, “is
something you—my h-husband’s brother—should have done when we set out.”
    He pulled back as if she’d slapped him. “Why would I? It is
something you should know about, being your uncle’s lady.”
    “Are you insinuating I had a sexual relationship with—with—”
She couldn’t even say the word “uncle”. “Is that why the baron didn’t attend
the wedding? He didn’t want to see his mis—his doxy married to someone else?”
She didn’t even care whether “doxy” was a common word in this time and place.
Too angry at being trapped, she couldn’t think straight. Or crooked, either.
    When Adrian closed his hands around her shoulders and dug
his fingers into her flesh, she reared back, noticing his suddenly pale face.
He looked even whiter than he had at their wedding. My proxy wedding ,
she amended, shoving futilely at his broad, hard chest.
    “What is wrong with you? I meant only that you served as his
lady of the manor after your aunt died.”
    Ignoring the embarrassed blush heating her cheeks, she
considered what to say next. She wanted to know where her parents were and why
they had sent her away, but then remembered noblewomen fostered just as boys
did. But at least she needn’t worry about either man thinking of her—of that
other Diane—as a whore. On an inward sigh of relief, she met Adrian’s intense
gaze, once more losing herself in his Caribbean-blue eyes. Before seeing her
latest cover art, she had always thought blond men too bland, too boyish, too
boring—as if they lacked all color. All joie de vivre . Adrian de Vesay
put paid to that notion.
    For one thing, his hair held a multitude of different
colors. Butter yellow and golden wheat and strands the rich brown of pussy
willows mixed with pampas grass ecru. Though cut short like the boy’s in that
old paint commercial, his hair looked silky and thick enough to sink her
fingers into. His eyes reminded her of the crystal-clear, shallow waters around
Jamaica. Just now, however, that blue deepened as if he recognized her interest
in him and might pursue it. Pursue her.
    She had no intention of letting his attractiveness get in
the way of getting home. And yet, unwilling to relinquish his attention, she
said, “Why did the king send the baron—my uncle—to Ireland? Especially when
he—the king—decreed I marry your brother.”
    “I know why Henry sent Arnaud there.” Releasing her, he
shrugged his massive shoulders, adding, “I have no idea why the baron went with
him.”
    Liar. His sudden flush told the tale. He knew exactly
why his brother and her—that other Diane’s—uncle had gone to Ireland together.
She set that aside and seized the inadvertent clue Adrian had given her.
    “Henry?”
    “King Henry.” Stepping back, he looked at her as if her
brains were seeping out of her ears. “Are you so isolated,” she heard stupid ,
“you do not know Henry the Second is your king?”
    “Of course I know,” she muttered while her mind
scrambled for facts. Henry the Second, King of England from 1154 to 1189. The
dates gave her a general idea of when she was, although they weren’t very
helpful in terms of specifics. The Irish connection, however… Think, Diane,
think! Ah yes! Henry Plantagenet asserted his lordship over the
Anglo-Norman nobles from South Wales who had begun to conquer Ireland in 1169.
As for sending that other Diane’s husband and uncle to Ireland…perhaps Henry
sought an Irish heiress to marry one of his sons. Not Richard the Lionheart nor
Prince John Lackland. She knew neither of them had married an Irish lass, never
mind an Irish heiress. Or did Henry the Second follow William the Conqueror’s
habit