[Samuel Barbara] The Black Angel(Book4You) by Barbara Samuel Page A

I do not picture you reading much at all."
    A shrug, a restless shift in his seat. "I prefer to be busy at something," he agreed. "But my mother was often abed with various complaints. I often read to her."
    Adriana felt a stillness press into her at the sudden vision of him sitting with his ill mother, reading. It made him seem too good.
    "Her favorite," he said, and the word rolled from his tongue in that musical lilt, "was
Rasselas
."
    "
A
very sad book indeed."
    He shook his head. "She wept and wept over it. I can't think why a person would want to weep so."
    A rut in the road jolted them roughly, and Adriana put her hand out to steady herself before she answered. "At times," she said quietly, her gaze fixed on the passing landscape, "it seems that's all there is to do. And it can be cleansing, in its way." She smiled. "But I suppose men do not have that freedom."
    "No, I think not."
    "Would it not be a relief, at times? Haven't you ever wished to howl and scream in grief or anger?"
    The heavy lashes descended, hiding his reaction. "A man does not howl or scream. That's left to women."
    Realizing the conversation had drifted into a realm that was rather darker than she intended, Adriana said, "So what is your favorite novel, then? Do you have one?"
    "I don't care for novels, particularly. Laborious and too long. I prefer essays and humorists. Swift, for example."
    "Of course." She smiled.
    "And Shakespeare. Such pretty words—they roll in your mouth like some delicious parfait." He closed his eyes and quoted,
     
    "And I serve the fairy queen;
    To dew her orbs upon the green,
    The cowslips tall her pensioners be:
    In the gold coats spots you see;
    Those be rubies, fairy favors,
    In those freckles live their savors."
     
    Adriana was captured by the rolling music of his brogue, snared by the obvious pleasure he took in having the words against that tongue. His closed eyes entranced her, and she found her eyes upon his lips.
    "'I must go seek some dewdrops here,'" he continued. '"And hang a pearl in every cowslip's ear.'" He opened his eyes, grinning and clearly charmed. " 'Hang a pearl in every cowslip's ear,'" he repeated. "I loved that as a boy."
    She blinked, forcing herself to straighten from the rapt posture she'd assumed under the spell of his voice. God save her from his quoting the sonnets! "Well done," she said calmly. "It somehow does not surprise me you quote
A Midsummer Night's Dream
—the fairy queen and all of that. You Irish do have that longing for magic, don't you?"
    "It's what ails you English," he returned, grinning. "Too much reason."
    "No such thing, sir. Reason, order, industry—that's what the world is made of."
    His laughter boomed out of him, robust and glorious. Adriana shivered at the sound, and found herself quite unable to tear her eyes from him.
    "It isn't that funny," she said.
    "I think," he said, with eyes glittering, "that you resist magic for fear of letting it sweep you away."
    She raised her chin, smoothed her skirt. "Not so. Superstition is wearying beyond measure. My maid, Fiona, can barely take a breath without some ritual attached. She put rue in the corners of my chamber."
    "Did she, now?"
    "Yes! And there's a candle for this and a charm for that, and a special blessing to say when you cross a particular part of a road, and an uncursing to do when a villager cackles." She rolled her eyes. "She's quite gifted and generally a very intelligent girl, so I allow her to do what she feels she must, but I vow it would be exhausting to remember it all."
    He raised an ironic brow. "How generous of you."
    Adriana looked away, chastened. Why did he make her always feel as if she were some silly, vain woman? She wasn't, she thought fiercely, and pointedly looked outside, turning now to heavy forest on either side of the road. The rain blurred the view a bit, making it appear to be a dream world, smears of the darkest green of pine mingled with the sudden splash of yellow on birch and ash. A