The Passion by Donna Boyd Page A

pair of stylishly dressed ladies passing in an open carriage. "You are wrong, monsieur," she told him ungraciously. "I can very easily tel which of your acquaintances are werewolf and which are human by the depth of your bow. Those two, for example, are obviously of your own kind or you wouldn't be making such a spectacle of yourself."
    "Ha." His eyes twinkled as he pul ed his gaze away from the departing ladies, who put their heads together and hid their smiles behind pearl-buttoned hands. "Wrong again. That was the Marchioness de Tourideau and her sister the duchess, both quite charming and, sadly, human. But they do give excel ent parties."
    Tessa's frown only deepened with irritation. "Wel , then, perhaps you wil be good enough to tel me the secret. How may I know them?"
    He grinned. "You have no need to know them, chérie . Be assured, they wil always know you ."
    Tessa's expression became thoughtful. "Have you ever been in love with a human?"
    He laughed. "What astonishing notions are floating about in that pretty head of yours today! Next time, we wil buy you a bonnet with more ribbons; then you wil not have to think so hard!"
    Tessa stopped and, dropping his arm, turned to face him. The wind rising from the river ruffled her skirts and stretched its chil fingers over the spot where her calfskin boots ended and the silk stockings began. "Were you and my father lovers?" she inquired.
    He grimaced a little as he glanced down at her.
    " Chérie , speak in English. Your accent is making my ears hurt."
    She repeated the question in English. She knew he could sense her tension, could hear it in her voice, in the beat of her heart and even in the movement of her blood through her veins; it was a question that had vexed her too long in silence. But he made her wait another thoughtful, inscrutable minute before he answered, and then the answer was not at al what she might have wished.
    He nodded across the way to a passing couple, lifting his hat to the lady. His gaze returned to Tessa's eyes, narrowed slightly against the reflected light of the late-afternoon sun but otherwise showing no change of expression whatsoever.
    He commented mildly, "What a very peculiar question. I should think after living among us for these weeks you might have acquired some sophistication, but I'm beginning to fear that's a vain aspiration. I loved your father, yes. But that's not what you want to know, is it? You want to know whether we had sex together, and I don't think I wil answer you. You're far too curious as it is."
    She retorted, "You're always saying curiosity is a virtue."
    "In a werewolf. In a human it is merely annoying."
    "You won't make me less curious by refusing to answer my questions."
    He looked at her for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he murmured, in English, "Just so."
    His features gentled as he explained. " Chérie , we do not make love with humans, not in the way you mean. Although there are certain pleasures we can share, those pleasures are no more meaningful to us than a good meal or a warm bath. Since there can never be a mating between the species, intercourse between us would be absurd and, frankly, a little repugnant. You can surely understand that."
    Tessa did not understand, not completely, and her curiosity, far from being satisfied, was only intensified. She was both relieved and strangely disappointed. She said, "Do you find me repugnant, then?"
    He laughed. "No, I find you impossible—and irresistible! Now stop with your incessant questions and prove yourself useful. Describe to me how the early works of Franz Schubert reflect the influence of Haydn and Mozart, and, given such influence, why he is referred to as the father of German lieder."
    He took her fingers and again tucked them securely beneath his arm, resuming their strol . Tessa felt the cold air redden her nose, the sun warm on her cheeks, the thril of his presence tingling in her skin.
    And it was very difficult to be annoyed with him.