The Sharp Hook of Love by Sherry Jones

to me, too.” I leaned against him, feeling as though I might melt. “To have you in Paris again isstrange enough. It seems you might disappear at any moment, as though you were an apparition, or made of smoke. But to see you every night—I cannot believe it.”
    â€œI cannot believe how easily Fulbert fell into my trap.” He laughed again. “And now he has consigned his little lamb to the wolf.”
    â€œYou deceived him.” I pulled away.
    â€œAh, but deception is not a sin.” Abelard wagged his finger. “You have said so yourself.”
    â€œWhat I have said is that, in determining the sinfulness of an act, one ought to consider the doer’s intentions.”
    â€œBehold the bold flush of your cheeks, the flash of your eyes!”
    â€œMy uncle trusts you, and yet you mock him as though he were a fool.”
    â€œI only did it to be with you, my lamb.”
    â€œDo not call me that.”
    â€œI only did it to be with you, light of my days. Think of it, Heloise—now we will see each other nightly. I will ride home with your uncle at vespers, and here you will be, your face shining with love—”
    â€œYour presumption astonishes me.” Yet I had to smile.
    â€œYour face shining with pleasure at the prospect of another stimulating evening, first at supper and then, afterward, here, where we may talk into the night for as long as we desire. Your eyes bright with excitement, as they are now.”
    He pulled me closer than before, so that I felt his pulse thumping against my chest and another part of him pressing against my thigh. I gasped, sensing danger, as though an intruder lurked at my door. I shifted my hips and would have moved away, but his hands remained firm at my waist.
    â€œAre you sorry I took such a liberty?” He pressed his cheek to mine.
    â€œI worry that you will be sorry. You will regret this move, I fear.”
    â€œWhat shall I regret—giving up a salary I do not need? Yes, that’s right, dear girl, I do not need your uncle’s money. Do you hate me for pretending otherwise? Had I told him the truth, he would not have believed me. Such men cannot know what it means to despise worldly riches, as you and I do.”
    Truer words were never spoken. Abelard had given up a lord’s château and all the privileges of landed wealth for the pursuit of knowledge. I, who had never owned anything, dreamed not of moneyed counts as Agnes did, but of heading the Fontevraud Abbey so that I might endow generations of girls with the gift of knowledge as my teacher, the prioress Beatrice, had done for me at Argenteuil. Never were two minds more alike than Abelard’s and mine.
    Our eyes met, and we joined ourselves in another kiss, becoming one in breath as in mind. Our mouths feasted hungrily, but, rather than sate my appetite, Abelard’s kisses only made me yearn for more. I groaned.
    â€œShh! I feel the same way, but we do not want Fulbert to hear.” Abelard laughed tentatively, as though tiptoeing across humor’s prickly terrain.
    â€œThat is what I meant when I said you might regret this move. Are you certain you wish to take such a risk? What of the danger to you—to us both?”
    His lips twitched. “ ‘The wise man regards the reason for his actions, but not the results.’ ”
    I had never agreed with Seneca on this. “I beg you to reconsider. If Uncle Fulbert discovers us, he will kill us.”
    â€œA man cannot kill you if he cannot see you.” Abelard’s gaze roamed across my throat, down to my breasts. “Or, if he sees two of you.” He nuzzled my throat and stroked the small of my back,sending pleasure coursing up my spine. He smelled of woodsmoke and wine, and, underneath, of soap. “What should I reconsider—my agreement with your uncle or my feelings for you, which I could no sooner relinquish than my need for air?”
    As he kissed