Wild Hearts by Virginia Henley Page B

brings her a big box of chocolates from Edinburgh. Whenever he comes in, the first thing he always does is rush up to the White Tower," sighed Damascus.
    "She makes this up as she goes along," assured Alexandria. "Damascus lives in a fantasy world where everything must be perfect."
    "Why didn't you tell me about her?" demanded Tabby.
    "Who?" asked Shannon coming into the room.
    "Anne," answered Alexandria.
    "That bitch! God, how that man has been made to suffer. They hate each other with a vengeance, you know. They go at it like cat and dog! Haven't you heard them? One night he beat her so badly, she hasn't walked since. She was lucky he only crippled her— he should have killed her. But mark my words, one day he will have had enough, and we will find her body smashed on the cobblestones of the keep."
    "She makes this up as she goes along," repeated Alexandria reassuringly. "Shannon lives for melodrama."
    Tabby looked from one to the other and said, "My God, you are all raving lunatics." By the time she reached her chamber, the salt tears were blinding. She slammed the door and fell on the bed to sob her eyes out.
    After she had exhausted herself, she noticed what a crumpled mess she was making out of Shannon's green velvet. "Damn,'" she swore, and carefully removed the habit and hung it up. Then, in a frenzy of abandoned self-pity, she threw herself down and resumed sobbing.
    She fell asleep long before Paris sought his bed; he therefore heard nothing of her distress. Sleep eluded him, though he willed it to still his thoughts, but every time he closed his eyes, Tabby was there with him.
    She was everything he desired in a woman. Although exquisitely beautiful, she was not vain or spoiled, and she had a sweet innocence that had already found its way to his heart. Once he had made her his mistress, he would delight in spoiling her, giving her the things she had never enjoyed. He could go up to her now It would be so simple, none would know: He should have taken her today in the cornfield, in the sunshine. How lovely it would have been. What had stopped him? He hesitated only because he did not want to frighten her She was still asking to go back to Edinburgh. Didn't she know he could never let her go? His thoughts shifted to the man in Edinburgh. No doubt Abrahams would keep the abduction as quiet as he could, for fear of being Iaughed at. Better to be thought a fool than to open your mouth and remove all doubt. Abrahams would be making some discrete inquiries, though. It was probably killing him not to know the identity of who had carried out the abduction.
    Who had followed him today? Was there a connection? There was no one Abrahams could question who would lead him to Paris. All at once he sat bolt-upright in bed. That old bitch who ran the orphanage! What was her name? Mrs. Graham. Would she remember his visit two years back? If Abrahams got to her before he did, she just might. He slipped from his bed and began to dress. This could not wait until morning.
    Paris, wearing dark riding clothes, wanted to be as inconspicuous as possible. He entered the formidable gray structure through a high window at the side of the building and once more found himself in the dismal entrance hall of the orphanage. He waited a few silent moments, then went toward the back, where he knew Mrs. Graham had her private quarters. Her sitting room was empty. He sensed something as his eyes swept the darkened room. His ears were alerted for any strange sound, but all he could hear was the loud ticking of a clock. Her bedroom door stood open. Quietly, he walked to the door and struck a light.
    The body lay upon the bed in a natural pose. He swiftly discerned her throat had not been cut, nor were there any wounds. He knew, however, that she had been murdered. Smothered in her sleep most likely, as there was no sign of a struggle. This was one he could definitely lay at Abrahams's door. No doubt Tabby hadn't been the only orphan he'd purchased from