Lord Deverill's Heir, Catherine Coulter [the best motivational books .TXT] 📗

she had overheard her father say to one of his friends: “I rode the wench until she would have thrown me off, if she could.” She thought ironically that at least the meaning of his crude remark was now clear to her.

Almost unwilling she turned Lucifer about and headed at a slow trot back to Evesham Abbey. She must have ridden for hours, for the sun was reaching its zenith in the sky.

She could feel her bitter calm begin to crumble the nearer she drew to his home. Justin would be there, waiting. She would have to face him, not just today, but tomorrow, a lifetime of tomorrows. For a fleeting moment she considered confronting him, to plead her innocence again, to demand to know who had told him such a damning lie. She pictured such a scene in her mind and saw herself pleading and him rejecting her pleas, as he had the night before. Instinctively, after his rage of last night, she knew that he would still disbelieve her. She pictured renewed fury and savage reprisal. In that instant she hated that she was female and thus weaker, hated his superior strength that could allow him to dominate her through sheer physical power.

Arabella shivered despite the hot sun that beat down upon her black riding habit. Surely he would not force her to submit to him again.

Hadn’t he said he wouldn’t spill his seed in her again? Hadn’t he said that he wanted no child from her? His revenge upon her had been thorough and merciless. But it was over now, or at least for as long as he kept to his vow.

She guided Lucifer into the stable yard, pulled up before her sweating groom, and slid to the ground. She hated the feeling of wariness, of dread that washed over her as she neared the front doors of Evesham Abbey. God, if she did not have her pride, she would have nothing. He must not know how he had hurt her, disillusioned her. She would not allow that. She thought again of his words of the night before, spoken so calmly at her and yet there was such deadly fury in his voice. She had played his words over and over in her mind, yet there was one word he had said to her that she did not understand. Strangely, it seemed vitally important to her that she know the meaning of that word.

She glanced up at the sun, guessed that it neared luncheon, then let herself quietly into a side entrance. She thought only to avoid seeing Justin before it was absolutely necessary. She trod through her home to the library, slipped through the door, and shut it quietly behind her.

Arabella was not an enthusiastic scholar, certainly not much addicted to the use of the dictionary. Thus she spent several minutes perusing the book-lined shelves to locate it. She had always assumed that any words her father did not use were not worth knowing about. She was beginning to think that in this instance she was wrong. She pulled the leather-bound volume from the shelf, wet her fingertips on her tongue, and began to riffle through the stiff pages.

Her fingers sped down the columns until she found the word she sought.

“Sodomy,” she read. “Middle English and Old French ‘sodomie’.” There were biblical references, but nothing to tell her what it meant. “Well, damnation. What could he have meant? What?” Arabella suddenly felt movement behind her and whirled about, nearly dropping the dictionary, so thick and heavy that it would have broken her foot. She looked up at the earl, who stood with negligent ease, his hand resting flat on the top of the desk. Her mouth went dry. She felt guilty even though there was no reason to. She’d even been speaking out loud.

Had he heard her? Of course he had.

“Well, my dear wife, what word could be of such interest to bring you to the dictionary?”

He sounded colder than he had the night before. Utterly apart from her.

Contemptuous of her. Would he hurt her again? Rip off her clothes again?

She shook her head even as she looked down at the word, so very damning by itself, and she tried to slam the dictionary closed. He moved quickly, wresting it from her arms.

“Surely we could have no secrets? Aren’t we married? Come, Arabella, if you wish to know the meaning of a word, you have but to ask me.” For a brief instant, she wanted to demand that he call her ma’am, but she couldn’t. Everything had changed. It was now too grave, too perilous. She said nothing. There was no hope for it. He would find the word. She hadn’t done anything wrong. She’d be damned if she would act guilty. She said with a tone she prayed was as cold as his, “I was looking up a word you screamed at me last night. I had never heard it before. I wanted to know what it meant.”

“What was this word I screamed at you?”

“Sodomy.”

His black eyebrows went up a good inch. She had no shame, the damned slut. She was shoving it right into his face, rubbing it in his nose. So be it. He turned slowly to place the dictionary onto the desk. Then he looked at her. She was standing tall, her shoulders squared. He looked at her, stripping her naked as he had the night before, and it was all there in his eyes, all the condemnation, the contempt, the rage. “Poor Arabella, did not the comte give you a term to describe your activities?

I understand it can be painful, this way a man can take a woman. I have never done it. But perhaps now, that he has breached you, I will do it.

Was he gentle with you? But you are an intelligent woman. I cannot understand why he did not tell you what he was doing to you is called.

How very remiss of him.”

“I have no lover,” she said