Emerald Desire (Emerald Trilogy) by Lynette Vinet Page B

arms of some strapping lad. Mark my words."
     
    Avery's face blanched. How she knew about his problem he didn’t know but could only surmise that Elvina must have once confided in her. At that instant, he hated Cecelia. He remembered as children how she taunted him whenever he failed at something. Now, she struck a raw nerve with her vicious tongue. He only wanted her gone, out of his life. "To hell with you," he hissed.
     
    "My sentiments for you are exactly the same." She threw him a pleased smile. "I still love you, but you deserve everything that girl does to you. I have no sympathy for fools, especially old ones. Good day, Avery, and happy Christmas."
     
    Avery stood transfixed by the table. The veins throbbed unmercifully in his head. Finally, he heard the rumble of the carriage wheels recede into the distance, relieved Cecelia was gone. He wondered what had possessed Cecelia to behave in such an ugly fashion. Her jealousy of Dera was apparent, but he sensed there was something else. Only after accosting him with the truth about himself had she calmed down. It hurt him that she knew his secret. Any dignity he had possessed had been destroyed last night during his aborted lovemaking with Dera. Now, he felt utterly worthless. Still, he worried that Cecelia might be right. Would Dera be forced to seek sexual fulfillment elsewhere? He couldn't bear to think about it.
     
    He walked to the sideboard. With shaking hands, he poured a brandy and downed it in one gulp, still the trembling persisted. He refilled the glass and lifted it high, his eyes seeming to bore through the ceiling to Dera's room. "To you, my wife," he toasted aloud. "May you keep your promise to me or suffer the consequences."
     
     
     
    Dera descended the marble staircase with feelings of trepidation. She was mistress of Fairfax Manor, but even the polite nods from the servants did nothing to alleviate the feeling that she was an intruder.
     
    She hadn’t slept well. Thoughts of her husband and their situation crept into her mind. No matter what Avery had done to Quint or the Flannery family, she found it difficult to hate him. She didn't know what she would say to Avery once she saw him, so she decided not to say anything about their wedding night. The silent wound he bore touched her heart.
     
    She found him in the library, his gray head lowered over the ledgers. He looked up when he heard her. She nodded at him, a touch of becoming shyness in the tilt of her head. "I'm sorry to intrude," she said. "I hadn't realized you were busy."
     
    "Nonsense, my dear. This damnable accounting can wait." Getting up, he tossed down his quill and went to meet her at the doorway. He touched her hand to his lips. "You brighten my day, Dera. So far, the morning hasn't gotten off to a tranquil start, but seeing you compensates for the unpleasantness of it."
     
     
     
    Dera dimpled prettily and warmed at his compliment. She looked around the room, liking the coziness of the overstuffed chairs and the colorful carpets, but especially admiring the shelves of books.
     
    “ You have a great many books," she commented.
     
    "Yes, quite an adequate selection. Would you care to see?"
     
    "Very much," she breathed. He led her to the shelves so she could peruse the titles for herself. In reverence, she touched the leather covers, almost fearful that they would disintegrate. Not since London had she seen a book that was intended to be read. Mandy had taught her to read and given her a deep love for the printed word, but at Timothy's there were no books to read for enjoyment or knowledge. Only Timothy's account books had kept her mind occupied.
     
    "Have you read a great deal?" Avery asked her.
     
    "Not really, but I did read some as a child. You have the works of Shakespeare!" she voiced her delight.
     
    "A great man of letters. Tell me, which of his works do you prefer?"
     
    "I've read only a few of his plays, but my favorite is Hamlet.”
     
    "How so?"
     
    Dera