Silent Surrender by Abigail Barnette

covers, hoping that he might just let it go by if she didn’t answer him or pretended not to understand him. She didn’t wish to discuss Jude when she was in another man’s arms. It made her seem inconstant, and though she knew herself to be, she didn’t want anyone else to know it about her.
    He touched her shoulder, and manners won out. She rolled over, unable to meet his gaze, but she nodded. When she looked up, she made certain to put some steel into her expression. She was his employer, wasn’t she? He must do as she desired and she certainly did not desire a conversation about the private wishes of her heart. But when she saw the kindness in his gaze, the mixture of pity and helpless, naked feeling, she began to cry.
    Wordlessly, he held her against him, stroking her back as all the unshed tears she’d held back burst out. Her cheek stuck to his chest with the moisture, but still he held her. When her tears subsided, he lifted her chin.
    “If you don’t want to go to France, don’t go.” He wiped beneath her eye with his rough thumb. “You can’t live your life for the wishes of your father. He’s in a good place, with enough sense now to know that it would be a tragedy for you to live and die in some foreign country, shut away from happiness. If you love Jude, live with him. It might not be the lifestyle you’re accustomed to, but if you’re happy—”
    “He won’t have me,” she said, her throat raw. Had she shouted the house down again? “He wouldn’t before, he surely won’t now.”
    “He might take some convincing,” Esau admitted. “But if he won’t have you…don’t go to France. I don’t have much, but I could help you. You could maybe find a husband, someone who can take care of you.”
    Her heart sank a little, and she felt foolish for that. He had known her two days, and though they had spent long hours in intimate congress, he did not lie with her because he loved her. He was being paid, doing the job she’d hired him for. It was a fantasy to think he would offer himself.
    Later, when Esau had fallen asleep, Honoria rose, careful not to wake him. He snored softly and rolled over, one long arm thrown over his head. She smiled to herself. If she could afford him, she would keep him in her employ for quite a long time, simply to enjoy the sharp lines of his muscular form.
    She pulled on her robe and cinched the belt around her waist, and padded out of the room, thinking she might find solace in one of her novels. The heroines were always pulled between two men, but the ending was always clear: she chose one of them, and forever despaired for the love lost. That was not the ending she wanted for herself.
    The study door was slightly open and firelight shone on the dark wood of the door. She frowned and pushed it open wider.
    Jude sat in his chair, his posture slumped, one naked foot propped atop what appeared to be an empty brandy decanter. He looked up, his eyes bleary and red, and he said slowly, “I’m sorry. I am very drunk.”

Chapter Six
     
    Of all the times for Honoria to capitulate to her insomnia, she couldn’t have picked a worse one. Jude had moved to the study, trying to block out the sounds of loud copulation on the floor above. He’d tried not to imagine what made her moan and scream, tried not to imagine that it was himself doing it to her. But after a few brandies, he’d been unable to ignore the vivid scenes in his mind. Another few, and he could taste her on his tongue, feel her thighs around his head. And after another, he couldn’t keep the thread of the fantasy straight and he could only wallow in frustrated lust.
    She stood in the doorway in her black silk robe with the tasseled belt decorated like peacock feathers, and all he could think of was pulling it quickly undone.
    “I interrupt?” she signed, looking apologetic.
    Perhaps she didn’t notice quite how drunk he was, and for a moment he hoped he might fool her. But as he sat up, his foot pushed