Daughters of the Summer Storm Frances Statham (bill gates book recommendations .TXT) 📖

down, he gave the baby back to the nurse and climbed into the carriage beside his golden-haired wife.

"We're ready, Jake," he announced, settling his large frame into the seat. Jake turned the carriage around in the street and started away from the townhouse.

"Shaun? Where are we going?" a puzzled Marigold asked.

"I thought I might take you for a ride into the countryside," he said.

"But I've just gotten back from a ride," she protested.

"There's something that I want to show you, Marigold. Something that has taken up much of my time lately."

Marigold sighed. "The new iron foundry, I suppose."

"No."

"Then, what?" Her curious amber eyes gazed into his teasing emerald-colored ones.

"Something else I've built," he announced.

She waited for him to explain, but Shaun didn't elaborate.

Finally Marigold said, "Is that all you're going to tell me?"

Shaun took his eyes from the cobblestoned street. "Yes," he replied and then returned to watching the horses.

Every few minutes Marigold glanced toward her husband. He seemed to be in an unusually good mood despite his secretive manner.

For an hour they traveled, straight down the coast. The sound of crushed shells underneath the carriage wheels was magnified in the silence of the late afternoon air. Not far from the road, the sea, blue-gray, lapped softly against the shoreline and spread its watery fingers into low-lying pockets.

At times, the sea disappeared behind sand dunes and then suddenly reappeared as the land reshaped itself into level stretches. Marigold watched as, back and forth, the waves responded to the primeval tidal call. The sun, with a dying defiance, dumped its brilliant embers of gold and red onto the turbulent water, as if by doing so, it could make its load lighter for its daily journey to the far horizon.

Marigold shaded her eyes and shifted her attention from the sea to her husband.

Shaun, who had sat beside her for the past hour with an easy, lazy indolence, suddenly sat straight and lifted his head, his eyes sweeping the landscape. Marigold followed the direction of his gaze, and as Jake slowed the carriage and turned off the main road into a newly cut avenue, she saw the source of Shaun's interest. A towering structure of majestic stones and mortar rose from the knoll that overlooked the sea, like a sprawling giant that had not made peace with its surroundings. The late afternoon sun reflected itself in the vast mullioned windows and cast shadows upon the thick walls.

"Shaun?"

Marigold looked at the house and back to Shaun. But the silence continued. Shaun's face revealed nothing. There was no hint of softness in either the man's face or the house. They were alike—unbreachable.

Marigold knew without being told that she was looking at the object that had usurped Shaun's attention for the past months, had taken him away from her, and for a moment, she was jealous.

Shaun didn't wait for the carriage to come to a complete halt in the courtyard. With a sudden impatience, he left the vehicle and stood with arms outstretched for Marigold.

"You may take the horses to the stable, Jake," he said. "We won't be needing them again tonight." The carriage immediately moved from the courtyard and disappeared behind the house.

Turning to Marigold, Shaun took her hand and led her up the steps to the massive cypress door. It was unlocked, and Shaun pushed it open and held it for Marigold to enter.

The air was cold, and the abrupt change from the warmth outside made her shudder. But the light coming through the windows diminished Marigold's sudden coldness, and she walked about in the great hall while Shaun stood back, observing her reaction.

The tapestry hanging from the wall, the crystal and brass chandelier with its dozens of candles ready to light the four corners of the baronial room—Marigold's tawny eyes observed it all.

She swallowed in awe at the richness, the obvious wealth and comfort. Far grander than Midgard, yet an undefinable something that was missing.

"You do not like it, Marigold?" The voice beside her caused her to jump.

"It. . . it is quite grand, Shaun," she replied hesitantly. "Far grander than Midgard," she added.

Shaun nodded. "That was my intention," he said.

"I. . . understand," Marigold whispered, her voice quivering with emotion.

"Do you, Souci?" Shaun asked softly, seeing disappointment cloud her amber eyes.

"Yes. Because of my father. . ."

Shaun shook his head. "No. My revenge against Robert Tabor was short-lived. It is because of you, not your father, that I built this house."

"But the townhouse," she protested.

"Is already deeded back to him." Shaun's eyes, fierce and possessive, met Marigold's. "There was only one thing, Souci, that belonged to Robert Tabor that I coveted and was determined to have. From the first moment I saw you, I desired you and wanted you as my wife. I built this house for you, Souci, as a suitable setting for your beauty."

"Oh, Shaun." Marigold's face showed her happiness, and she stood on tiptoe to meet his kiss.

He drank long and deep from her soft, vulnerable mouth. And then gazing tenderly into her eyes, he smiled. "Our supper is waiting for us, Souci. But we'll have to serve ourselves. I have no wish to celebrate our wedding night with the servants underfoot."

The flames leaped from Marigold's eyes to ignite Shaun's passion. He crushed her to him, forgetting the food waiting for them, forgetting everything but his desire for her.

In a hoarse voice, Shaun murmured, "I want you now, Marigold. I can't wait any longer to make you mine."

Lifting her in his arms, Shaun carried an unprotesting Marigold up the stairs to the master bedroom—to the magnificent rosewood bed draped in silk.

His hands reached for the buttons of her snow white blouse, and she felt the contact of his hand upon her bare breast. Desire quickened and spread as Marigold felt his head move downward to trace the fragile pink nipple with his tongue.

Then, in haste, her skirt, her lace-embroidered petticoats, and her kid slippers were removed and discarded beside Shaun's own breeches and fine linen shirt.

"You are so beautiful,"