"Chelsea Quinn Yarbro - Madelaine 2 - In the Face of Death" - читать интересную книгу автора (Yarbro Chelsea Quinn)

the elbow and started to lead her in the direction away from the French Theatre. "My carriage is
in a livery around the corner on Pine Street," he said.
"I wish you would not hold on to my arm in that manner," she said to him. "It's
uncomfortable."
He released her at once, chagrined. "I meant nothing unsuitable, Madame." He put more
than two feet between them. "You must understand that I only sought to guard-"
"Oh! for all the saints in the calendar!" Madelaine burst out, then lowered her voice. "I
meant nothing but what I said: I dislike having my arm clutched. But I am glad of your company,
Mr. Sherman, and your protection. I know these streets can be dangerous."
He paused at the corner of Pine Street. "I will take you home."
"My coachman will do that, thank you," said Madelaine amiably, "after we have our
private discussion."
This time there was an eagerness in his eyes as he looked down at her. "What did you
mean by discussion, since you are clarifying your meaning, Madame?"
 "That, in large part, is up to you," said Madelaine, regarding him steadily. "I will not
seduce you, or demand what you are unwilling to give; I want no man who is not enthusiastic to
have me."
He laughed abruptly. "What man would that be? One who is dead, or prefers the bodies of
men?"
Maddaine answered him seriously. "I do not mean only my body, Mr. Sherman. If that is
all I sought, it is there for the taking, all around us, at acceptable prices. I mean a man who is
willing to see into my soul. And to let me see into his."
Taken aback, Sherman straightened up and stared down the dark street. "Well, your
candor is admirable." He paused thoughtfully. "Let me make myself plain to you, Madame, and if
what I say is repugnant to you, then I will not impose upon you any longer, and I will forget that
any of this was said. No matter what you may stir in me, I cannot, and I will not, compromise my
obligations to my family. I am married, and that will not be changed by any desire I may feel for
you."
"I don't recall asking you to change, or to hurt your family," said Madelaine as she put her
hand through his arm. "I only remember suggesting that we spend the evening together."
"And that I may have you if that is what I wish," he said, as if to give her one more
chance to change her mind.
Madelaine's smile was quick. "I am not challenging you, Mr. Sherman. I am seeking to
spend time with you."
"Whatever that means," said Sherman.
"Whatever that means," Madelaine concurred.
San Francisco, 16 June, 1855… Tonight will be better.
The sheets were fine linen, as soft as antique satin, and there were six pillows and a
damask comforter flung in glorious disarray about the bed. In the wan spill of moonlight from the
window, Sherman was standing, wearing only a loosely belted dressing robe, and smoking a thin
cigar as he gazed out into the darkness. "The other evening and now this. What must you think of
me?"
"Nothing to your discredit," said Madelaine quietly, hardly moving as she spoke. "I think
you do not trust what you want." She pulled the sheet up to cover her breasts.
"That's kind," he said tightly. "Many another woman would be offended."
Madelaine turned on her side to look at him, regarding him with a serious expression. "If
that's not it, what is bothering you?"
He met her eyes. "You are."
"Why do I bother you? Would you rather not be here?" she asked, more puzzled than
apprehensive.