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feel it. I feel things too. We re connected, Katherine, whether you like it or not.
Horror rose to her throat. Could he really know her like that? Could anyone? She hardened her eyes.
I speak the truth.
He rushed her, crushed her back into the soft cush- ions of the divan. He pressed into her neck, hard,
his breath quick and fast against her pulse. You will tell me. He breathed into her ear making fear
a living thing.
Memories of the time before rushed over her, a crawling sensation down her spine and a deep quiv-
ering emptiness in her stomach. For the first time in all her treasure seeking travails she felt she
might be sick. She was going to fail. This was beyond her capabilities, beyond her ability to deflect
and control.
You will . . . tell me . . . everything.
Katherine turned her face away, tears streaming down her cheeks. The sobs she d been holding back
for so long pulsed against the barriers of her heart. She struggled against it, against him as his arms
pinned her. She broke and prayed. God, oh God . . . save me from this evil. I thought I could do it
without You. I cannot.
He reached for her skirt and brought the satin hem to her waist. With a small smile he reached for
either side of the neckline of her dress, ready to tear it apart.
No. She kicked out and pushed against him with her arm, her elbow, turning toward the edge of
divan, feeling the wood frame beneath the cushions like a cage.
No! What do you mean by no? Do you mean no to your daughter? Her first thing she will know
will be me. . . ravishing her. He leaned close in a hoarse whisper.
Do not doubt it. And do not ever think to tell me no.
Despair made a darkness so deep it chilled her to her core, a drowning feeling, sinking and smother-
ing under the depths of his words. He would be the end of the Featherstones; she would have
brought them all Ian, Alexandria, and her to their demise. She cost them this. Brought them to
this place of ruin. It was all for naught. It was . . . hopeless.
Franco saw her defeat. She could tell by the look of triumph in his eyes. He thought he had won.
And that made her mad. Katherine changed, a small but integral change.
Something that at first only she could feel. She pressed back into the cushions, looked up at him
and shot him with a sinister smile of her own. She chuckled, dark and low, from that place where
she really lived. That place that knew things . . . saw things . . . understood beneath the surface. I
thought you wanted a willing partner. I didn t know you were nothing but a brute.
You dare insult me? But there was an odd light to his eyes now. A new light that said he under-
stood the rules had changed. That despite her obvious physical weakness, she was now challenging
him.
I thought you liked games . . . and challenges. She sat up further, her hand against his chest.
He chuckled. Changed. Came down upon her body in a liquid way, a melting way she hoped she
could coax and control. God help her if she couldn t.
A sudden banging on the door broke their breathy silence, just as he d been reaching for her leg.
Franco rose up and off her. Katherine scrambled back, straightening her dress and brushing the
loosened hair from her face. Her gaze flew from him to the door. It banged again. Louder still.
He jerked away, veered toward the door, and then swung it wide.
Katherine gathered herself, pushing her clothes into neat folds of convention, sat up straight and
wiped any trace of tears off her cheeks. She lifted her chin. On the other side of the door a man of
the church, a man dressed as a bishop, handed a letter to Franco and, with a sidelong glance at
Katherine, a moment of revulsion lighting his eyes, he bowed and left.
Franco turned, shut the door, and unfolded the missive, ignoring her. He stood silent for a long mo-
ment, reading it. Another long, silent moment while she sat there watching, and waiting and then he
folded it back up and smiled at her. It was the coldest smile she d ever seen.
I am to see the pope . . . immediately.
Katherine nodded, saying nothing.
You ve won yourself a reprieve. His voice lowered to that velvet hiss. A very brief reprieve, my
love.
I should go back. Keep looking for the manuscript. His eyes narrowed.
I tell you the truth, Your Grace. We haven t found it yet. I swear it. We need more time.
Very well. I will send for you upon my return. I hope by then, for all your sakes, that you will have
a different answer. He took sudden steps toward her, grasped her chin in a tight grip, and raised her
face so they looked each other in the eyes. I will have you, one way or another. He leaned closer,
his breath hot in her face.
But that will be only a bittersweet moment for us.
He smiled. I will have your husband and St. Easton too. They will tell the truth. Love blinds men
like them. They will find it for you if it exists.
St. Easton? What could he mean?
He gripped her chin harder and pressed his mouth against hers.
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