Read Dawn Song for Free Online Page B

women were
    that Jerome had brought here, she thought, lifting her chin, and she had no

    doubt there'd been some, no matter what his work schedule might be.
    Perhaps, unlike his staff, he had a penchant for foreigners.
    'The food will be a few moments yet. Would you like to see the rest of the
    mas?' Jerome asked.
    'Yes, that would be fine.' Meg smiled at the unresponsive faces in the kitchen
    doorway. 'It all smells so wonderful,' she said in French.
    But there was no softening. The couple turned and vanished back into their
    domain, with only the clatter of saucepans and china as a reminder of their
    presence, as Meg followed Jerome up the spiral staircase. It emerged on to a
    narrow landing lined with beautifully made wooden cupboards.
    'It was a maze of tiny rooms, all opening out of each other,' Jerome said.
    'Now there is just a storage-room and a new bathroom next to it.' He threw
    open a door on the other side of the landing. 'And the rest is mine.'
    No frills here either, thought Meg, stepping into a room which occupied at
    least two-thirds of the available first-floor space. The whole rear wall
    seemed to be glass, allowing a panoramic view of the wooded slopes of the
    valley and the tall crags beyond.
    At the far end, skylights had been let into the roof to maximise the light, and
    here Jerome had a working-table, a vast surface covered by plans and
    drawings. Apart from a tall chest of drawers, the only other piece of
    furniture was the bed—more than kingsize, with elaborately carved head
    and footboards, and a coverlet in shimmering black and gold brocade.
    There was something barbaric about it, thought Meg, something which
    made the bed, quite deliberately, the focal-point of the room. A kind of
    personal statement, whose message she'd prefer to ignore.
    She studiously transferred her gaze to that amazing view instead. 'It's
    breathtaking,' she said. 'I can understand why you had the wall made into a
    window.'

    Jerome came to stand beside her. 'And there is another advantage. You see
    that tall peak?' He pointed to a jagged outline against the pale evening sky.
    'That is almost due east. From my bed, I can watch the dawn break.' He
    paused. 'In the right company it can be an inspiration.'
    To her fury, Meg felt her face warm at the image his words had evoked.
    Jerome lifted a hand and stroked a finger gently, lingeringly down the curve
    of her flushed cheek. He said softly, half to himself, ' "Oi deus, oi deus, de
    I'alba tan tost ve." '
    'I—I don't understand.' Meg felt her breathing go ragged as the caressing
    hand found the lobe of her ear, and the sensitive column of her throat, then
    moved to fondle the nape of her neck under the soft mass of hair. She knew
    she ought to stop this right now—step back out of range—but something
    kept her rooted to the spot.
    'It's a line from a troubadour, ma belle, an aubade, a song of dawn,
    lamenting the swift passage of his night with his beloved.' He leaned
    towards her, and murmured the translation, his lips almost brushing her ear,
    ' "Ah, God, ah God, but the dawn comes soon."'
    Meg's flush deepened. She tried to move, to resist the blatant persuasion of
    his caress, because his fingers were on her back now, following the supple
    length of her spine. Urging her, she realised, too late, towards him. And into
    his arms, pinned against his body.
    Jerome bent and took her mouth with his, coolly and unhurriedly, almost
    questioningly.
    At the first silky contact, Meg's eyes closed. She felt his lips move on hers,
    coaxing them apart, felt the sweet fire of his tongue against hers as she
    capitulated helplessly. Letting the kiss deepen. Letting her mind—her
    will—spin into oblivion, as he drained all the sweetness from her mouth.
    Jerome Moncourt lifted his head, and little devils danced in his eyes as he
    looked down at her. She stared back at him dazedly, knowing that he was

    going to kiss her again, knowing that she should resist—now,