Read Prelude to Heaven for Free Online

coins on the table. Eyes bored into his back as he moved toward the door, and the men crowding around the doorway parted silently to let him through. No one spoke to him or smiled a farewell. He left the tavern and made the long, lonely trek back to his château.
    By the time he reached home, it was dark, but the moon was out, lighting his way as he crossed the courtyard. In the distance, a wolf howled. An owl hooted softly. Somewhere nearby, a rodent scurried through the weeds. The sound of his boot heels tapping against the flagstones mingled with the chirping of insects and the other sounds of the night. But when he climbed the back stairs and entered the kitchen, he found the château as dark and silent as a tomb.
    “Mademoiselle?” he called, but there was no answer. Wondering where the woman might be, he set the sack on the worktable, lit a lamp, and left the kitchen to go in search of her. He went upstairs first, thinking she might have gone to bed, but she was not in her room.
    As he descended the stairs, the thought crossed his mind that after his uncompromising answer of this morning, she might have left. The idea of her out alone at night disturbed him more than he cared to admit, and he hastily began searching the rooms on the ground floor. “Mademoiselle?” he called again, but only the echo of his own voice answered him.
    She wasn't well enough to leave yet, he thought, crossing the armory and opening one of the double doors leading into the salon. That room, too, was dark and silent.
    Despite all his resolutions to the contrary, he was becoming truly concerned, his mind conjuring up visions of her in any number of desperate situations as he continued to search for her. “Foolish woman,” he muttered, turning to go down one of the corridors. “If she's gone off by herself at night...”
    Alexandre paused at the lamplight spilling through the open doorway at the end of the passage. She was in the library. He quickened his steps and strode down the corridor, relief replacing the worry he had felt only moments before. “Mademoiselle, why didn't you answer when I...”
    He stopped in the doorway. She was there, curled up on one end of the dusty leather sofa, sound asleep. An open book from the shelves behind her had fallen from her hand to the floor. Her other hand rested on her abdomen.
    Alexandre set the lamp he was carrying on the table beside the door and moved into the room, careful not to make a sound. He picked up the book from the floor and glanced at the title. She'd been reading Aristotle, in Greek. He frowned, his gaze moving from the book to the sleeping woman, then back to the book. What was a common English miss doing reading Greek philosophy? It appeared there was more to the petite mademoiselle than he'd first thought. He set the book on the table before returning his thoughtful gaze to her.
    Light fell softly over her, but it could not soften the thin, shadowed planes of her face. It could not disguise her troubled, hunted look. It could not hide the fear that enveloped her like a black cloak. Tenderness, a feeling he'd thought long dead within him, stirred to life. No woman could look more in need of protection and help than this one.
    He bent over her, sliding one arm beneath her knees and the other behind her head. He lifted her from the sofa, hoping not to wake her.
    Her whole body stiffened, even in sleep. “No,” she mumbled. “No, no.”
    “Shh...” he commanded softly, turning toward the door, cradling her in his arms, savoring the forgotten luxury of human contact.
    “Put me down,” she said, fully awake now, her hands pushing against his chest. “Let me go.”
    He should have complied, but he found he didn't want to. Instead, his arms tightened protectively as she began to struggle in earnest. “Stop twisting about, mademoiselle,” he ordered and paused by the door. “Pick up the lamp.”
    She did as he bid her, holding the oil lamp in her hand as he carried her down the