Face Down among the Winchester Geese Read Online Free

drinking half of it down before he turned to study his wife.
    As she bent over her stitches, one errant lock of dark brown hair escaped from her embroidered cap.
    She never could keep it all tucked in.
    Robert's gaze swept lower, noting that she'd dressed with unusual care, her attire more formal than was her wont when at home. In place of the loose-bodied gowns she preferred, she'd donned a tightly laced bodice and the matching kirtle, both of fine honey-colored damask. The sleeves were slashed and puffed to reveal the white silk layer she wore beneath. The same fabric, embroidered with bright flowers, showed through the forepart of the kirtle.
    "You are dressed uncommon fine for housework,” he commented.
    "I am not likely to soil my garments with such trifling duties as you see me perform here.” The sharp edge to her voice confirmed Robert's suspicion that something untoward had happened during his absence. He drained his goblet and refilled it.
    In the days since Susanna had joined him in London, she had made no secret of her displeasure at being dragged away from her home. She did not care for cities, not for a stay of any length, and he knew it irked her not to be told how long they would be in residence here.
    He had not informed her of a departure date because he did not know one, not for certain. Perhaps he should have explained that, but he did not like feeling accountable to his spouse.
    By now, he'd expected her to demand to return home, or else accept her situation and become reasonably content. After all, here in London she had immediate access to all the books she could desire. The tiny yard behind the house contained a garden. She'd begun to restore it. One or two such projects, he'd thought, should serve to keep her busy and out of trouble.
    Frowning, Robert continued to contemplate his wife. She studiously ignored him, pretending complete absorption in her needlework. The scene was so patently false that he had to bite back a chuckle. Susanna was a genius with herbs, but she had never had any skill at other domestic pursuits. Given a choice, she'd rather dig ditches than sew.
    "Do we expect company?” he asked, still seeking an explanation for her finery.
    "You have had company already."
    So, something had happened while he'd been out. Someone. “Stop mangling that hem,” he suggested, “and tell me what is on your mind."
    "If you are so uncommon perceptive, perhaps you can guess.” Her pale blue eyes briefly betrayed the intensity of her emotions as she tossed the needlework aside and met his penetrating gaze. Something had offended her, and made her angry, too.
    Had she learned of his plans? No. Impossible. He played his cards too close to his chest. With an effort, he kept his voice even. It did no good to lose his temper with Susanna. Though he hated to admit it, she was more than his match in any battle of wit and words.
    "Even the most skillful intelligence gatherer must have some clue to begin with,” he said. “Come, Susanna. Give me a hint as to what troubles you."
    "A Frenchwoman came here asking for you today,” she told him. “She said her name was Diane."
    Robert froze in the act of pouring a goblet of wine for his wife. Here was a pretty pickle. The name was common enough, especially among Frenchwomen. In the last generation a great many young girls had been named for Diane de Poitiers, the French king's influential mistress. For all that, Robert had not a doubt in the world which Diane had arrived on his doorstep. He'd made a foolish offer, years ago, and it had just come home to roost.
    "No surname?” he asked. Not that it mattered. The Diane he knew had never given him one.
    "No."
    "Describe her then, this woman who seeks me."
    He crossed the solar and sat next to Susanna on the window seat, handing her the goblet of wine.
    "Short. Small of stature. Dark hair and eyes. Very pale skin. A beautiful face. A mourning ring.” She sipped the Rhenish.
    As he watched her, Robert could