Page 52 of The General's Gift
Prue lifted her apple reverently, turning it in her hands like a relic. “You must resist. When your flesh burns for him, kneel upon rice until the craving passes. When you long for his body moving atop yours, plunge yourself headfirst into the nearest pond. And above all, do not bite into temptation.”
“Nobody moves.” Rue stiffened, her sharp gaze scanning the orchard. “I believe we have a spy among us.”
Rue’s arm snapped back, her fingers curling around an apple. With a whoosh, she hurled it with the precision of a battle-hardened soldier.
The fruit cut through the air and struck Captain Graves directly in the temple.
The poor man! He was probably just walking by, existing peacefully in his own regimented world!
He staggered, eyes widening, left hand flying to his head, while the other grasped wildly for balance, barely catching onto a low-hanging branch before he collapsed straight into the bushes.
For a long, terrible moment, no one spoke.
Then, slowly he emerged.
A leaf was stuck on his forehead. His coat was askew. His usually impeccable composure was now… considerably less impeccable. His glare could have peeled paint from the manor walls.
He exhaled, rubbing his temple where the apple had struck. “Madam, was that an attempt on my life?”
Rue crossed her arms, not even a flicker of guilt in her eyes. “If it were, Captain, you’d be unconscious.”
Clutching his head, poor Captain Graves marched away from the orchard as if he preferred to face the devil than them.
Oh, just look at them. What a sorrowful lot of lonely women. In love, but so far from a lover’s true bliss. Rue, who would rather kill Graves than admit her feelings, and poor Prue, who was at risk of turning herself into a martyr sooner than accept Thomas. And Celeste? Never had she felt so unmoored as when in the presence of that stern, gorgeous general.
She had thought she knew everything about love, but Shakespeare’s techniques were outmatched against real-world problems.
Celeste exhaled, staring at the man who had stolen her heart. Hawk had just vaulted off the horse. A wave of fierce longing hither in the chest. It ached. Oh, Alexander… So strong, so resolute, so utterly unwilling to surrender.
“We need better instructions. A step-by-step manual on love.”
Prue perked up, eyes luminous with zeal. “Oh, if love is inevitable, there are ways, my lady. You could sew his name onto your chemise with red thread and wear it upon your heart. Or walk barefoot across nettles to prove your devotion. Or—”
“I give up.” Celeste pressed a hand to her forehead. “Where will I find modern textbooks on love in a general’s house?”
For a moment, there was silence. Then… Crunch. Prue sank her teeth into her apple with shocking enthusiasm, juice running down her chin. Her whole face brightened as if she’d just received a divine revelation.
“Books on love, Lady Cecilia? Why didn’t you say so?”
***
“How do you even know about these books?” Celeste asked, weaving between the library’s heavy armchairs.
Prue headed straight for a shadowy corner, one half-concealed by floor-to-ceiling shelves. “Thomas found them out while dusting. He wanted to show them to me.”
Celeste raised a brow. “And?”
Prue drew herself up. “I raced back to my room and chained myself to my bed, of course.”
A laugh bubbled in Celeste’s throat, but she pressed her lips together, determined not to give them away. If the general—or worse, Captain Graves—found them like this, God forbid what sort of punishment he would devise.
Prue handed Celeste a cloth-bound tome. Sighing, Celeste traced the gilded letters.The Merchant of Venus. A lovely title. A play, of course, onThe Merchant of Venice—Shakespeare’s tale of sacrifice, devotion, and love prevailing against all odds.Venus, goddess of love, had to mean this was a romantic retelling!
She flipped the first page straight onto the most scandalous lithograph. Her eyes widened, and her soul attempted to flee her body.
“My goodness,” she whispered, pulse jumping. “What are they doing?”
Prue slapped a hand over her mouth. “I beg you, my lady. Don’t describe it. I’m sure it’s positively wicked.”
