"Friesner, Esther M - ss - A Beltaine and Suspenders" - читать интересную книгу автора (Friesner Esther M)

Olivia, however, hit him so hard that the sharp reverberation of open palm to
cheek reached all the way down the corridor to Telemachus' room, leaving that
poor soul a quiver with the fear that the supposed thunderclap that had roused
him from sleep presaged an unseasonable storm.

"What's the matter with you?" Father Herrick demanded, cupping his smarting
face.

"Oh, I like that," Olivia sneered. "Come traipsing into my room uninvited, into
my bed, no less, and there's something wrong with me?"

"I should say there is," Father Herrick countered. "Or so the rumors run."

"What rumors?"

"Speculations, rather. Staddle-upon-Truss is a fine village for their
cultivation. Unless you've got her pretty well hidden, mules are a rarity."

"At the risk of disrespect to the cloth, you're blithering. Why would I want to
hide a mule?"

"Why would you want to be one?" he replied. "Perhaps it's that men aren't to
your taste, and in that case there have been the normal conjectures as to who
might be your Sapphic counterpart."

Olivia stiffened with indignation. "How dare you!" What would have been shouted
was instead hissed, out of deference to the hour and fear of provoking a scene
that would fetch Lady Battle-Purfitt. "Just because a single woman chooses not
to-- to give a cornfield frolic to any man who asks her, you accuse her of all
sorts of things."

"Really, Olivia, you're pouring a gallon of outrage into a dram measure." Even
in the dark, the off-kilter gleam of Father Herrick's toothy leer was visible.
"I hope you haven't mistaken my simple expediency for any sort of genuine
attraction. Frankly, with your looks, I wouldn't wager you've had that many
offers to do more in a cornfield than frighten crows."

He stepped away from the bed before she could catch him a box on the ear and
made for the door with the casual, smug gait of a town's only tomcat. Hand on
the brass knob he paused to add, "And given my own appearance--which not a few
of my more tender-natured female parishioners have found to be acceptably
appealing --you've just passed up the opportunity of a lifetime. Oh well, that's
the last time I go in for charity work. Good night, Olivia. At least you can
still read about fertility."

Breakfast the next morning was an affair of damp and foggy silences, despite the
bright Yuletide greens which graced the room. Her ladyship affected not to
notice Olivia's moroseness, Father Herrick's smooth disdain, or her own son's
insomnia-ravaged eyes. A hostess had her duty to her guests, which duty included