Chapter Two
“S hall I tell you a secret?”
Suzanne took a sip from her glass and raised her eyebrows at the gentleman in front of her. Dear Lord, what now? Since their dance, Bretenaux hadn’t stopped dropping the name of every guest he was acquainted with and commenting on everything from the floor polish to the quality of the rum in the punch.
And he’d probably had one or two drinks too many, given the ruddy color of his cheeks. He leaned closer to her, and his gaze wavered from her face to her cleavage.
“I don’t know if that’s wise, monsieur ,” she replied, ready to sidestep any unfortunate overture. “I’m not the most trustworthy person.”
Bretenaux snorted and shook his head. “Nonsense. From the moment I saw you, I could tell that you were a lady of great quality.”
Suzanne burst out laughing. Sacredieu , he really was drunk. “I do believe it’s the first time anyone called me that.”
“How could anyone as lovely as you be anything else?”
He dipped his head, and she stepped back. “Enough about me. What is your secret, then?”
After all, whatever he could tell her might be useful—for Nicolas, and Nicolas had always been most generous when she provided him with valuable information. Bretenaux held up his hand, palm facing inward. A signet ring glinted on his little finger. “See this? That’s my secret, fair Suzanne. Look at the engraving.”
She peered at it but kept her distance. There seemed to be some sort of crest on the ring, though she couldn’t make it out properly. Bretenaux straightened his shoulders.
“It’s the crest of the duke of Lannoy, my great-grandfather. For years, I kept it hidden in a box—I was too afraid some revolutionary thug might crack my skull on the pavement at the sight of it—but now I can wear it at last and be not ashamed.”
“Fortunate indeed.” Suzanne drained her glass of punch. Time to make her escape. “Alas, I feel I am most unworthy to chitchat with a duke’s heir.”
“Well, technically, the line was broken, but…”
She glanced over her shoulder, and a small gasp escaped her lips. Raoul was stalking toward them, his mouth a bitter line and his dark eyes clouded with displeasure. Relief rose within her, only to be mercilessly crushed by a wave of anger. Blast that pigheaded man, if he hadn’t ignored her blatant hints, she wouldn’t have waltzed with Bretenaux in the first place. What was she supposed to do, fall on her knees and beg him for a dance?
She turned back to Bretenaux and smiled. “How fascinating. I care little for technicalities myself. Noble blood is noble blood, isn’t it?”
Bretenaux’s cheeks grew even redder. “I wholeheartedly agree. Would you care to—”
“Care to what, exactly?” a deep voice grumbled behind her.
Bretenaux’s face fell. “Prevost. Come for a drink?”
“No. Especially not that piss.”
Raoul laid a hand on Suzanne’s shoulder, and she whipped around, feigning polite indifference. “It’s quite refreshing after a waltz, as you would know if you ever danced.” She turned back to Bretenaux. “Speaking of which, I am simply dying for another turn.”
The grip on her shoulder tightened. “I shall gladly oblige you this time.”
She barely had time to set her glass down before Raoul led her away. Her anger melted, and there was nothing left but giddy, victorious joy. Best not crow about it, though. He would be far more likely to bed her tonight if she left his pride intact.
“Bretenaux will think you terribly rude, cutting in the way you did,” she simply said.
“Why should I care what that ass thinks?” Raoul muttered. “He was about to proposition you.”
She batted her eyelashes. “Is that so wrong? He wouldn’t be the first.”
The muscles in Raoul’s jaw tightened. “He… That is… not respectful of him. Or any man. You should be properly courted, Suzanne.”
Heavens, the idea of Raoul properly courting her was enough to make her heart flutter like flower petals in a breeze. And yet the roughness of his palm on her skin, his gravelly voice, the scent that was so uniquely him—soap and cologne and polished wood—all of it made her dizzy with want, too desperate to care for courtesy.
Because Raoul wasn’t like any of those other men. He didn’t see her as a frivolous grisette , a girl one could pluck from the streets and discard at a moment’s notice. She’d never questioned it—that was just the way things worked in the Palais Royal—until she met him.
They arrived on the dance floor. He kept his hand on her shoulder, and she turned to face him, locking her eyes with his, silently urging him to place his other hand around her waist. Oh, what a heavenly sensation when his strong fingers finally slid to her side and urged her closer. She stroked his lapel, smoothing out an imaginary wrinkle, and eased closer still, until their fronts were almost touching.
“Let us start with a waltz,” she said, almost breathless. “Then we shall see how much proper courting I require.”
*
“I am the luckiest man in Paris tonight!”
Nicolas raised his flute to the group of guests gathered around him. A footman poured champagne into Raoul’s glass, and the froth spilled over the rim and onto his fingers.
“All the success in the world would be nothing if I didn’t have my lovely wife and my loyal friends at my side. Santé! ”
The guests cheered in turn. Raoul drained his flute in three long sips. The bubbles fizzed up his nose and made his eyes water, but soon warmth bloomed in his belly and the knot in his chest loosened. Was it the champagne causing this feeling, or Suzanne’s hand slipping into the crook of his arm?
She sighed. “Isn’t this the most enchanting of evenings?”
He opened his mouth to reply. He wanted to tell her the most enchanting part of it was her, to woo her with charming compliments and tempting promises. But no words came out. In fact, they’d barely talked while they were dancing—three waltzes in all, though he didn’t even know if his ponderous steps could qualify as such.
Suzanne, on the other hand… He studied her. So graceful and nimble, she made him feel as if he was leading her perfectly, when in fact she was the one leading him. Yet for all her grace, she was far from an ethereal sylph. The dancing and the drinking had brought a lovely bloom to her creamy skin, enticing him to discover just how far it spread beneath her bodice. And damn, if those curves weren’t made for his hands to experience, and that plump, rosy mouth made to be kissed, over and over.
She peered up at him with an impish smile, as if she could tell exactly what he was thinking. “You seem to have lost your tongue.”
“Only temporarily.”
A wicked glint alighted in her hazel eyes, and her fingers gently squeezed his biceps. “A girl can only hope.”
Devil take it, his cravat was suddenly strangling him. He tugged at it. “This din makes any sort of conversation impossible.”
“I agree. And by God, my feet are killing me. It may be time to cut the evening short.”
This was it, then. No turning back. He would not, could not let her leave by herself, and not just because one never knew what ill-intentioned thug one might encounter in the streets of the Palais Royal. Suzanne had brought him to a point where his inflamed senses were fast overcoming logic and reason.
And he didn’t want to fight it any longer.
“I will see you safely home,” he rasped.
Her fingers tightened. “Please.”
Her tone had grown breathy, and the urgency of his lust sank its claws in deeper. Thankfully, their goodbyes to Nicolas, Violette, and their host were brief.
“Glad to see you’ve come to your senses, old chap,” Nicolas murmured as they shook hands. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t.”
Raoul raised an eyebrow. “Knowing you, there’s not a single item on that list.”
His friend grinned. “Precisely.”
Raoul presented his arm to Suzanne, and they wove their way through the crowd. Nicolas was only teasing, but he did bring up an interesting question. What was Suzanne expecting of him? Would she be just as bold and forthright in bed? She was experienced, true, but Raoul didn’t know the extent of her experience, nor how her former lovers had treated her.
And he wasn’t about to ask. Thinking of Suzanne with another man made him want to ram his fist into a wall until his knuckles bled.
Calm yourself, man. She’s with you tonight. No one else will touch her. They exited the townhouse and descended the stone steps. He breathed in deeply. The air was clear and still warm but carried a hint of coolness. One step at a time.
“Oh!”
Suzanne pitched forward, and he caught her waist, pulling her against him. The velour of her dress was soft and lush under his palm.
A light laugh escaped her. “Dear me, I must have had more champagne than I thought.”
“Not too far in your cups, I trust?”
Better to ask. The drinks he’d consumed during the ball simmered pleasantly in his veins, but he was far from incapacitated, and he saw no point in bedding a woman if she was too foxed to be pleasured properly.
Suzanne stopped on the pavement and pressed her body to his, her gaze burning with naked desire. “I am well aware of what I’m about to do, yes. In fact, I have thought of little else for months.”
Her hands slid over his chest, and she pushed herself onto the tips of her toes to press her lips to his. The kiss was brief, almost teasing, like a soft question demanding a firm answer.
He answered. Leaning down, arms circling her waist, he caught her mouth again, pressing longer and harder, parting her plush lips to feel the caress of her tongue. Fucking hell, she tasted sweeter than liquor, and the feel of her mouth opening for him drove his pounding blood straight to his cock. His hands inched down the velvety slope of her spine to cup her curves and press her against his throbbing erection.
“Raoul,” she moaned again. “Let us hurry back, please . I can wait no longer.”
He nodded. “Yes. Yes, let us hurry.”
They set off, and he held her as closely as possible without impeding his gait. But every so often, desire overtook them again, and they stopped for a kiss. Just one. Until it melted into another, and another. Before he knew it, he’d backed her against a wall on a street corner to devour her neck, licking and sucking the delicate skin while his fingers squeezed her breast, willing it to spill out of its bodice.
“Yes,” Suzanne sighed. “ Yes , don’t stop.”
“If I keep going, I will tup you right here for all to see,” he panted.
“I don’t care. Just—”
A weight slammed into his side, knocking the air from his lungs. Suzanne’s voice broke off on a scream. Rough hands wrenched them apart and pulled him to the ground. His head smashed into the cobblestones. A wave of pain thundered down the length of his body.
“Raoul!” Suzanne cried.
What? Who? He shook the stars from his eyes.
A dark shadow loomed over him. A man, slight of build, with a jagged scar on his chin. A blade glinted in the light of the street lantern.
“Stay back!” he bellowed to Suzanne. “He’s armed!”
Before the assailant could plunge the knife into his belly, Raoul rolled. His toe struck the man’s shin, hard. Enough to take him down.
With a howl of pain his assailant wavered. Just enough.
Raoul jumped to his feet and launched himself at the attacker to take him down.
With a yelp, the man dodged. Devil take it, he was fast.
Raoul shot out a hand to wrap around his right wrist, but the knife tip sliced into the underside of his forearm. Bright pain streaked up to his chest, and he roared.
Curling his left hand into a tight fist, he smashed it into the man’s jaw with a dull thud. In a flash, he reared back with an uppercut to the nose. Warm blood gushed over his hand. The man tumbled to the ground with a curse, then scrambled back up to vanish into the darkness.
Sacredieu , he should go after that whoreson, whoever he was, but he couldn’t leave Suzanne here by herself. Besides, his right arm throbbed. Blood dripped from his wound to form a small puddle on the pavement.
“ Seigneur , you’re injured,” Suzanne gasped. “And your head… You’re bleeding there too.”
Raoul raised his fingers, and they brushed against a wet patch at the back of his skull. “Bloody fucking hell. He came out of nowhere.”
Had he been waiting for Raoul? After all, his barbershop was only a few streets away. But none of his enemies would send a lesser man to attack him. Everyone in the Palais Royal knew that an armed Raoul wouldn’t have let an assailant escape with his life.
“I need a tourniquet,” he grunted.
“What you need is somewhere to lie down, fast. Along with a physician,” Suzanne replied. “Come. My building is three doors down. You’ll be safe there.”