Chapter 6 #2
Oh, God, he had hurt her. He hadn’t anticipated that. “He didn’t think it for long. I disabused him of that notion.”
“Not at once. You . . . you—how do you English put it?—‘gave him enough rope to hang himself’ so you could embarrass him before your brothers. Did you think I did not notice you were doing such a thing?”
“It wasn’t intentional. I never expected him to believe—” He grabbed her by the arm. “Stop, damn you! Where the devil do you think you’re going?”
She snatched her arm away and continued walking. “I am going home.”
“Don’t be absurd. It’s miles from here!”
“But the entrance to Hyde Park is not far. And I can hire a hackney there.”
He really had wounded her feelings, hadn’t he? “Giselle, please, just come back to the phaeton.”
“I cannot ride next to you right now, knowing you are making all these plans to . . . to humiliate your enemy through me. I lied to Maman for you. I . . . I told you my whole past, and you could not even tell me we were meeting your cousin and your brothers?”
That was a direct stab at his conscience. He began to see matters the way she was seeing them. He’d made it sound to her as if he was so proud of their new association that he’d wanted her to meet friends of his. Not the enemy he was trying to conquer by betrothing himself to her.
“I wasn’t sure they would even be here,” he said hoarsely. “I didn’t want to . . . to mention it because . . . because—”
“You might risk insulting me before we encountered them.”
“I didn’t insult you!” He dragged in a heavy breath. “Not on purpose, anyway. I was merely . . . taken off guard by the discovery that he’d never told them I was fighting for them. My anger took over.”
“Yes, I could tell,” she said, her voice still sounding hurt.
“Look, I know that we—” He broke off as he heard the sounds of people approaching. “Damn it,” he muttered under his breath, then called back to his tiger, “Stay with the phaeton!”
There was a wooded copse just there, thick with elms. Grabbing her hand, he pulled her toward it. When they were well out of sight of Rotten Row, she snatched her hand from his. “What are you doing?”
“I don’t want to have this argument in front of an audience.”
“Because that would not suit your purpose, would it? Word of it might reach your cousin’s ears—”
“Yes, damn it, yes!” he cried. “Do you think I like having to perpetrate a deception like this just to save my brothers? I don’t, I assure you.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “It does not seem that way to me. You lie very well . . . to my mother, to your cousin, even to your brothers.”
“What? I did not lie to my brothers!”
“You told them, too, that I was your fiancée. What do you think they thought of that?”
The words hit him like a mallet. “I hadn’t even considered it,” he grumbled, angry at himself for not anticipating how they might view it, as another way he’d abandoned them.
“Well . . . perhaps you should have.”
She turned as if to walk back to the road, but not before he glimpsed the tears in her eyes.
He caught her about the waist, tugging her back against him. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I am truly sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
She remained stiff in his arms. “One minute you are asking me questions about my life in Paris and my family, as if you really wish to know, and the next, you are letting your cousin believe I am your mistress merely so you can embarrass him.”
“I wasn’t thinking.” What else could he say?
She twisted around to place her hand on his cheek as she gazed up at him. “I understand why you would do these things—I do. Those poor, motherless boys . . . I know they are confused and hurt, and I can see how that wounds you, too. But I cannot . . . I do not wish to be in the middle of—”
He kissed her, helpless for what to do to soothe the hurt he’d caused her. She pushed out of his arms and began to back away from him. “Heath, please, you do not mean anything by your kisses.”
“That’s not true,” he said hoarsely, pressing forward a step for every one she took back.
“I mean a hell of a lot by my kisses. And for what it’s worth, I did wish to know about your life in Paris.
I do find your family fascinating, and I wouldn’t ask questions if I weren’t interested. None of that was pretend.”
She came up against an elm. “That’s what you say now,” she whispered, “but later—”
He caught her by the waist before she could escape and rested his hand on the elm just over her shoulder. This time when he kissed her, he gave her a hard, ravening kiss. He couldn’t help himself. She made him insane whenever she said he was just using her to embarrass his cousin.
Couldn’t she see he desired her beyond all reason? That he might not wish to do so, but every ounce of him wanted her?
He slipped his tongue inside her mouth, and after a moment’s hesitation, she let him.
Then their kiss turned far more intimate.
She tasted like honey and smelled like lemon cake.
Both seemed appropriate since he wanted to eat her up.
Her arms stole around his neck, and he pressed into her, wishing he dared take her right here against this tree.
But she deserved better than an uncomfortable, hasty screwing outdoors. So, he contented himself with toying with her lips, delving inside to tangle his tongue with hers, then plundering her mouth with increasing strokes until he couldn’t take much more.
She broke the kiss to stare at him. “What do you think you are doing, Heath?”
“Showing you that my kisses do mean something. I swear, you can’t know what you do to me. I could kiss you all day.” And to show he meant it, he trailed kisses from the tip of her nose to her cheek and then her ear. “Sweeting,” he whispered, and nipped her earlobe. “You taste delicious.”
“You . . . you swore this would not happen . . . again,” she whispered, though her breath quickened and her hands clutched both his arms to hold him close.
“Did I?” he rasped as he scattered kisses down her neck. “I don’t remember that.”
“Liar . . .” Yet she arched her neck to give him better access.
Unable even to get near her throat because of her bonnet ribbons, he untied them and then went one step further and untied her cloak.
Feeling her gather her breath, probably to protest, he took her mouth again, this time in slow, drugging kisses that made him desire her even more. Only half-aware he was doing so, he slid his hand under her now-open cloak to cover her breast through her gown.
She tore her mouth from his to whisper, “Dieu, aide-moi. You are a very wicked man, sir.”
“Not as wicked as I wish to be with you, ma belle chérie,” he murmured, then kneaded her breast with his hand, wishing he dared unveil it.
He didn’t—it was growing too cold out here, as evidenced by the way her nipple was hardening.
Unable to resist that pert enticement, he thumbed it through the fabric, yearning to taste it and suck it, too, though that would be unwise in this place where someone might come along at any moment. “You make me insane, you know.”
Her eyes opened and she stared at him a long moment. Then she seemed to look around them. “Good heaven, it is nearly dark. We must go. Maman will wonder what has happened to us!”
He stepped back as she hastily retied her cloak and her bonnet. He offered her his arm, but she ignored it, setting off toward the road with brisk steps.
“Still angry, I see,” he said as he followed.
“Not quite.” She slowed her pace. “But I cannot go on with this jeu de volant of yours.” And to emphasize the point, she mimed the game with her hands.
“In what way am I playing ‘shuttlecock’ with you?” he growled.
“First you kiss me. Then you swear you will not do it again. Then you give me sweet compliments. Then you use me to attack your cousin. Then you kiss me again! It is too confusing, sir! I do not know where I stand with you.”
He gritted his teeth, although he knew she was right. But to be fair, he did not know where she stood with him, either. He wanted her, yet he shouldn’t.
“So,” she continued, “if you wish this to be a pretend engagement and to use me for the benefit of getting your brothers back, that is fine. I already agreed to that, after all. But we must make some rules.”
He didn’t know whether to be relieved she was going on with their scheme, or annoyed she wanted rules. He hated rules. His father had possessed more rules than an Eton headmaster.
“I don’t know if I like the part about using you,” he grumbled, “since this is a case of mutual benefits, but go on.”
“First rule—there will be no more private kisses. Much as I enjoy them, they cannot lead to anything since neither of us want to marry yet, so all they can do is frustrate us both . . . or bring about my ruination.”
“Or mine,” he said dryly.
She muttered a French curse. “You know perfectly well that ruining me would only enhance your reputation as a rogue.”
“Perhaps. But it would hurt my reputation as a gentleman. And my closest friends would skin me alive if I ruined you. That prospect alone would keep me on the straight and narrow.”
She sniffed. “If you say so, although I doubt I can trust you not to act according to your nature.”
He stiffened. “My nature is not to—”
“You were just kissing me and . . . and caressing me against a tree, so forgive me if I do not entirely believe you.”
He rolled his eyes. “Fine. No kissing.”
She halted to plant her hands on her hips and stare at him. “Do you swear?”
“I swear.” He held up his own hands. “Next time we kiss, you will have to be the one doing the kissing.” But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t try to make her want to kiss him.
“Thank you,” she said coolly. “Second rule—you may lie as much as necessary to continue our ruse.” Her voice trembled. “Just do not lie to me.”
He swallowed hard. “I didn’t lie today. I merely didn’t tell you everything.” When she bristled, he held up a hand. “But next time I will reveal every part of my plan. I swear.”
“I would appreciate that.” She dragged in a deep breath. “And the third and final rule—you will keep me informed about the progress of acquiring legitimate papers for me and Maman.”
“I’ve already been doing that,” he snapped.
“All you did was tell me that Lewis Nash is really Vaughan Jones. While that is interesting information, it does not tell me how that affects me and Maman.”
He thought back to their conversation. Damn. He hadn’t told her much, had he? One more sin to add to his account. “Forgive me. I was too interested in your tale of your childhood to go on. But I will tell you everything now.”
And with that, he proceeded to reveal all that Beasley had told him. By the time he was finished, they were in the phaeton and hurrying back to her and her mother’s rented town house.
She looked agitated again. “So, to gain legitimate papers, I would either have to marry you in truth or lie and say that the papers were lost or stolen.”
“That about sums it up.”
“Since neither of us is interested in marrying in truth, I suppose the lies are the only way?”
“Unless you want to trust to my power as your fiancé to protect you and just worry about your mother’s papers. What do you think? Would your mother be willing to tell the French ambassador that her papers were stolen or lost? Beasley is convinced that is the best way to proceed.”
“And what of your friends in government?” she asked. “What do they think?”
“I haven’t asked them yet,” he said. “I wanted to consult with you first, before I started drawing my own government’s attention to your dilemma.”
“That is wise, I suppose.” She straightened in the seat. “Before I do anything, I must speak to Maman. Proclaiming the passports lost or stolen would be hard for her. Ever since the Revolution—”
“She’s afraid to go against her government.”
“Oui.”
“I can understand that. The French government has been in such turmoil since then that it would be difficult for anyone to know how to approach them. Especially since they haven’t stopped using the guillotine.”
“Exactly,” Giselle said, her voice trembling again. “We should discuss it at dinner. Then at least we will have a plan of action.”
“Good idea.”
She cast him a quick look. “And Monsieur Jones? What shall we do about him?”
Heathbrook stared grimly ahead. “Leave him to me.”