her. “We both have a great deal to gain. As you say, it is a mutually advantageous agreement, is it not?”
Her pointed chin came up. “I do not stand to profit from this.”
“Oh, but you do,” he contradicted. “And you know what will happen if you try to trick me. One word from me, and you won’t be able to show your face anywhere in Europe. Your secret will be out. The estate you inherited will be lost. Your marriage to Armand Lemieux will be exposed as the sham it was should I choose to reveal you already had a husband! You will lose all you gained at Lemieux’s death. Your life, as you know it, will end.”
“I loved Armand!”
“And you certainly loved what he gave you, didn’t you? But I find I’m curious. What of my brother? What of James? Did you love him too? He died, madame . He drowned, and you lived. I knew of your plan, you know. I always wondered that you took a fancy to a Roxbury, a man who was not upper-crust. James did always fancy himself a man about town, though, didn’t he? I confess, it was he who taught me to appreciate the finer things in life.” With his fingertips he ca ressed the statue. “Oh, but James was always a bon vivant , wasn’t he? He pledged me to secrecy, you know, for I guessed about the two of you. What a man will not do,” he mocked, “for love of a woman! Ah, but you did quite well without him, didn’t you? I daresay, as Armand Lemieux’s wife, you fared much better!”
“You are a cunning, crafty man. And quite ruthless.”
“Thank you, madame .”
“It was not meant as a compliment.”
“Nonetheless, I take it as such.” He caressed the statuette once more, then set it aside. “When will the next piece arrive?”
She moved stiffly to the door. “I will send word.”
His eyes glinted. “I anticipate our next en counter then with the utmost pleasure.”
To his amusement, she did not echo the senti ment.
Dawn streaked the horizon when Dane let him self into the cottage. It had proved a fruitless night. He’d spent hours waiting for the coach, but his wait had been in vain. Frustrated, he fi nally departed for the cottage.
His mood was thoughtful as he unsaddled Per cival and led him beneath a shelter that had been built next to the cottage. Was the culprit onto him? he wondered. He was reminded of Phillip. So it was excitement he craved, did he? For all that Phillip claimed he wished to be in his place for the night, he had the feeling Phillip would not have relished lying in wait on such a miserable evening.
The fire had burned down to embers. Dane threw a chunk of wood onto the grate. He stood a moment, watching the flames leap high. Finally, he walked over to stand above his captive.
She was sleeping soundly, her face turned away from him on the pillow. Dane released a breath of relief. Thank God. No doubt she would be back to plaguing him tomorrow, fiery and tart, which posed the question ...What was he to do with her?
Sighing, he sat and removed his boots. He was too tired to search for answers. For the moment, he possessed neither the will nor the wit to do battle with a tongue such as hers. He was ex hausted. Sitting, he removed his boots and his shirt. A few hours’ rest was all he needed. Then he would be ready for a new day—and his unex pected charge.
Raising a corner of the blanket, he slid into the narrow space, taking care not to disturb her. She gave no sign of waking, but continued to slumber on. Dane closed his eyes.
Sleep claimed him. And in his sleep, he dreamed. Of her . Of the lovely Julianna. Dimly, he felt her slide above him. Oh, but she was fair and sweet, her beautiful hair swirling over his chest as she bent over him. He fancied he could see her, poised above him as one small hand dar ingly explored, skimming the grid of his belly.
He felt himself smile. It would be good with her, he decided. Indeed, it would be exquisite. Her hand was sliding down ...down. Lower, he thought, willing her to cup his rod, to
Her pointed chin came up. “I do not stand to profit from this.”
“Oh, but you do,” he contradicted. “And you know what will happen if you try to trick me. One word from me, and you won’t be able to show your face anywhere in Europe. Your secret will be out. The estate you inherited will be lost. Your marriage to Armand Lemieux will be exposed as the sham it was should I choose to reveal you already had a husband! You will lose all you gained at Lemieux’s death. Your life, as you know it, will end.”
“I loved Armand!”
“And you certainly loved what he gave you, didn’t you? But I find I’m curious. What of my brother? What of James? Did you love him too? He died, madame . He drowned, and you lived. I knew of your plan, you know. I always wondered that you took a fancy to a Roxbury, a man who was not upper-crust. James did always fancy himself a man about town, though, didn’t he? I confess, it was he who taught me to appreciate the finer things in life.” With his fingertips he ca ressed the statue. “Oh, but James was always a bon vivant , wasn’t he? He pledged me to secrecy, you know, for I guessed about the two of you. What a man will not do,” he mocked, “for love of a woman! Ah, but you did quite well without him, didn’t you? I daresay, as Armand Lemieux’s wife, you fared much better!”
“You are a cunning, crafty man. And quite ruthless.”
“Thank you, madame .”
“It was not meant as a compliment.”
“Nonetheless, I take it as such.” He caressed the statuette once more, then set it aside. “When will the next piece arrive?”
She moved stiffly to the door. “I will send word.”
His eyes glinted. “I anticipate our next en counter then with the utmost pleasure.”
To his amusement, she did not echo the senti ment.
Dawn streaked the horizon when Dane let him self into the cottage. It had proved a fruitless night. He’d spent hours waiting for the coach, but his wait had been in vain. Frustrated, he fi nally departed for the cottage.
His mood was thoughtful as he unsaddled Per cival and led him beneath a shelter that had been built next to the cottage. Was the culprit onto him? he wondered. He was reminded of Phillip. So it was excitement he craved, did he? For all that Phillip claimed he wished to be in his place for the night, he had the feeling Phillip would not have relished lying in wait on such a miserable evening.
The fire had burned down to embers. Dane threw a chunk of wood onto the grate. He stood a moment, watching the flames leap high. Finally, he walked over to stand above his captive.
She was sleeping soundly, her face turned away from him on the pillow. Dane released a breath of relief. Thank God. No doubt she would be back to plaguing him tomorrow, fiery and tart, which posed the question ...What was he to do with her?
Sighing, he sat and removed his boots. He was too tired to search for answers. For the moment, he possessed neither the will nor the wit to do battle with a tongue such as hers. He was ex hausted. Sitting, he removed his boots and his shirt. A few hours’ rest was all he needed. Then he would be ready for a new day—and his unex pected charge.
Raising a corner of the blanket, he slid into the narrow space, taking care not to disturb her. She gave no sign of waking, but continued to slumber on. Dane closed his eyes.
Sleep claimed him. And in his sleep, he dreamed. Of her . Of the lovely Julianna. Dimly, he felt her slide above him. Oh, but she was fair and sweet, her beautiful hair swirling over his chest as she bent over him. He fancied he could see her, poised above him as one small hand dar ingly explored, skimming the grid of his belly.
He felt himself smile. It would be good with her, he decided. Indeed, it would be exquisite. Her hand was sliding down ...down. Lower, he thought, willing her to cup his rod, to
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