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Authors: Lila DiPasqua
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unbearably conceited.”
“Well then.” He bowed over her hand. “Madame, I thank you for your efforts. I’d hate to become intolerable.” He kept the mood light though a new all-too-insistent question was now plaguing him, gnawing away at his brain.
Smiling, she shook her head. “You’re incorrigible. But definitely charming.”
“Then all hope for me is not lost.” He brought her hand up to his lips and kissed the sensitive spot on the inside of her wrist.
Her smile faded, and she pulled her hand away. Adrien fought back the urge to take it again.
“Do you love him?” He was stunned at himself. The question eating at him just tumbled out of his mouth. He hadn’t intended to ask. It shouldn’t matter a whit if she did.
“My betrothed?”
“Yes.” The last thing he wanted to hear from her were the same ill-placed words of adoration for Baillet his sister had.
To his relief, she shook her head. “No. Nor is he in love with me.”
“Why are you marrying him?”
“After my father’s death, Villecourt gained control of my inheritance.”
“And squandered it,” he surmised.
She looked down. “Yes. He had . . . extravagant ways. I find myself in dire straits. The château is in a state of ill repair. I’ve had to let most of the servants go.”
There was more about her marriage she wasn’t saying. She’d mentioned something about a scandal. But none of that was any of his concern. He wouldn’t inject himself into her troubles. It wasn’t why he was here.
Adrien slipped his arm around her waist and drew her to him, her soft form molding against him ever so delectably. Lust licked up his spine.
“Catherine, tell me what happened five years ago.”
Suddenly unable to look him in the eye, she dropped her gaze to his chest. She was vacillating. Concerned she’d renege on her promise, he pressed on, untying the ribbon between her breasts, making quick work of the fastenings on her bodice with his practiced fingers before panic flared in her eyes and her hand shot up, stilling his with a firm squeeze.
He leaned in, the scent of jasmine dazzling his senses. “It’s all right,” he said softly in her ear. “Trust me. Let’s put an end to the denials and lies. I only want the truth.” He pulled back to gaze at her face.
She wouldn’t look at him, her body rigid in his arms. Her hand still clutched his tightly.
“Let me,” he urged gently. “On my word, it will be all right.”
Keeping her gaze averted, she released her hold of his hand slowly.
Adrien opened her bodice and eased down her chemise, uncovering her skin an inch at a time until at last he located the three tiny freckles on the outside curve of her breast. There they were—those pretty freckles that had tantalized and tormented him in so many dreams. He caressed them with a finger.
Seeing them again triggered a rush of memories that weren’t only heated. There was something else about that night that made her unforgettable, the experience unique. More than the intensity of it. More than the discoveries he’d made the next morning.
It was the tenderness.
Somehow she’d infused a certain softness into their carnal encounter.
Interwoven with the salaciousness, there was tenderness in her touch. In her kisses. She’d taken what was supposed to be an anonymous copulation and made it far more intimate. Strikingly different. And most disconcerting—simply by how deeply satisfying it all was.
Taking several steps back, she readjusted her chemise, then covered her breasts with her arms.
She could pull away from him, but she couldn’t backtrack now that he’d seen the freckles. “No more denials,” he repeated. “It’s time for explanations, Catherine. Why don’t you start by telling me how you gained admittance into the masquerade? The guest list was rather exclusive. Daniel de Gallay swore to me that he didn’t invite anyone fitting your description.”
She paused. “The invitation was delivered to our town
“Well then.” He bowed over her hand. “Madame, I thank you for your efforts. I’d hate to become intolerable.” He kept the mood light though a new all-too-insistent question was now plaguing him, gnawing away at his brain.
Smiling, she shook her head. “You’re incorrigible. But definitely charming.”
“Then all hope for me is not lost.” He brought her hand up to his lips and kissed the sensitive spot on the inside of her wrist.
Her smile faded, and she pulled her hand away. Adrien fought back the urge to take it again.
“Do you love him?” He was stunned at himself. The question eating at him just tumbled out of his mouth. He hadn’t intended to ask. It shouldn’t matter a whit if she did.
“My betrothed?”
“Yes.” The last thing he wanted to hear from her were the same ill-placed words of adoration for Baillet his sister had.
To his relief, she shook her head. “No. Nor is he in love with me.”
“Why are you marrying him?”
“After my father’s death, Villecourt gained control of my inheritance.”
“And squandered it,” he surmised.
She looked down. “Yes. He had . . . extravagant ways. I find myself in dire straits. The château is in a state of ill repair. I’ve had to let most of the servants go.”
There was more about her marriage she wasn’t saying. She’d mentioned something about a scandal. But none of that was any of his concern. He wouldn’t inject himself into her troubles. It wasn’t why he was here.
Adrien slipped his arm around her waist and drew her to him, her soft form molding against him ever so delectably. Lust licked up his spine.
“Catherine, tell me what happened five years ago.”
Suddenly unable to look him in the eye, she dropped her gaze to his chest. She was vacillating. Concerned she’d renege on her promise, he pressed on, untying the ribbon between her breasts, making quick work of the fastenings on her bodice with his practiced fingers before panic flared in her eyes and her hand shot up, stilling his with a firm squeeze.
He leaned in, the scent of jasmine dazzling his senses. “It’s all right,” he said softly in her ear. “Trust me. Let’s put an end to the denials and lies. I only want the truth.” He pulled back to gaze at her face.
She wouldn’t look at him, her body rigid in his arms. Her hand still clutched his tightly.
“Let me,” he urged gently. “On my word, it will be all right.”
Keeping her gaze averted, she released her hold of his hand slowly.
Adrien opened her bodice and eased down her chemise, uncovering her skin an inch at a time until at last he located the three tiny freckles on the outside curve of her breast. There they were—those pretty freckles that had tantalized and tormented him in so many dreams. He caressed them with a finger.
Seeing them again triggered a rush of memories that weren’t only heated. There was something else about that night that made her unforgettable, the experience unique. More than the intensity of it. More than the discoveries he’d made the next morning.
It was the tenderness.
Somehow she’d infused a certain softness into their carnal encounter.
Interwoven with the salaciousness, there was tenderness in her touch. In her kisses. She’d taken what was supposed to be an anonymous copulation and made it far more intimate. Strikingly different. And most disconcerting—simply by how deeply satisfying it all was.
Taking several steps back, she readjusted her chemise, then covered her breasts with her arms.
She could pull away from him, but she couldn’t backtrack now that he’d seen the freckles. “No more denials,” he repeated. “It’s time for explanations, Catherine. Why don’t you start by telling me how you gained admittance into the masquerade? The guest list was rather exclusive. Daniel de Gallay swore to me that he didn’t invite anyone fitting your description.”
She paused. “The invitation was delivered to our town
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