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Authors: Louise Allen
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new gown, hear about his day, the gossip of Paris, this wonderful city she’d only glimpsed. And she wanted to hear when her lessons could start and how soon she could go about with Madame Robert.
Chapter Six
It was almost midnight, and Cassandra was half asleep, when she heard the noise of carriage wheels on the cobbled courtyard beneath her window. She leapt out of bed and ran barefoot to the long casement. Below her, Nicholas was getting out of the carriage, but he was not alone. Another coach pulled up behind and men and women in evening dress alighted from both.
Cassandra could not see them properly from above, but she could hear their laughter as they passed between the flickering torchéres into the house.
So he had forgotten that he had promised to meet her at supper and instead he’d been out carousing with these people. In fact he had probably forgotten she existed while she had spent all day by herself waiting for him to come home.
Angrily she wrenched open the door, careless of the fact she was wearing only the silk peignoir. Gaston was ushering the party into one of the drawing rooms as she peered over the banister. They must have come on from the theatre or the opera and the three women in the group were bejewelled, gems flashing on the milky expanses of décolletage .
‘Make yourselves at home, mes amis ,’ Nicholas called over his shoulder. ‘I will be with you in a moment.’ He began to run up the staircase, his opera cloak flung over one shoulder. He’d get rid of the cloak, freshen up…
He stood in front of the mirror adjusting the emerald stick pin in his neck cloth. Something moved in the reflection, someone by the half-open doorway had shifted, changing the fall of the light.
He turned and, for a long moment, did not recognise the figure in the doorway. The brighter light from the landing cast a halo around tumbled dark curls and gleamed on the rich sapphire silk which pooled around the pale bare feet which peeped provocatively from the folds. One white shoulder showed where the fabric had slipped with the woman’s agitated breathing.
Instinctively he stepped forward, drawn by the sensuality of the still, silent figure. Then he saw who it was.
‘ Cassandra. ’ He stopped, scandalised as much by his own arousal as her appearance. With an effort he got his reactions under control. ‘What are you doing out of your room dressed like that?’
‘How else should I be dressed?’ she demanded. ‘It is bedtime, after all.’ Her chin came up defiantly. Those expressive blue eyes sparked with anger, of all things. ‘You promised you'd be home for supper.’
She looked… beautiful. Cassie, the girl, Cass, the valet… this desirable woman. Arousal flared through him along with guilt for even feeling it. ‘You stupid girl! Get back to bed this instant. If anyone were to see you…’
She shrugged dismissively, sending the gown slithering down the other white shoulder as she took a step forward. ‘They’d only wonder who that brat was, the one who should have been in bed hours ago.’
In bed? That was where she should be, where he wanted her. ‘Not dressed like that, they won’t.’ Before he realised what he was doing Nicholas took the one stride forward that closed the gap between them, seized her by the shoulders and brought his mouth down on hers.
Nicholas held her crushed hard against him as he deepened the kiss. Fireworks exploded behind his closed lids, her bare skin where the gown had slipped from her shoulders seemed to burn through the fabric of his shirt as his hands on her back insistently moulded her body to his.
Cassandra made no resistance. Her fingers sought the curls at his nape, twining and inciting as a little moan of wanting began in her throat.
What am I doing? Nicholas freed her as sharply as he had taken her and she staggered, her eyes on his face, as if trying to understand this new Nicholas, trying to fathom why he had broken the embrace so
Chapter Six
It was almost midnight, and Cassandra was half asleep, when she heard the noise of carriage wheels on the cobbled courtyard beneath her window. She leapt out of bed and ran barefoot to the long casement. Below her, Nicholas was getting out of the carriage, but he was not alone. Another coach pulled up behind and men and women in evening dress alighted from both.
Cassandra could not see them properly from above, but she could hear their laughter as they passed between the flickering torchéres into the house.
So he had forgotten that he had promised to meet her at supper and instead he’d been out carousing with these people. In fact he had probably forgotten she existed while she had spent all day by herself waiting for him to come home.
Angrily she wrenched open the door, careless of the fact she was wearing only the silk peignoir. Gaston was ushering the party into one of the drawing rooms as she peered over the banister. They must have come on from the theatre or the opera and the three women in the group were bejewelled, gems flashing on the milky expanses of décolletage .
‘Make yourselves at home, mes amis ,’ Nicholas called over his shoulder. ‘I will be with you in a moment.’ He began to run up the staircase, his opera cloak flung over one shoulder. He’d get rid of the cloak, freshen up…
He stood in front of the mirror adjusting the emerald stick pin in his neck cloth. Something moved in the reflection, someone by the half-open doorway had shifted, changing the fall of the light.
He turned and, for a long moment, did not recognise the figure in the doorway. The brighter light from the landing cast a halo around tumbled dark curls and gleamed on the rich sapphire silk which pooled around the pale bare feet which peeped provocatively from the folds. One white shoulder showed where the fabric had slipped with the woman’s agitated breathing.
Instinctively he stepped forward, drawn by the sensuality of the still, silent figure. Then he saw who it was.
‘ Cassandra. ’ He stopped, scandalised as much by his own arousal as her appearance. With an effort he got his reactions under control. ‘What are you doing out of your room dressed like that?’
‘How else should I be dressed?’ she demanded. ‘It is bedtime, after all.’ Her chin came up defiantly. Those expressive blue eyes sparked with anger, of all things. ‘You promised you'd be home for supper.’
She looked… beautiful. Cassie, the girl, Cass, the valet… this desirable woman. Arousal flared through him along with guilt for even feeling it. ‘You stupid girl! Get back to bed this instant. If anyone were to see you…’
She shrugged dismissively, sending the gown slithering down the other white shoulder as she took a step forward. ‘They’d only wonder who that brat was, the one who should have been in bed hours ago.’
In bed? That was where she should be, where he wanted her. ‘Not dressed like that, they won’t.’ Before he realised what he was doing Nicholas took the one stride forward that closed the gap between them, seized her by the shoulders and brought his mouth down on hers.
Nicholas held her crushed hard against him as he deepened the kiss. Fireworks exploded behind his closed lids, her bare skin where the gown had slipped from her shoulders seemed to burn through the fabric of his shirt as his hands on her back insistently moulded her body to his.
Cassandra made no resistance. Her fingers sought the curls at his nape, twining and inciting as a little moan of wanting began in her throat.
What am I doing? Nicholas freed her as sharply as he had taken her and she staggered, her eyes on his face, as if trying to understand this new Nicholas, trying to fathom why he had broken the embrace so
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