Read Online Princess Charming by Beth Pattillo - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Beth Pattillo
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unwelcome desire for the hoyden at the other end of the wrist irons.
HE WAS AWAKENED at the crack of dawn by the faint rap of the front door knocker. His muscles tensed. While gentlemen might depart Madame St. Cloud’s in the predawn hours, very few arrived then. He heard the murmur of voices but could not quite make out the words. Nick knew that the odds were good, though, that whoever the hunter was, he and Lucy were the prey.
The sound of footsteps on the stairs sent his protective instincts into action. With one quick turn, he moved to cover the girl’s body with his own. He chose the position deliberately, so that all that would be visible from the door was his back. Perhaps the appearance of intimacy would be enough to send whomever it was on their way.
He heard doors open and shut down the length of the hallway, each time with a mumbled apology and angry words from a disturbed gentleman or a screech from one of Madame St. Cloud’s irate girls. Nick waited, arms aching with the demands of holding himself close enough for illusion and yet keeping some semblance of distance from the enticing body beneath him. His chest ached as well, oddly enough, but that feeling bore no connection to his physical efforts. He heard Madame St. Cloud’s softly accented voice, and as the footsteps moved closer, he recognized the second voice.
Crispin.
The key rattled in the lock. Briefly he wondered if any of the locks on Madame’s doors were ever respected, but he had no time for further thought. The door swung open, and a familiar chuckle traveled across the room.
“Good morning, Nick,” Crispin said from the doorway.
At that moment, he felt the girl move beneath him. She gasped, and her body went still. Nick looked down. Her blue eyes were awash with fear, and then, in an instant, recognition. The brief flash of sensual awareness almost made him forget the presence of Crispin and Madame, but her words snapped him back to reality.
“Get off me, you great oaf.”
WARM MALE FLESH. Muscles and sinew and heat, and the smell of bay rum and something smoky. Lucy had never been this close to a man before in her life, and for one long moment, she couldn’t breathe. Trapped between Nick’s body and the soft mattress, she fought against the seductive lure of both.
“Cheri!” A soft, disembodied voice, promising and sensual, came from beyond Nick’s shoulder. “You naughty boy. I did not know you were here. Which of my girls hid this information from me?”
Lucy heard the woman move closer, and then her face appeared over Nick’s shoulder. She was beautiful in the elegant way of mature French women. Even at this hour of the morning, a perfect coiffure complemented her classic features, and the strands of gray at her temples did not mar the allure of her amethyst eyes and generous mouth. Nick rolled away, and Lucy gulped in air.
“Good morning, Madame,” he said, smiling disarmingly at the woman. “Privacy seems to be in short supply today.”
Lucy flushed. “Please, Madame.” She held up their wrists, displaying the lightweight iron cuffs. “Is there a key?” She thought she might die of embarrassment, but distancing herself from the tempting gardener was worth every bit of humiliation. The Frenchwoman’s eyes lit with delight, and the gardener, despite his bravado, actually flushed a dim red beneath his olive complexion.
“Nick, cheri, how foolish of you! I may indulge men’s pleasures, but I do not put my girls in danger.” The woman stepped forward, and with a quick movement of her long fingers, she sprang open the cuff. “All of my girls know how to work the irons. You could have been free at any moment.”
Lucy rubbed her wrist where the iron had scraped a raw place. The gardener’s eyes met hers, and in their brown depths, Lucy saw the truth. He had known all along how to release them, the rat!
“You lied.”
“Not quite.” He reached over to undo the cuff that held his wrist, the movement
HE WAS AWAKENED at the crack of dawn by the faint rap of the front door knocker. His muscles tensed. While gentlemen might depart Madame St. Cloud’s in the predawn hours, very few arrived then. He heard the murmur of voices but could not quite make out the words. Nick knew that the odds were good, though, that whoever the hunter was, he and Lucy were the prey.
The sound of footsteps on the stairs sent his protective instincts into action. With one quick turn, he moved to cover the girl’s body with his own. He chose the position deliberately, so that all that would be visible from the door was his back. Perhaps the appearance of intimacy would be enough to send whomever it was on their way.
He heard doors open and shut down the length of the hallway, each time with a mumbled apology and angry words from a disturbed gentleman or a screech from one of Madame St. Cloud’s irate girls. Nick waited, arms aching with the demands of holding himself close enough for illusion and yet keeping some semblance of distance from the enticing body beneath him. His chest ached as well, oddly enough, but that feeling bore no connection to his physical efforts. He heard Madame St. Cloud’s softly accented voice, and as the footsteps moved closer, he recognized the second voice.
Crispin.
The key rattled in the lock. Briefly he wondered if any of the locks on Madame’s doors were ever respected, but he had no time for further thought. The door swung open, and a familiar chuckle traveled across the room.
“Good morning, Nick,” Crispin said from the doorway.
At that moment, he felt the girl move beneath him. She gasped, and her body went still. Nick looked down. Her blue eyes were awash with fear, and then, in an instant, recognition. The brief flash of sensual awareness almost made him forget the presence of Crispin and Madame, but her words snapped him back to reality.
“Get off me, you great oaf.”
WARM MALE FLESH. Muscles and sinew and heat, and the smell of bay rum and something smoky. Lucy had never been this close to a man before in her life, and for one long moment, she couldn’t breathe. Trapped between Nick’s body and the soft mattress, she fought against the seductive lure of both.
“Cheri!” A soft, disembodied voice, promising and sensual, came from beyond Nick’s shoulder. “You naughty boy. I did not know you were here. Which of my girls hid this information from me?”
Lucy heard the woman move closer, and then her face appeared over Nick’s shoulder. She was beautiful in the elegant way of mature French women. Even at this hour of the morning, a perfect coiffure complemented her classic features, and the strands of gray at her temples did not mar the allure of her amethyst eyes and generous mouth. Nick rolled away, and Lucy gulped in air.
“Good morning, Madame,” he said, smiling disarmingly at the woman. “Privacy seems to be in short supply today.”
Lucy flushed. “Please, Madame.” She held up their wrists, displaying the lightweight iron cuffs. “Is there a key?” She thought she might die of embarrassment, but distancing herself from the tempting gardener was worth every bit of humiliation. The Frenchwoman’s eyes lit with delight, and the gardener, despite his bravado, actually flushed a dim red beneath his olive complexion.
“Nick, cheri, how foolish of you! I may indulge men’s pleasures, but I do not put my girls in danger.” The woman stepped forward, and with a quick movement of her long fingers, she sprang open the cuff. “All of my girls know how to work the irons. You could have been free at any moment.”
Lucy rubbed her wrist where the iron had scraped a raw place. The gardener’s eyes met hers, and in their brown depths, Lucy saw the truth. He had known all along how to release them, the rat!
“You lied.”
“Not quite.” He reached over to undo the cuff that held his wrist, the movement
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