smiling at her. “Good morning, Julianne.” Clearly, he had known she was there.
Her heart turned over, hard. The way he was looking at her told her that he had to be thinking about the evening they had shared last night. It told her that he was as interested in her as she was in him.
He moved his gaze over her carefully, taking in the fact that she had curled her hair where it framed her face. Her hair was loose and hanging straight down her back, as was fashionable. She wore another ivory muslin dress, this one with a rounded neckline and fuller skirts. His gaze skidded across her bosom before he lowered his eyes and walked over to the chair where his shirt was hanging. He picked it up.
Julianne meant to look away, but she watched as he shrugged it on. The muscles in his chest and arms rippled. He looked up and caught her staring. He didn’t smile now.
Desire made her feel faint. She prayed she wasn’t blushing. She forced a smile. “How are you feeling today, monsieur? ” She realized she was clinging to the doorknob, as if that would keep her standing upright.
“Better.” He spoke as softly as before. He paused, and then said, “You have changed your hair.”
“I might have to go into Penzance this afternoon,” she lied.
He said, “You did not change it for me?”
She became still. “Yes, I changed it for you.”
“I am glad.” He said, “I believe I am well enough to go downstairs, if you do not mind. Walking would be beneficial.”
She started. “Of course I don’t mind.” But she wondered if he would be able to make it down the stairs, which were rather steep and narrow.
“These four walls might madden me,” he added, buttoning up the rest of his shirt.
She watched his long, blunt fingers sliding the buttons into the buttonholes. Last night, his hands had been on the arms of his chair as she had rubbed his neck. Eventually, she had seen his knuckles turn white. She still could not believe her audacity—or how touching him had affected her.
He sat and began to pull his stockings on.
She wanted to ask him about his family, but she said, “Can I be of help?”
“Haven’t you helped enough already?” He seemed wry.
He knew she was as nervous and anxious as a debutante, she thought, flushing. She watched him pull both boots on. “Where does your family live?”
He stood up. “My family is from le Loire. My father’s shop was in Nantes.” He smiled, extending his arm. “Will you walk with me, Julianne? I can think of nothing I wish to do more.”
Julianne took his arm. “You are so very gallant. Of course I will walk with you. I just hope we are not rushing your recovery.”
“I enjoy your concern.” His gaze slid over her features, lingering on her mouth.
She forgot to be worried about his welfare. He was thinking about kissing her.
“I would be rather dismayed,” he added softly, “if you were not concerned about me.”
Her smile failed her. He gestured and they traversed the corridor in a new silence. She felt his thoughts racing. She wished she knew exactly what he was thinking, certain he was thinking about her.
Suddenly she realized his breathing was becoming labored. “Monsieur?”
He paused, leaning against the wall. “I am fine.”
She gripped his arm more tightly, to steady him, and his biceps pressed against her breast. Their gazes locked.
Her heart slammed.
And then he sagged, as if his knees had buckled. Julianne leapt forward, wrapping both of her arms around his waist, afraid he would fall entirely over and down the stairs. She embraced him, her face pressed against his chest.
“You are far too weak for this,” she accused breathlessly. She could hear his heart pounding beneath her ear.
He was silent, breathing hard, and she felt his frustration change. He grasped her waist loosely, his chin pressing against her temple, and she felt his breath against her cheek.
They were in one another’s arms.
Breathing became impossible. Her heart
Her heart turned over, hard. The way he was looking at her told her that he had to be thinking about the evening they had shared last night. It told her that he was as interested in her as she was in him.
He moved his gaze over her carefully, taking in the fact that she had curled her hair where it framed her face. Her hair was loose and hanging straight down her back, as was fashionable. She wore another ivory muslin dress, this one with a rounded neckline and fuller skirts. His gaze skidded across her bosom before he lowered his eyes and walked over to the chair where his shirt was hanging. He picked it up.
Julianne meant to look away, but she watched as he shrugged it on. The muscles in his chest and arms rippled. He looked up and caught her staring. He didn’t smile now.
Desire made her feel faint. She prayed she wasn’t blushing. She forced a smile. “How are you feeling today, monsieur? ” She realized she was clinging to the doorknob, as if that would keep her standing upright.
“Better.” He spoke as softly as before. He paused, and then said, “You have changed your hair.”
“I might have to go into Penzance this afternoon,” she lied.
He said, “You did not change it for me?”
She became still. “Yes, I changed it for you.”
“I am glad.” He said, “I believe I am well enough to go downstairs, if you do not mind. Walking would be beneficial.”
She started. “Of course I don’t mind.” But she wondered if he would be able to make it down the stairs, which were rather steep and narrow.
“These four walls might madden me,” he added, buttoning up the rest of his shirt.
She watched his long, blunt fingers sliding the buttons into the buttonholes. Last night, his hands had been on the arms of his chair as she had rubbed his neck. Eventually, she had seen his knuckles turn white. She still could not believe her audacity—or how touching him had affected her.
He sat and began to pull his stockings on.
She wanted to ask him about his family, but she said, “Can I be of help?”
“Haven’t you helped enough already?” He seemed wry.
He knew she was as nervous and anxious as a debutante, she thought, flushing. She watched him pull both boots on. “Where does your family live?”
He stood up. “My family is from le Loire. My father’s shop was in Nantes.” He smiled, extending his arm. “Will you walk with me, Julianne? I can think of nothing I wish to do more.”
Julianne took his arm. “You are so very gallant. Of course I will walk with you. I just hope we are not rushing your recovery.”
“I enjoy your concern.” His gaze slid over her features, lingering on her mouth.
She forgot to be worried about his welfare. He was thinking about kissing her.
“I would be rather dismayed,” he added softly, “if you were not concerned about me.”
Her smile failed her. He gestured and they traversed the corridor in a new silence. She felt his thoughts racing. She wished she knew exactly what he was thinking, certain he was thinking about her.
Suddenly she realized his breathing was becoming labored. “Monsieur?”
He paused, leaning against the wall. “I am fine.”
She gripped his arm more tightly, to steady him, and his biceps pressed against her breast. Their gazes locked.
Her heart slammed.
And then he sagged, as if his knees had buckled. Julianne leapt forward, wrapping both of her arms around his waist, afraid he would fall entirely over and down the stairs. She embraced him, her face pressed against his chest.
“You are far too weak for this,” she accused breathlessly. She could hear his heart pounding beneath her ear.
He was silent, breathing hard, and she felt his frustration change. He grasped her waist loosely, his chin pressing against her temple, and she felt his breath against her cheek.
They were in one another’s arms.
Breathing became impossible. Her heart
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