Dangerous to Hold (44 page)

After Marcel and another footman had carried Beaupré upstairs, Ross lit a cheroot from one of the candles and wandered out to the terrace. There were still plenty of servants about tidying up after the ball, but Ross hardly noticed them. Deep in thought, he stood at the balustrade, smoking his cheroot.

He hoped to God he knew what he was doing. He hoped to God that Alexandre’s trust in him was not misplaced. He couldn’t help admiring the old man’s acuity. Alexandre had known his conscience was bothering him. Now that they’d become friends, it seemed wrong to hope that Tessa Lorimer was the target of a murderer. But he couldn’t change what he was feeling. Without Tessa, he hadn’t a hope of catching his man. And because he felt guilty, he was inflexible in his resolve to fulfill all
his promises to Alexandre respecting the girl.

At the end of the terrace there was a flight of white marble steps descending to the gardens. Ross idled his way down the steps and stood at the entrance to a stone gazebo that had a view of the Seine. The lights of a few boats winked at him from the river, but there was little else to see at that time of night. He drew on his cheroot and let the smoke out slowly, his thoughts still engrossed on the interview just past.

Since he’d arrived in Paris three months before, when he’d approached Alexandre with what he knew, there had been a marked deterioration in his friend’s health—and that’s how he thought of Alexandre Beaupré, as a friend. From the very first, they’d measured each other and decided they liked what they saw. Now it was obvious Alexandre’s time had run out. They had to act quickly. The old man was right. His choices were appalling. He, Ross, was his best bet. That’s why he’d turned the responsibility for Tessa’s welfare over to him.

Responsibility wasn’t the word for it. Chore, task, labor, problem—those were the words that came to his mind when he thought of what was in store for him. Tessa Lorimer was a law unto herself. Alexandre did not know his granddaughter half as well as he thought he did, and Ross had not wanted to disillusion him, not when there was so little
time left to his friend. But
he
knew, because he’d made it his business to find out.

Without his volition, a picture formed in his mind. Tessa as he’d seen her on the dance floor, floating down the set with her partner. There was a sparkle in her eyes, and a soft, inviting smile on her lips. He’d thought that she wasn’t merely beautiful, she was breathtaking, all the more so because her beauty seemed to come from some inner light. Before he could prevent it, the thought had flashed into his mind that Tessa’s beauty was far more interesting than Cassie’s had been because there was fire beneath it, and he’d felt, in the next instant, as though he’d betrayed his wife’s memory, and he’d been furious with himself.

Tessa’s beauty might well be impossible to eclipse, but in other respects, she was dismally lacking. The aunt and uncle in England who’d had the raising of her had described a girl who bore little resemblance to the charmer who had, in so short a time, wrapped Alexandre Beaupré around her little finger. She’d attended a number of schools, first-class establishments, every one of them, but she’d soon overstayed her welcome. All the people he’d interviewed who’d ever had charge of her told the same story—Tessa Lorimer was rebellious, defiant, incorrigible, and they’d all heaved a great sigh of relief when they’d finally seen the back of her.

It was her last escapade that had made the uncle and aunt wash their hands of her, not
that they’d confided in him. They were too ashamed. He’d had it from one of the servants that Miss Tessa had run off with a handsome young footman, and after that Mr. and Mrs. Beasley never wanted to see her again, which surprised no one since they had two innocent young daughters of their own whom they did not wish contaminated by Tessa’s influence.

No one knew what had happened to the footman. What was certain was that, shortly after eloping, Tessa had arrived on her grandfather’s doorstep and had lived like a veritable princess ever since. She’d been indulged, petted, and pampered until there was no restraining her.

She’d had the good sense not to say too much about her early years, and not one word about her handsome young footman. The story she had concocted was that the Beasleys were insisting she marry some odious cousin, and she’d fled to France to throw herself on her grandfather’s mercy.

Alexandre had told him the rest of the story with unmitigated pride. Therese, he said, had disguised herself as a boy and had bribed a band of English smugglers to smuggle her into France. One part of Ross’s mind applauded her audacity. Another part of his mind was appalled. At the time, England and France were at war. Anything could have happened to her. A French warship could have blown her smugglers, and her with them, to smithereens. If she’d been caught, she could have been strung
up as an English spy. And if her smugglers had discovered that she was a female, it was highly unlikely that they would have spared her innocence.

If she was an innocent.

He thought of her handsome young footman and a wave of anger surged through him. How dared he leave a young girl to fend for herself? If he could have laid his hands on him, he would have torn him limb from limb. The thought startled him and he drew on his cheroot, then exhaled a stream of smoke as he inwardly debated why he was so angry.

A movement on the terrace alerted him to the presence of someone else. When he saw a shadow move, he took a cautious step back into the gazebo, then another.

“Paul?”

Tessa’s voice. There was a rustle of skirts as she descended the steps. Ross threw his cheroot on the ground and crushed it under his heel.

“Paul?” Her voice was breathless, uncertain. “I saw you from my window. I wasn’t sure it was you until I saw our signal.” Her voice took on a teasing note. “Or perhaps I was mistaken. Perhaps you weren’t signaling me but had simply slipped into the gazebo for a quiet smoke.”

Ross said nothing, but he’d already calculated that he’d stumbled upon the trysting place of Tessa and her French lover and had inadvertently given their signal merely by smoking a cheroot.

Tessa entered the gazebo and halted, waiting for her eyes to become accustomed to the gloom. “I wanted to thank you for the spray of violets. They really are lovely. But I had to burn your note.” She laughed. “You mustn’t write such things to me, Paul. My cheeks burned so hot, my maid feared I was coming down with a fever.” She paused, and her voice turned husky. “Paul, stop playing games with me. You know you want to kiss me.”

It never crossed Ross’s mind to enlighten her about his identity. He was too curious to see how far the brazen hussy would go. She had, quite literally, backed him into the darkest corner of the gazebo.

Her hands found his shoulders and curled around them. “Paul,” she whispered, and she lifted her head for his kiss.

Tessa was no stranger to a man’s kisses. In France, she had discovered, young gentlemen were not so circumspect as their English counterparts, nor were French girls the least bit prudish. Her female friends weren’t wicked, far from it; but they saw nothing wrong with indulging in a little kissing. They reasoned, and Tessa agreed with them, that it was the stupidest kind of folly for a girl to keep herself in total ignorance of what awaited her in marriage. Now, after two years in France, Tessa considered herself quite knowledgeable about men and their passions.

She also knew that by trysting with Paul in the gazebo, she was overstepping the boundaries
of what a French girl would allow. But Paul was different. He was courting her. Perhaps tonight he would ask her to marry him. Then their kisses would be sanctioned by his ring on her finger. And if that was not enough to tempt her, there were Paul’s breathtaking kisses. When he molded those experienced lips to hers, something peculiar happened to her insides, and that had never happened to her with any other boy. He made her feel quite giddy.

It was exactly as she had anticipated. His mouth was firm and hot, and those pleasant sensations began to warm her blood. When he wrapped his arms around her and jerked her hard against his full length, she gave a little start of surprise, but that warm, mobile mouth on hers insisted she yield to him. She laughed softly when he kissed her throat, then she stopped breathing altogether when he bent her back and kissed her breasts, just above the lace on her bodice. He’d never gone that far before.

She should stop him, she knew she should stop him, but she felt as weak as a kitten. She said something—a protest? a plea?—and his mouth was on hers again, and everything Tessa knew about men and their passions was reduced to ashes in the scorching heat of that embrace. Her limbs were shaking, wild tremors shook her body, her blood seemed to ignite. She was clinging to him for support, kissing him back, allowing those bold hands of his to wander at will from her breast to her thigh, taking
liberties she knew no decent girl should permit, not even a French girl.

When he left her mouth to kiss her ears, her eyebrows, her cheeks, she said in a shaken whisper, “I never knew it could be like this. You make me feel things I never knew existed, sensations I’ve never experienced before. You seem so different tonight.”

And he did. His body was harder, his shoulders seemed broader, and she hadn’t known he was so tall. As for his fragrance—

Then she knew, she
knew
, and she opened her eyes wide, trying to see his face. It was too dark, but she didn’t need a light to know whose arms she was in. He didn’t wear cologne, as Paul did. He smelled of fresh air and soap and freshly starched linen. Outrage rooted her to the spot, but only for a moment longer. Those clever hands of his had slipped and were beginning to massage her bottom.

“Trevenan!” she gasped, and fairly leapt out of his arms.

He made no move to stop her but said in a laconic tone that grated on her ears, “What a pity. And just when things were beginning to turn interesting.”

She was so overcome with rage, she could hardly find her voice, and when she did find it, it was high-pitched and unnatural.
“Interesting?
What you did to me was not interesting. It was
depraved”

As he advanced, she retreated. Though she felt a leap of alarm, she was too proud to run
away. When he halted beside the stone steps, so did she, but she was careful to preserve some space between them. The lights on the terrace had yet to be extinguished, and she had a clear view of his expression. He could hardly keep a straight face.

“Depraved?” he said. “That’s not the impression you gave me. I could have sworn you were enjoying yourself. ‘I never knew it could be like this,’” he mimicked. “‘You make me feel things I never knew existed.’” He began to laugh.

“I thought you were Paul,” she shouted. “How dared you impose yourself on me in that hateful way!”

He arched one brow. “My dear Miss Lorimer, as I recall, you were the one who imposed yourself on me. I was merely enjoying a quiet smoke when you barged into the gazebo and cornered me. I didn’t kiss you. You kissed me.” His white teeth gleamed. “Might I give you a word of advice? You’re too bold by half. A man likes to be the hunter. Try, if you can, to give the impression that
he
has cornered
you”.

The thought that this depraved rake—and he had to be a rake if his kisses were anything to go by—had the gall to give her advice made her temper burn even hotter. She had to unclench her teeth to get the words out. “There is no excuse for your conduct. You knew I thought you were Paul.”

“Come now, Miss Lorimer. That trick is as old as Eve.”

Anger made her forget her fear, and she took a quick step toward him. “Do you think I’d want your kisses? You’re nothing but my grandfather’s lackey. You’re a secretary, an employee. If I were to tell him what happened here tonight,” she pointed to the gazebo, “he would dismiss you.”

“Tell him, by all means. He won’t think less of me for acting like any red-blooded male. It’s your conduct that will be a disappointment to him.” His voice took on a hard edge. “By God, if I had the schooling of you, I’d soon make you learn to obey me.”

“Thank God,” she cried out, “that will never come to pass!”

He laughed. “Stranger things have happened.”

He had argued her to a standstill. The thing to do now was to leave him with as much dignity as was left to her. She wasn’t going to leave him with the impression that she had followed him into the gazebo knowing who he was.

She breathed deeply, trying to find her calm. “If I’d known you were in the gazebo, I would never have entered it.” His skeptical look revived her anger, and she raged, “I tell you, I thought you were Paul Marmont.”

He shrugged. “In that case, all I can say is that little girls who play with fire deserve to get burned.”

She said furiously, “You were teaching me a lesson?”

“In a word, yes.”

Her head flung back and she regarded him with smoldering dislike. “And just how far were you prepared to go in this lesson of yours, Mr. Trevenan? Mmm?”

He extended a hand to her and without a trace of mockery or levity answered, “Come back to the gazebo with me and I’ll show you.”

He was serious, and the knowledge was like a slap in the face. This was the man who never tried to conceal his contempt from her, who never so much as asked her for a dance at her own ball. He disliked her intensely, but that wouldn’t stop him from taking her like a common trollop in the gazebo. Then he would discard her. She’d never been so humiliated in her life. With an exclamation of hurt pride, she wheeled away from him and went racing up the stairs to the house.

Ross gave her a few minutes before he followed her in. He’d taught her a lesson he hoped she’d not soon forget. Her reckless disregard for the rules that were laid down for her own protection could lead her into danger. He didn’t regret teaching her that lesson, for he’d learned something about Tessa Lorimer that pleased him enormously.

She was still an innocent.

His lips quirked when he remembered her words. I
never knew it could be like this. You make me feel things I never knew existed, sensations I’ve never experienced before.
So much
for Paul Marmont and her handsome young footman, he thought, and snapped his fingers.