Adele Ashworth (12 page)

Her lips tightened, not in anger, but to keep from laughing. “Because of age and experience, Jonathan? Or because you think you’re so completely irresistible?”

He lifted his shoulders lightly in innocence. “Because I understand women.”

“Do you, now?” She tilted her head, eyeing him wryly, and Jonathan knew it was on the tip of her tongue to ask how many hearts he’d broken, which, now that he thought about it, weren’t nearly as many as his ridiculous reputation implied.

“So you’ve never been in love with one of your many mistresses?”

That wasn’t at all what he expected, and now he was uncomfortable. He tipped his wine to his lips and finished it off, then began placing items back into the picnic basket. “Why are you so curious?”

She sat forward and curled her legs up under her skirt, hugging her knees with her arms wrapped around them. “Your life and loves interest me.”

He fully doubted it. He was now starting to believe she found him rather dull—a tiresome, pompous trader of silly, useless things. She was purposely being sneaky, though to what end he couldn’t fathom.

“I’ve actually had very few mistresses, and never more than one at a time,” he defended at last, closing the top of the picnic basket and pushing it from between them to his side.

She looked at him skeptically, but since his explanation was something he couldn’t possibly prove, he ignored it and went on.

“I enjoy the company of women, I will admit, but I’ve been careful not to fall for any of them. So, no, I don’t think I’ve ever truly loved one, at least not as my brother seems to love his wife, or my father seemed to love my mother. But what does my past have to do with you and the Black Knight?”

“If you don’t know what love is,” she replied instantly, “how can you understand my desire to meet this man?”

It all became clear to him. “Are you saying you love him in a way I wouldn’t understand?”

She grinned beautifully. “Exactly. Women often love in ways men don’t understand.”

That was ludicrous, and now he was totally suspicious. All this shallow talk of love was her way of hiding real motives. He was sure of it.

With his free hand he reached into the basket’s side pocket and pulled out the small jar containing four chocolate-covered strawberries. Gingerly he removed one and held it out to her.

She gasped with surprise and resounding pleasure. Chocolate always had a way of succeeding to gratify and delight a woman where a man could not, Jonathan mused. Most of the time that was disheartening, but once in a while an occasion arose where the knowledge could be used to manipulate. As right now.

She cupped the strawberry in one hand, gliding her other palm along her cheek to push aside breeze-blown hair. Then she took one bite and gazed at him tentatively.

“Are you trying to seduce me, Jonathan?”

He almost laughed, attempting in vain to imagine what her idea of seduction might be—or what it led to. “No,” he answered easily. Again he sat back a little. “I just want you to like me, Natalie.”

She sighed and consumed the rest in record speed, then licked chocolate off her fingertips—a motion he found particularly sensual.

“I like you very much,” she admitted shyly.

His body sprang to life from those innocently spoken words, and with that discomfort the intoxicating image of licking chocolate from her breasts came to mind. He felt like a child who had been given a new toy. “Very much?”

She shrugged and averted her gaze. “You’ve been generous and gracious, respectful of me and my privacy. And you’ve kindly brought me to France without argument to meet the man of my dreams.”

His face fell. Sexual images vanished. But with dismay came hope—and wariness anew. She hadn’t been dreaming, she’d been planning. Her explanation was a flagrant lie.

“I have another strawberry for you if you answer my next question.”

She smiled mischievously. “What would you like to know?”

“I want to know exactly why you’re so interested in a womanizing thief,” he demanded coolly. “And I want the truth. No more talk of love and marriage, because I don’t believe it for a second.”

She faltered, blinking quickly, sinking into herself and wrapping her arms around her body again in a measure of comfort. Minutes passed, it seemed, with not one word spoken. And he waited, refusing to back down, staring openly into lustrous eyes of indecision and evaluation.

Then at last, in a breath above the sound of lapping waves, she lowered her lashes and began a disclosure of honesty. “I came to France to engage him.”

“Engage him?” he repeated, nonplussed.

Now it was she who was plainly uncomfortable. “His services,” she clarified huskily. “I need his help.”

Jonathan was absolutely astonished. At first he wasn’t certain he’d heard her correctly. But after several seconds of consideration, the entire precarious adventure demanded by a cunning but properly bred English maiden began to make sense. This didn’t involve her wild infatuation with a myth; it involved something very real and far deeper. At that moment he knew he’d never been more obtuse about anything so obvious in his life.

“But please don’t ask me to discuss it with you,” she continued quickly, glancing out over the water. “It’s—highly personal.”

He had trouble finding his voice, or perhaps just the right response to a revelation so staggering. But somewhere inside he was already basking in possibilities laid before him—before them. What fun
this
could turn out to be.

Attempting with difficulty to hide his enjoyment at the turn of events, Jonathan cleared his throat and sat up a little on the blanket. “I think, Natalie, to be fair, I need to understand.” He thrust the knife of guilt home. “You’ve lied to me from the beginning—about everything—and I’ve willingly trusted you. Tell me something.”

She bent her head down. “I can’t.”

He pushed for detail. “Is this about you?”

“No,” was her fast reply.

“Someone you care about?”

She touched her palm to her forehead in frustration. “Someone I love very much. But please don’t ask me anything else, Jonathan. I can only talk to him.”

That bothered him, though for what reason he wasn’t sure. “You’re here to help a man you’re in love with?”

She stood abruptly, but he grabbed her wrist before she could consider fleeing. “Answer me that, Natalie,” he demanded quietly.

A sudden gust of wind blew her lightweight skirt against her legs, making it billow out behind her, and she swatted at it irritably. “If it’s any of your business, I’m not in love with anyone.”

“I’ve never met a woman who so totally confused me,” he admitted, taking full advantage of the marvelous exposure of her curves from breasts to ankles now outlined for his view. He felt a familiar raw heat as his mind briefly considered running his palm along her leg, swathed in soft fabric. “Explain yourself, and I’ll refrain from asking any more personal questions.”

“I
can’t
,” she whispered fiercely. Seconds later she softened her stance. “At least not yet.”

He inhaled deeply, calculating his options. She wouldn’t talk to him, and that troubled him because . . . why? Because she either didn’t trust him or she had something to hide. He knew her desperate attempt to involve the Black Knight couldn’t have anything to do with delicate female issues, whatever those might be, because the legend was also a man, and everyone knew it. But more importantly he was a thief, which in itself meant she most certainly wanted him to steal something for her. For the life of him, Jonathan couldn’t imagine what that might be—something so incriminating, or revolting, something so personal, which was the word she’d used, or priceless, that she would jeopardize everything for it. Or for the person she loved.

He had to ponder that one. He knew she had no siblings, and if he could believe her insistence of not being in love with a man, it could only mean her mother or father. He didn’t think anyone would go to this much trouble, this kind of wild pursuit, for a cousin or other distant relation, and probably not even for a very close friend. The only consolation he had, he supposed, was that she would eventually tell him when she learned who he was. Unless, of course, she was so thoroughly appalled and enraged at
his
lie she refused to speak to him forevermore. But he wouldn’t even consider that.

Jonathan pulled gently on her wrist until she consented to again sit beside him on the blanket. Then he released her and leaned forward, elbows on his raised knees, fingertips touching in front of him as he stared out across the expansive blue sea.

“Why did you lie to me?” he pursued with some dejection in his voice.

She stared out at the water as well. “Why do you think, Jonathan? What would an average gentleman believe of a lady in my position? That she desperately wanted to marry or desperately needed something stolen? That she daydreamed of a handsome man’s arms around her whispering passionate words of love or that she cleverly needed to manipulate and buy the services of a thief to help an anxious loved one?”

“They’re both romantic pursuits,” he said cautiously.

She turned to face him. “I didn’t know you at all, and consider this absurdity. If I had told you my real motives, you would have laughed me out of your home—any gentleman would have—perhaps even threatened to tell my father of my utter disregard for decency. I’m nearly twenty-three years old; after another season I’ll certainly be considered on the shelf. In our world nothing could be worse, and you believed it because you think like any other man. An innocent disclosure of romantic dreams into your realm of circumscribed thought bought me a ticket to France.”

He’d never heard anything so ridiculous and at the same time so logical in his life. Yet he had to admire her sagacity. What she said was very sadly true. Still, he didn’t for a moment believe someone so refreshing and physically beautiful as Natalie Haislett would have trouble finding a husband, regardless of age, unless, of course, her virtue were in question. Her dowry certainly had to be adequate if not substantial.

He regarded her, now sitting closely beside him without fear or suspicion. “Do you think about marriage, Natalie, or would you prefer to avoid it altogether?”

That caught her a little by surprise, probably because she really had no choice in the matter. If she didn’t choose a husband soon, her father would no doubt force the issue to someone suitable.

“I think about marriage,” she replied quietly after a moment of thought. “But not to a fool, or a reserved gentleman who won’t allow me to be who I am. I’d rather be a spinster than marry someone just in fear of never finding a husband.” The air was still quite warm, and yet she shivered and grasped her elbows with her palms. “I didn’t lie to you, either. Everything I said to you on the ship is true, Jonathan. I’ve studied the Black Knight for years and I find him fascinating.” Almost inaudibly, she admitted, “If he finds me at all appealing, I’m hoping he’ll consider me.”

His brows knitted. “Consider you . . . for marriage?”

She looked down to the blanket, studying the soft plaid intently. “Consider me for a companion, a friend, and a wife.”

He just didn’t know whether to believe her guarded explanations. In English society a wife was rarely her husband’s friend, and most people didn’t think twice about it. It wasn’t desirable or undesirable, it was just a fact of one’s station of existence. What she said she wanted from the thief was extraordinary.

His expression turned serious. “So you came to France to engage his services
and
to appeal to his masculine nature in the hope of a marriage proposal?”

“Yes. I do, however, expect to pay him for helping me with my . . . situation, which is more pressing at the moment.” She fidgeted, looking totally embarrassed. “And I expect nothing in return if he’s not interested in me as a woman.”

At any other time, with anyone else, the conversation would have been laughable, and he would have been annoyed at such audacity. But she was just so ardent and determined in expression and voice that Jonathan couldn’t help but feel a growing warmth inside, an understanding of risks and unfulfilled dreams, of wishes and pleasures beyond reach. Natalie Haislett, the innocent romantic, slyly put her reputation and future in his hands, and instead of feeling outraged at the deceit, the entire adventure filled him with an unusual blend of excitement and tenderness.

A silence, intimate and comforting, rose between them. There was nobody around, nothing to be heard but gently cresting waves as they splashed against the cliffs, and an occasional squawking gull. The sun had finally set below water, and the horizon glowed with hues of rose, coral, and striking blue.

Jonathan stared at her, lingeringly now, watching as the delicate ocean wind lifted wayward strands of sun-warmed hair, taking notice of her finely shaped, slightly upturned nose, her smooth, flawless complexion, and thick, curling lashes as they formed dark crescents upon her brows and high cheekbones. Her mouth was perfectly sculpted, full and red and deliciously inviting as ripened strawberries on the vine. Her chin and jaw were well defined yet feminine, tapering softly to a long, elegant throat where he could see her pulse beating rhythmically. He’d never looked at her features individually before, and taken separately they were fairly unremarkable. As a whole, her face possessed a rare and exquisite quality, wherewith he knew without question the finest painter in the world could never begin to do justice.

“Do you ever think about marriage, Jonathan?”

The words cut through the stillness, his thoughts, and the quavering manner in which she spoke unsettled him a little. “I do. At least I have recently,” he answered without pretense.

She drew a long, slow breath and glanced down to her hands now clutched together in her lap. “Would you give up your mistresses for a wife?”

He had no idea where her thoughts were leading, but the sudden turn in conversation made him smile. As did her timid curiosity.

He reached for the hem of her gown and ran it through his fingers. “Truthfully, I haven’t considered marriage and all its life changes that closely. But I hope”—he dropped his voice to an intimate whisper—“that my wife will be so desirous of satisfying me in every way I won’t need one.”