Adele Ashworth (14 page)

Furiously she struggled from under him, moving quickly to all fours, then steadying herself so she could rise. He clung to her for a second, then let her go, following suit, unsure of her reaction until he stood next to her and she faced him fully. Quite suddenly she was shaking with rage, her face, both livid and so very vulnerable, reflecting a dull, shimmering glow from the final traces of daylight.

“You may do this kind of thing with women all the time, Jonathan, but it does not happen to me,” she seethed, hands clenched at her sides.

He blinked, then felt himself pale as comprehension overtook him. “That’s not what I meant—”

“Stop it!”

She covered her face with her hands, and just as quickly he grabbed her wrists and yanked her against him. She fought him, but he wouldn’t let her go.

“That’s not what I meant,” he repeated soothingly. He waited, and finally she stopped struggling, shaking her head, eyes tightly shut. “Natalie, look at me.”

She ignored him.

“Look at me,” he said again urgently.

Reluctantly she relaxed and raised her lashes, glaring at him with huge, vibrant, furious eyes, clear as glass.

He took a long, slow breath, though still clutching her wrists in fear that she would run. “What happened between us just now has never happened to me before.”

She gaped at him, appalled. “You’re a blatant liar. You’ve been with so many—”

“Not like this,” he broke in gently.

“But isn’t it always the same?” she blurted sarcastically. “One woman or another—”

“No,” he stated emphatically, his chest tightening because he realized at once that she wouldn’t see past the rumors to the man, to the truth as he might explain it. She didn’t believe him, and what could he say? That he’d never been with anyone so thoroughly enchanting and delightfully unknowing, so striking to look at, so exciting to satisfy? That he’d never before given without taking in return as he had tonight? Any statement in his defense would sound arrogant and unfeeling, and ultimately would only remind her of those he truly now wished she didn’t know anything about. So in the end he said nothing more, which unquestionably made matters worse.

“You lied to me,” she wailed miserably, jerking free of him with such force he could do nothing but let her go. She turned her back to him, walking a few feet away, hugging herself, head down. “You didn’t want a kiss, you wanted everything.”

“I didn’t plan this, Natalie, it just happened,” he admitted softly, knowing immediately it was a futile thing to say.

She snickered caustically. “As it’s just happened to countless others, I’m sure.”

His jaw hardened. “That’s unfair.”

“Unfair?” She whirled around. “What about me? I’ve never been with a man before, Jonathan.”

She said the words as if they’d be some astounding revelation to him. But the fact that this mattered so much to her effectively subdued him. “I know that,” he murmured.

She peered openly at him for a long moment, then glanced out over the shoreline, protectively wrapping her arms around herself again. “Oh, God, this is awful,” she whispered shakily.

Jonathan rubbed his palm along his neck, then placed his hands on his hips. He knew she was speaking out of confusion and embarrassment, but he felt a trace of irritation just the same.

“Nothing we’ve done is awful,” he began slowly. “It is never awful. It is a perfectly natural act that happened without thought because we have passions between us that are undeniable and, I think, rare. I have never felt this kind of desire for anybody but you, Natalie. And it started years ago when you kissed me in the garden—a sweet act of innocence I have never been able to push from my mind.”

She stiffened considerably, closing herself off, and that piqued his anger.

“I don’t understand it, either,” he continued gravely, “but it’s not going to go away. You feel it, too, and each day we’re together it gets stronger. Part of me wants to send you packing because it makes me nervous as hell. But I can’t bring myself to do that because somewhere inside I believe something wonderful is happening and I for one would like to see where it leads.”

She remained silent, unmoving, staring out to the darkened sea. Then slowly she shook her head. “But what about him?” she asked with a shade of desperation. “What if this ruins everything I’ve come here for?”

His first thought was,
What about whom?
Then a gust of wind sliced through the calmness with night-ocean coldness. She shivered, turning her face to him once more, rubbing her upper arms with her hands as she clutched them for warmth and strength. And he knew.

Jonathan, for the first time, felt as if he had been physically slapped for his actions, her callous words biting him with more sting than she could ever produce with the palm of her hand. She showed no reaction to the intensely private feelings he’d only just laid bare before her. Her thoughts were with a dream, a fictional reality centered in her mind, somewhere beyond grasp. A hope she would cherish above everything else until she learned it didn’t exist.

His body became rigid, but not with rage. It was helplessness he felt, frustration, defeat, and more understanding for a woman than he’d ever experienced before. He’d just made love to her, partially so anyway, and with anyone else he would have turned and walked away after a comment so burning. Yet right now, reacting as he was, he knew he was more angry with himself—for taking advantage, for losing control, and for giving so much where it clearly wasn’t wanted.

“I’m sure the infamous Black Knight will find you innocent and charming and everything he’s ever desired,” he maintained in a dark, acid voice. “Nothing is ruined. Your virtue is intact. Nobody knows what happened here tonight but you and I, and I will never mention it to anyone.”

Her face went slack, her eyes grew to round pools of shock, probably because she now understood how she’d hurt him. But he refused to acknowledge her thoughts. Instead, he turned and lifted the blanket, packing things quickly and leaving the beach in full darkness, not another word spoken between them.

Chapter 7

N
atalie sat at the white wicker dressing table in their bungalow, taking a long look at her reflection in the mirror. Her appearance was decent enough for a ball, she supposed. The bungalow owner’s wife had helped her with the tightening of her corset, but she’d had to dress her own hair for the first time in her life, and that had proven quite an adventure in itself. Twice she’d thrown her pearl-handled brush down in exasperation as she attempted to arrange her menacing curls on top of her head in a style that at least resembled an elegant coif. Never before had she really cared about her formal appearance; she merely took it for granted when the maids were finished. Tonight, however, she was a mess—in mind and manner—and her nervous fingers only made things worse.

At last she stood, with forced refinement, appraising her choice of gown—a rich russet silk over full crinoline. She’d only brought two ball gowns with her, so her selection was minimal. Her decision to wear this one had more to do with climate than anything, for it was fairly lightweight for evening dress. The waist was drawn tightly, pushing the bustline up and forward. The sleeves were short and puffed, off the shoulder, and enhanced by fawn-colored velvet trim along the collar, with matching lace accentuating the full skirt. For adornment she wore only the simplest cameos: two dangling from her ears, one on a gold chain around her throat, and a ring on her right hand. The gown and jewelry did wonders for her coloring, something reddish-brown and ivory usually didn’t do for a lady.

This was one of her vainest moments, she considered through a smile. But first impressions were everything, and the Black Knight would see her for the first time this night. She wanted him to be impressed, and she had to admit she looked impressive.

Natalie turned, clutching her shaking hands together, and moved toward the open window to sit gracefully in one of the wicker chairs facing the Mediterranean Sea. Their room was lovely, the view outstanding, especially now with a golden setting sun shining through muslin curtains of sea green. From the minute Jonathan had ushered her inside, she’d adored it.

The furniture was painted white, as were the walls, which were adorned with numerous paintings from local artists. Many were seascapes, rich and colorful, and others were of the surrounding towns and whitewashed buildings distinct to Marseilles. Their room itself was small, but charming in its simplicity. The bed, shrouded in an airy, bright blue coverlet, stood against the far wall. Next to it were the dressing table and stool, beside which stood a muslin screen in coral pink for discreet dressing. The only other furnishings were the two chairs and small wicker table in front of the window, which opened fully to allow the sea breeze to cool the room continuously. It was the most colorful, comfortable place in which Natalie had ever stayed, and she cherished each moment, gazing out to the open sea, knowing she would soon be returning to gray, dreary England.

He’d never said so, but Natalie was sure Jonathan didn’t stay in places so beautiful when he traveled alone. That only meant he’d found the bungalow for her. As she came to know him better, she found him to be one of the most thoughtful individuals she’d ever met. And not just thoughtful in a way a gentleman might treat a lady of acquaintance, but in a more subtle, personal manner, as if he truly considered what she might like and how she thought and felt.

The last four days had been interminable. She tried to tell herself it was because she had to wait so patiently to meet the legendary thief after learning he would be at the ball. But realistically she knew it was because it had been four days since her intimate encounter with Jonathan on the beach. The memory of it filled her mind constantly, making her blush and squirm with embarrassment, more so if he walked into the room and simply looked at her. She knew instinctively that every moment they were together he was remembering her reaction to his touch, a reaction unforgivable, in her opinion.

But he hadn’t mentioned that evening again. Hadn’t, in fact, mentioned much at all. For four days he’d been nearly silent, speaking to her only when he thought it necessary, going about his business as he left her in the bungalow each morning to ride into the city. Or so he said. Natalie really had no reason to be suspicious. He had, in fact, twice on occasion taken her with him. He wasn’t in any way rude or devious; it was just that his attention had turned elsewhere, and she wasn’t sure how to respond to his sudden impassivity. She was fairly certain it had nothing to do with Mrs. DuMais, but that idea couldn’t be disregarded. She only wished she didn’t care so much if it did.

Part of her realized his indifference was because of what she’d said to him after their cozy twilight picnic where she’d completely lost control of her mind. She’d sensed his feelings that night, had noticed the look on his shadowed features. He had been totally honest with her—she knew that. And if she considered
her
feelings honestly she knew he was more than accurate regarding their growing attraction to each other. But above it all, more than anything else that mattered in her life, she refused to become one of Jonathan Drake’s innumerable conquests. If she gave herself to him to any further extent she’d be the one to lose, and she’d lose everything—her self-respect; her virginity, which was something she truly wanted to give her future husband; and most probably her heart. She’d been consumed, for various complex reasons, with meeting the Black Knight for two years now, and she needed to remain focused on that. She’d worked too hard and far too long for Jonathan, and her confusing feelings for him, to ruin this one night.

This
night. And she was ready.

Natalie stood with fired nerves and walked two steps to the window, noting irritably that even with good marks for thoughtfulness, Jonathan obviously hadn’t remembered that this was the most important night of her life. She glanced to the silver clock on the dressing table, wringing her hands in front of her. It was nearly seven, and he had yet to return from his city wanderings. What the man did with his time, she couldn’t guess.

He entered the bungalow at precisely that moment, as if on cue, and she whirled around to confront him. He carried a cloth bag over one arm, which she assumed contained clothes for the ball that he’d purchased in town since he certainly hadn’t brought anything appropriate to wear to such a function in his one small trunk. She faced him, taking a stance of impatience, arms at her sides, chin high, as she watched him close the door.

At last he glanced at her, as he’d done a thousand times, but this time he stared at what he saw. Her pulse quickened, color flooded her cheeks, and that’s when Natalie realized she had dressed for him, too. It was a disturbing thought, but she held his gaze, a twinge of a smile on her lips.

“You look beautiful.”

The words were those she wanted to hear, but his tone was so matter-of-fact, so bland, she wasn’t certain if he was paying her a compliment he truly believed or merely saying exactly what any lady expected to hear from a gentleman of quality.

“Thank you,” she mumbled, clasping her hands in front of her to keep them from shaking.

His eyes grazed her figure, from the curls high on her head to the lace at her hem, pausing only briefly at her accentuated bosom and waist. Then he turned and strode toward the screen to change.

“There are some things we need to discuss, Natalie,” he said frankly, unbuttoning his shirt with one hand as he walked behind the thin barrier. “First, as far as the Black Knight is concerned, I’ll introduce him to you if I see him and if it isn’t awkward.”

She felt a welling anxiousness in the pit of her stomach. “I’ll be very discreet, Jonathan. You needn’t worry.”

“I’m certain you will, but the meeting still has to be on my terms,” he insisted. “The man’s identity must be protected. If he’s there I’ll talk to him, and if he feels it’s safe, I’ll find a way to introduce you.”

She held her tongue of argument, realizing his intentions were all she could hope for.