Adele Ashworth (15 page)

“The second item of importance is the sword,” he continued quickly, rustling with clothing from the bag. “I can’t have you mentioning it to the count.”

How was that relevant? “Why?” Her expression went flat with comprehension. “He doesn’t know he’s selling it to you, does he, Jonathan?”

“Not yet.”

How men ever survived in the business world she couldn’t guess. “Of course,” she agreed to the ridiculous. “I won’t mention the sword.”

He flung his day clothes over the screen. “And finally, we must discuss our marriage.”

She swallowed dryly as embarrassment returned, her fingers toying nervously with her cameo ring. It occurred to her at that moment the enormity of the game they were about to play.

“We’ve been married two years,” he continued directly. “We had a usual courtship of six months and live in London proper for the part of the year we aren’t traveling abroad. We move in excellent social circles, have plenty of money though not excessive wealth, and as yet no children. The rest of your identity need not be embellished. The count thinks I’m here with an interest in buying his Parisian estate.”

“All this drama for a sword?” she asked incredulously.

“It’s a very nice sword,” was his vague reply.

She paused, thinking. “Is this what Mrs. DuMais arranged for you?”

He was silent for a moment, dropping his shoes on the floor with a clunk.

“Yes, in part,” he admitted. “She also knows we’re not really married. She’s the only one you can confide in tonight.”

“Naturally.”

He brushed over her rather snide comment, then several seconds later stepped from behind the screen, tying his cravat with expert fingers. And his appearance took her breath away.

He looked magnificent, flooding her with memory of long ago. Another ball. Only this time he was more sophisticated, mature in bearing, more handsome, if that were possible.

His clothes were expensive and perfectly tailored, which partially explained where he’d spent the last four days. A cream silk shirt covered his broad chest, over which he wore an emerald-green waistcoat, and a frock jacket and matching trousers of lightweight wool in deep olive. It was a striking combination, though one she would never expect him to choose. Yet the colors made his eyes, as they bore into hers, an incredibly vivid blue, his hair shiny and dark as polished black onyx.

“Natalie?”

She raised a hand to her throat. “Marvelous,” she whispered.

For the first time in days, she caught a semblance of a smile on his lips. “I dress to please you, my darling wife. You’ve always admired me in shades of green.”

She wasn’t certain if he was being sarcastic or rising to the moment with a very credible acting debut. She decided to assume it was the latter, playing along as she reached for her gloves and fan on the wicker table. “Have I? How well you’ve learned my tastes during the last two years, Jonathan.”

He straightened his coat. “Indeed, Mrs. Drake. As any husband should.” He offered her his arm. “Our hired carriage awaits at the top of the road. Are you ready?”

She hesitated, growing uncomfortable as she considered her next words. Unfortunately they needed to be said before she and Jonathan left to attempt such a crucial masquerade.

Grasping the cameo around her neck, she asked with some reluctance, “Are we in love?”

He stared at her blankly, then lowered his arm and slowly frowned. “What?”

She felt hot suddenly, although she continued to look at him levelly. “As a married couple. Are we in love?”

That bewildered him. He had no idea what to say, or whether to laugh or argue or question her sanity. With all his organization in planning their deception, he’d analyzed them kissing each other—when, how, why, and in front of whom, but not once had he thought of love between them.

Natalie, for the first time since she’d met the imposing Jonathan Drake, knew she had the advantage in the palm of her hand. It was an exquisite moment of triumph, and she could hardly keep herself from grinning.

“
Please
, Jonathan. I have to know how to play the game,” she returned as innocently as she could. “Some married couples love each other. Are we one of the fortunate few, or would you rather we avoid each other for the evening?”

It was his turn to hesitate, his eyes narrowing as he continued to watch her. “I hadn’t thought about it.”

“Yes, I know,” she asserted at once. She realized her face shone pink with discomfiture, but she carried on, hoping to appear bored by a tedious dialogue he should have raised between them days ago. “As a man you may not have considered it, as the men at the ball surely won’t. But the women will notice and respond accordingly.” She purposely cleared her throat. “Should I be jealous when you dance and flirt with others, or merely indifferent?”

His mouth twisted in an arrogant half smile. “You’ve actually thought about this?”

In the blink of an eye, the advantage was once again his. Now her cheeks were burning as he stared down at her in vague amusement. “Any woman in my position would, Jonathan.”

“I see.” He dropped his gaze to her breasts momentarily, then raised them back to her face. “What do you think?”

She fidgeted from his shameless regard, never expecting the question and unsure how to respond. She wanted to provoke him by announcing how little she cared, or that she preferred the more plausible relationship of marital aloofness. Then it struck her that
he’d
be more unsettled by her forced loving attention, and instantly that was the game she wanted to play.

“I think we should,” she declared confidently.

His brows rose minutely. “Be in love?”

She shrugged. “I think it’s more realistic in our circumstance.”

“Do you?” He was standing very close to her now, his voice deep and quiet. “As two properly bred members of the English gentry?”

It sounded absurd when he put it like that. He knew as well as she that under such a circumstance love was rarely a motivating factor in a marital union.

She clutched her fan against her skirt. “We’re in France, Jonathan. The French are a passionate people and won’t give it a second thought. I also think it could be to your advantage with the count.”

“Really? How so?”

Her eyes flashed with inspiration. “To keep our stories straight, for one. I can’t tell him we spent last summer in Vienna if you’ve told him thirty minutes before we were in Naples.”

“A reasonable thought,” he admitted.

“He might also feel you’re more respectable, more stable or reliable, with a loving wife at your side.” She straightened. “But of course I’m only guessing.”

“Of course.” He pulled a piece of lint from her velvet collar. After a lingering moment of thought he asked guardedly, “Do you think you can act that well, Natalie?”

He was beginning to annoy her with the endless questions in a conversation going nowhere on his part. She peered into engaging eyes framed with thick, black lashes, to flawless, clean-shaven skin, to his firm, sculpted jaw. The man carried a constant, heady scent of marked masculinity, so rich and potent no woman could possibly resist him. He knew it, too, which had a tendency to make her mad when she thought about it. But right this moment, in the bungalow they shared between just the two of them, she felt a sudden rush of jealousy toward all the women in his life up to that moment. Not a broad disapproval of his libertine reputation like before, but a different feeling. One deep within her, altogether private, vulnerable, and maybe a little bit frightening. Realizing this now made her fume at her own inconsistent, complicated feelings.

Risking everything, she placed her hand on his cheek. Then with calculation, and before she could change her mind, she lifted her face and touched his lips with hers. The contact shocked her more than she thought it would, sending waves of both uneasiness and exhilaration through the center of her. He didn’t move, but it wasn’t at all what he expected, she knew that instinctively, and by the fact that he didn’t immediately react.

She stroked his jaw with a feathery wisp of her thumb, then ran her tongue once, very slowly, along the inside of his top lip. He drew a sharp inhale, and with that she pulled away, beaming in satisfaction, feeling a sudden, marvelous sense of power.

“If it’s what you want for the game, Jonathan, I could display a great, intense love for you. I’m a magnificent actress.”

For several long, silent seconds he did nothing but stare at her. Then his eyes hardened to blue ice. “I’m looking forward to watching you perform at center stage, Natalie,” he said quietly. “Tonight should be enlightening for us both.”

She blinked and took a step back, thoroughly confused by his disdain. She’d expected a teasing retort or light rebuff, as was his congenial nature. But as she considered it now, he’d purposely distanced himself since their picnic on the beach, and for the first time since that night she realized she didn’t like it at all.

“Love it is, Mrs. Drake,” he said coolly, interrupting her troubled thoughts. Then he tightly grasped her elbow and walked her through the door toward their waiting carriage.

Chapter 8

J
onathan was worried. Or perhaps it was just plain, old-fashioned nervousness that plagued him. He’d come to France to do a job, a big job, and tonight everything would be on the line—except he was having difficulty keeping focused, and he knew from experience just how critical that could be to success. He hadn’t considered that this might occur when he’d offered to bring Natalie along, which was, if he thought about it honestly, a singularly stupid thing to overlook. Every job he’d done before now had been smoothly accomplished because he’d planned, and planned meticulously. Women were only diversions to assist him, if needed, in the final performance.

But for the first time that he could recall, a woman filled his mind more than the issue at hand, and with irritation at himself he realized this alone could bungle an effort of immeasurable cost to French and English national security. It was that important. He’d already made his first mistake in placing his unusual concern for Natalie ahead of the emeralds. Those who paid him for his services would not be pleased if they knew, and it was surprising that this had not occurred to him until tonight.

They rode the short distance to the count’s estate in virtual silence. He stared out the window vacantly, aware of how she squirmed in the squabs from excitement, her beautiful gown billowing over his legs and feet as she smoothed her skirt when she wasn’t rubbing her fingers together or lightly tapping her fan in her lap. He didn’t have to look at her to be acutely conscious of her presence. She affected him that much.

Every day she confused him more, which he found altogether troubling. Troubling to his rational mind, and more embarrassingly so to his ego. He was growing increasingly suspicious of her, too, and he wasn’t sure why. In his experience he’d found women either forward and forthcoming, or virtuous and sweet, but always readable. Not so with Natalie. Each passing day in her presence, he found her to be ever more calculating and smooth, more devious, more of the actress she claimed to be. She was sneaky beyond compare, although she hadn’t really done anything outwardly to warrant such feelings in him. It was more intuition on his part that brought this to attention. She just seemed to be in control, and he couldn’t quite shrug off the vague notion that she was using
him.
That made him furious.

His anger had grown since their encounter on the beach, and it was mostly directed toward himself for dropping his guard. He felt, suddenly, like all the women he’d taken mild advantage of through the years, women who had fallen in love with him because he’d charmed them with his good humor and attention, his devotion to their needs both innocent and intimate. He had taken nothing from Natalie four days ago, and had been more open with her than any lady he could recall, and yet she had, in a very peculiar way, snubbed him. Her reaction to him physically had been overwhelming as he thought about it now. No woman had ever succumbed to him so easily and quickly, and with so much uninhibited passion. Rationally, though, she just didn’t seem to be interested, and the harder he tried, the more oblivious she was to his efforts.

But one thing was becoming clearer to him as the days went on. Suspicions about her motives aside, she was nothing more than a well-bred, lovely, albeit shrewd, English lady. Whatever she was hiding from him, whatever reason she had for coming to France, it couldn’t be complicated. So, upon that he’d made this very rational decision: He would take her virginity on this trip as he longed to do, she would enjoy it as much as he, and he would marry her upon their return to England, which he now had to admit was a union he wanted almost entirely because she wouldn’t approve of it at all. Only days ago he’d vowed not to marry her or anyone who didn’t want him as an individual, but her actions of late had changed his mind. And what was marriage, anyway? Just a contract between families to legitimize heirs, really. He’d have to choose someone eventually, and thinking about owning Natalie in bed and out of it made him smile in the darkness. All her ideas of remaining aloof to his affections would fail her in the end because he would take her and she would belong to him for the rest of their natural lives. He would win, and he couldn’t wait for the moment to inform her of this. She would argue that she didn’t love him or that her father would never approve. He’d then calmly remind her that she was a baron’s daughter, love was irrelevant, and he was a wealthy, unattached, socially admired son of an earl. Her father would approve wholeheartedly, and she would be
bound
to accept him. Jonathan would relish that moment soon to come. It would be a triumph like no other.

But first he had a job to finish.

They arrived at the count’s seaside home in lingering twilight, but already the estate was lit up spectacularly both inside and out. It was two stories in height, constructed of polished gray stone chiseled into delicate arches and sharp angles of contrasting design. It sat only a short distance from the edge of the cliffs and was surrounded by a large, immaculate garden of various trees, shrubs, and flowers. The party guests were made to stroll through it on a winding brick path to reach the front door, and Jonathan was immediately struck with the pungent, weighty odors of honeysuckle and roses clinging to the balmy night air, flying insects buzzing as they circled the foot lamps along the walk.