Guarded Heart (22 page)

A quiet footstep accompanied by the rustle of skirts sounded behind her. As she whirled in that direction, Maurelle exclaimed, “What is it,
chère?
You look as if you've seen a ghost.”

“I'm…just a little chilled, perhaps.” She tried a smile but feared it was not quite successful. “It's turning cooler, don't you think?”

“Was it something Zoe told you? What has she been saying?”

“Nothing of importance. Only…you said once, I think, that you accused Monsieur Blackford of being
épris.
It was a joke, wasn't it? You didn't mean it.”

“He may find you attractive, but is quite aware of the line which separates you. It's unlikely he will overstep it.”

Ariadne gave an unhappy nod. “So I thought. It's good to know you are of the same mind.”

“Is that what Zoe was saying, that you should be wary of his advances?”

“Perhaps I misunderstood her.”

“Or not. She is a romantic, our Zoe, under all her outrageous manners and sophistication.”

“So likely to be mistaken, you mean.”

“Or her views may be exaggerated.” Maurelle linked her arm with Ariadne's and began to stroll with her toward the salon centering the main house as it fronted the street. “Be easy in your mind. Whatever she may think, matters can't be so very bad.”

Ariadne was willing enough to be convinced. She moved with her hostess without resistance, though she glanced back once toward the bedchamber where Gavin lay. Yes, she would allow it, at least for now.

Regardless, the specter that Madame Savoie had raised, that Gavin might be stalking her like some great golden tiger, would not leave her mind. There was only one possibility she could conceive for it. He had discovered who she was in spite of everything, so had divined her purpose. Yet if that was true, why had he not confronted her?

He could have no reason for pursuing her, no need for revenge of the kind that drove her to meet him. What she might do need concern him very little; she had scant power to cause him harm. He was more than able to deflect anything she might try, or at least it must seem that way in his mind.

Still, she could not stop thinking about it as the evening wore on, wondering, guessing, going over every single word and action between the two of them. One moment she concluded that Madame Savoie was completely mistaken, the next she was positive she was right. She could settle on neither one nor the other.

One thing was clear. She must know how matters stood before she went a step further.

It was supper time, that late evening meal following some hours after the mid-day dinner taken at three o'clock, when she finally hit on a way to find out. Footsteps firm, smile grimly in place, she proceeded along the gallery toward the bedchamber allotted to Gavin with Adele carrying a supper tray as she followed along behind her. Knocking lightly on the door, Ariadne pushed it open and held it for the maidservant. Only then did she turn toward the bed.

It was empty.

Panic beat up into her mind. She turned quickly, searching the room with her eyes, half afraid she would discover her patient stretched on the floor where he had fallen out of bed.

Gavin was ensconced in a wingback chair before the fire with pillows cushioning his injured side and back and one foot thrust out toward the red-orange flames. A
robe de chambre
of dark Bordeaux-colored brocade wrapped him from his shoulders to the Turkish slippers on his long narrow feet.

He straightened, lifting his head from where it was propped on his fist with his elbow resting on the chair arm. “An auspicious evening,” he said, his voice light and even. “Not only am I allowed to leave my bed, but it seems I am to have company for dinner. Can the excitement rise any higher?”

“Allowed?”

She moved forward as she spoke, directing the maidservant to wait with the tray while she pulled a table closer to the fire.

“By my devoted henchman here,” he answered as Nathaniel rose from where he had been hidden by the back of the matching chair on the other side of the fire. “He was most strenuous in his objections on the head that too rapid a recovery might remove him prematurely from a household where he has neither to cook nor empty slops.”

She gave a low laugh. “Strong considerations, I must agree. I rather thought I might relieve him of his duties, keeping you company while he has his meal with Maurelle.”

Gavin glanced at the young man who stood by with hands clasped behind his back in an attitude of respect but a grin on his face. “What say you? Does the prospect of dining with Madame Herriot please?”

“If my manners are up to it—well, and Madame Faucher really don't mind taking my place.”

“Your manners require no mending,” she said warmly, “and I can't imagine your duties are beyond my performance.”

“Then I'll leave you to it. Though I warn you he's sore-headed as a bull in a baiting ring.”

“Is he now? I wonder why?” She half suspected the boy of teasing Gavin. If so, she saluted his daring in attempting it.

Nathaniel shook his head without answering, his gaze hooded as he followed the maidservant from the bedchamber.

Ariadne had more vital things on her mind than the byplay between sword master and apprentice. She gave it a few seconds of curiosity while taking the chair Nathaniel had vacated and disposing her skirts around her, then dismissed it from her mind.

How to embark on what she intended? She had thought something would come to her when she was in place, but she had been too optimistic. The silence in the bedchamber grew long, broken only by the quiet popping of the fire and the sound of a dray rattling past in the side street beyond the windows. She stared at the coals, but they burned brightly, offering no excuse for busy work, much less conversation. In her intent search for something to say, she started a little as Gavin spoke beside her.

“You have eaten?”

“Not…as yet.”

“This abundance of food was surely meant for two then.” He indicated the collection of silver dishes holding slices of roast chicken, blanched asparagus spears, small loaves of bread, crème brûlée, and the carafe of wine that went with them. “Please. Begin, if you will.”

“The intention was to tempt your appetite.”

“For which sentiment, I am grateful though I have little taste for food just now.” He went on after a moment. “It's a reminder that I haven't thanked you for your care. I would include Maurelle, but know well she isn't at her best in the sickroom so has left most of it to you and Solon.”

“None of us have been overtaxed. It's Nathaniel who has been constantly on duty.”

“Which is why you determined to relieve him, another example of your thoughtfulness.”

His words of appreciation made her feel distinctly guilty as nothing she had done, or very little at any rate, had been without motive. “I'm pleased to see you're improving. At least…I suppose you must be better since you left your bed.”

“I was tired of it, to tell the truth. Too much bed rest is no great benefit with most injuries.”

He shifted a little in his chair, as if uncomfortable with the discussion or perhaps with the soreness of his wound. She was not quite ready to leave the subject, however, having nothing else to take its place. “You have been injured before?”

“Like thorn pricks while gathering roses, it occurs around swords. As you know.”

“This was something more than a thorn prick.” She was obscurely glad to hear his description. The lack of convolution in his speech had begun to make her uneasy, as if he might be more tired or ill than he appeared.

“But of no more concern. Still, you did not join me, I think, to discuss my health or even to take Nathaniel's place. Why am I so honored?”

“I was persuaded you must be bored with your own company.” For something to do while she waited to see if he would accept that evasion, she reached to break the end from the loaf of bread and began to nibble at it.

“Oh, assuredly, but I don't believe crossing swords with you this evening would be of benefit.”

“Not if you mean literally.” She frowned. “Am I to suppose you feel that's the only way we might pass the time?”

“If you have other joys in mind, then you must tell me plainly. Men of my stripe are not encouraged to suppose anything.”

A short laugh left her. “Oh, please, as though that ever stopped you.”

“Spoken by someone who is, of course, a model of propriety.”

“Neither of us may make that claim, which should put us on equal standing.”

He watched her through an ambush of gold-tipped lashes. “And that is something to be wished?”

“Merely a fact.” How very controlled he was. She wondered what it would take to shake him. While she considered it, she finished her bread then reached for a plate and began to load it with a few slices of chicken breast, spears of asparagus and another piece of bread broken from the loaf. “Shall I cut your chicken for you?”

“I believe I can manage,” he said, but made no move to take the plate she placed on the table near his elbow.

“You really are not hungry.”

He turned his head against the back of his chair, his gaze darkly blue and penetrating. “My hungers are not so simple or so easily appeased.”

What was there to say to that? What did he expect her to say?

It occurred to her to question if she could seduce him, not just in the physical sense but in mind as well. What better way was there to discover a man's weaknesses than by that ultimate closeness? How better to persuade him to lay aside his guard? Men and women were never more surely themselves, with all their faults and foibles exposed, than when they made love.

It was not as if she were some untried girl, nor was a liaison between them likely to be of any duration. It was what society must be whispering of them already after the duel fought in her name. What had she to lose? And what better time and place than here in this house while he recuperated under Maurelle's auspices?

Of course there was the small difficulty of his injury. It did not encourage explorations of a sensual nature, much less anything requiring more strenuous activity. He could barely move, after all.

“What are you thinking?” he asked, his voice soft.

She took a startled breath before forcing a smile. “Nothing of importance. Merely that…physical attraction may be the basis for most affairs, but there is more to the association between a man and a woman.”

“Why, Madame Faucher, you do surprise me.”

“Not that I have any great experience in these matters, you understand.”

“Oh, perfectly.” The agreement was dry but without conviction. “You were not tempted during your marriage?”

“Never.”

“Not even with your Russian?”

“No.”

“No?” he repeated, his eyes narrowed.

She thought he sounded almost incredulous. It might be a little odd, perhaps, given the nature of her marriage and Jean Marc's illness, but the prospect had never beckoned. She had been brought up to consider her marriage vows sacred and the sanctity of the home inviolable. More than that, she had met no one who made abandoning her virtuous stand seem worthwhile. Certainly, no man had ever stirred her blood to fever heat the way the man sitting beside her had accomplished with no more than a look.

“It still seems to me that some degree of trust and affection, some meeting of the minds, must be required,” she said, continuing her reflective argument.

“Not,” he answered, “with the majority of men.”

“No?”

“No.”

He should know if anyone did, she thought with a small frown between her eyes. “I did not, naturally, expect love to be a requirement, but surely the whole thing is rather empty unless…what I mean to say is, I don't see how men can simply remove their clothing and take a woman, any woman, to bed on the spur of the moment.”

“It's a great mystery,” he replied, his voice even, “like the tides or an eclipse of the sun. A few moments spent rising then falling, a few pleasurable seconds hidden away behind the brightness, and then they emerge, unchanged.”

She must be depraved to be so affected by the images contained in the words that fell from his lips. For a flashing instant, she had seen herself in the arms of this man who had murdered Francis. How had she come to this, that it could seem not only possible but reasonable?

How had she come to be speaking at all of passion and love affairs? Was it because the subject was on her mind, or had he somehow drawn her into it by forcing her to defend her ideas? She thought the latter. Odd, but she had never before articulated her feelings.

Nor was it necessary to consider them too deeply just now, given that it was impossible to embark on any great intimacy this evening. She had time before any such fatal decision was made, time in which to discover how close she could come to him while he lacked the strength for physical consummation.