The Seducer (7 page)

Cautious eyes slid in her direction. “Your cousin?”

“My cousin.”

“I had no idea, I assure you.”

“I hope not.”

Margot had moved to a position where she could observe. Her eyes glittered with triumph. Diane suddenly understood. Poor Monsieur Duclairc had only been a pawn in her friend’s game. She had sat them here by the window where Daniel could see the yellow muslin beside the dark coat.

Daniel held out his hand. “Come, Diane.”

He beckoned her like an errant child.

“My apologies, M’sieur Duclairc. My cousin forgets sometimes that I am of age.”

“Duclairc is well aware that you are no longer a schoolgirl, my dear.”

She ignored him and his hand. “You say that you are visiting Paris to attend the theater, M’sieur Duclairc. Perhaps we will see each other again. Thank you for your advice about London.” She went over to Margot, kissed her friend, and aimed for the door.

Daniel did not follow immediately. She glanced back and saw him speaking quietly with Monsieur Duclairc. She got the impression of two men clarifying a few things.

Daniel caught up with her as she descended to the lower level. He gripped her elbow firmly, and not entirely in support. “Do not ever do that again.”

“Do what? Visit a friend?”

“Keep me waiting.”

“I did not ask you to come for me, nor did you indicate that you would. You cannot expect me to terminate my plans merely because it is convenient for your capricious impulses.”

“I had the carriage out and came so you would not have to walk back. It was getting late and you have to prepare for tonight.”

“I may not choose to attend the opera tonight. It isn’t as though anyone invited me.”

Acknowledgment of that flickered in his eyes, but his expression barely softened. “Then I invite you now. Indulge me.”

It wasn’t a true invitation. Not really. She had that sensation of being a doll again. It increased her irritation and embarrassment at being hauled away like this. “You were not invited to Margot’s
salon
and it was rude of you to come in. Your sister has taught me that well enough, along with everything else.”

His expression turned severe. “I came in because it was obvious that your friend was parading you in front of Vergil and the others as a potential mistress. It was ignorant of you to visit here, and stupid of me not to stop it.” He opened the carriage door. “It is time for my sister to explain a bit more to you than how to look elegant. But I will give the first lesson. There are men who enjoy being a pretty woman’s puppet and who find Margot’s kind of game amusing. I am not one of them. I tell you again—do not ever keep me waiting.”

chapter
7

S
he kept him waiting.

Daniel paced the library, dressed for the evening. First, word came down that Diane would be delayed because the maid had created a mess of her hair, and then a small tear was found in her gown.

“She is doing this on purpose,” he said to Jeanette, who read a book near the hearth.

“It is her first time to the theater and she wants to be perfect. Have some consideration.”

Jeanette might be fooled, but he was not. This was a deliberate challenge, a woman’s way of getting back for the argument this afternoon.

“She is not to visit that woman again. It was not just coffee between old friends. Others were there.”

“By others, you mean men.” Jeanette looked up from her book. “If you had warned me about this Margot I would have discouraged the visit, but we had no authority to forbid it. Perhaps it is just as well that she went. She cannot be sheltered from such things, here or in London. Her lack of fortune will make her vulnerable. I will not have her ignorant, Daniel. That could lead to catastrophe.”

“Then speak with her as frankly about this as you do about silks and bonnets.”

“I fully expect that visiting Margot taught her a great deal.”

“Perhaps not as you anticipated. Margot might be a bad influence.”

“If an afternoon with a man’s mistress is a bad influence, I can only imagine what weeks with me have been.”

“Jeanette, do not—”

“I am finished with this conversation, dear brother. Rest assured that I will instruct her on the proper protection of her virtue.” She made a display of turning the page of her book, but not before she cast him an arch glance.

That look said it all. Jeanette knew. She saw it in his forced indifference to Diane. She recognized tonight’s impatience for what it really was, and had recognized his pique upon his return this afternoon as more than a guardian’s concern.

He remembered the irrational anger that had built while he watched the yellow muslin nestled close to a dark coat. A good thing it had been young Duclairc. His mood had been black enough that he might have thrashed another man. Whether Duclairc had believed the “cousin” part would not matter. He would retreat in either case.

But what of the others? And there undoubtedly would be others.

He reminded himself that it was the plan and he should be glad of his success. His own reaction was merely an unforeseen complication, and he would conquer it.

Diane entered the library. No trumpets blared, no floral scent filled the air, but he knew of her arrival at once, despite her silent step.

He looked over and his mouth went dry.

She stood a bit stiffly, charmingly unsure of her effect. The violet gown and cream lace made her skin appear to be pale porcelain. Her abundant hair was piled in a loose style that begged to be undone by a man’s hands. The other women at the opera would create a riotous bouquet. Amidst their full blooms, Diane would be one discreet rose, its petals barely parted in a teasing lure of what was to come.

It was the plan, and it had succeeded.

Only the wrong man had become enthralled.

“She will do, Daniel?” Jeanette asked.

“Of course, but there was never any doubt on that. However, I should probably bring my sword to protect her from the admirers.”

It was the sort of thing a cousin would say, blandly gracious and politely flattering. He doubted it sounded as cool as he had planned, because a deep flush crept up Diane’s neck to her cheeks. For an instant, while he approached to escort her to the waiting coach, her gaze met his in that provocative, cautious way that she had.

That was the truly hellish part of this. Not only Jeanette knew. Diane did too. She might not understand it, but she felt it. It frightened her.

As well it might.

It took her the whole way to the theater to recover from that look.

It had only lasted a moment while he walked toward her, but her heart had stopped for what seemed forever. When her pulse began again, it pounded all the way to the opera, because the commanding magnetism still poured out of him like a beckoning force.

The opulence of the theater and the rich finery of the crowd stunned her. She could only look and look, and was sure she appeared as a wide-eyed child.

It was a night of dazzling drama and brilliance. She floated beside Daniel in a dream. His friends visited the box, some whom she had met, like Vergil Duclairc, but most of whom she had not. At the lavish dinner between acts, she spied a few of Jeanette’s friends with men other than their husbands. Unlike Daniel and herself, they were obviously not in the company of their cousins.

The surroundings mesmerized her enough that Daniel ceased to do so. The continuous assault on her senses made her heady, and the flatteries of the men’s glances and greetings left her feeling bold. After the meal, she and Daniel found themselves alone in the box for the first time all night.

“Why did you bring me here?” she asked.

“Jeanette will not come. She is not shy about her infirmity, but being carried into a theater is too conspicuous even for her.”

“Why not bring your Margot? It appears that other men have done so.”

“I brought you because I thought you might enjoy it. You have not been to the opera before, have you?” He paused. “I realize that in your case innocence does not mean ignorance, but that was another impertinent question, and I think that you know it.”

“I have discovered that I get frank answers when I am impertinent.”

“Then perhaps you should ask such questions of my sister. It is more appropriate for her to explain the ways of the world to you.”

“I have questions that Jeanette cannot answer.”

The second act began then. Its flamboyance distracted her. The beautiful music flowed into her in an emotional torrent. With experience, she suspected she would not react so completely, but this was her first time and she possessed no defenses against the stirring assault on her senses.

She almost forgot about the man sitting to her right. She might have done so completely if he had forgotten about her too. But he watched her periodically. She could feel him do so.

“What questions?” The low query came well into the last scene.

She kept her gaze on the stage. “Since you ask, I have been wondering about something all night. This afternoon you said that Margot had been parading me as a potential mistress. For what purpose are you parading me, m’sieur?”

No, she wasn’t ignorant, despite all those years at that school. She was too smart for that.

She took it all in, seeing clearly despite the blinding brilliance. Her delight was childish, but her assessments very mature. Behind her glittering eyes he could see her mind fitting everything in its place and absorbing the realities flickering beneath the candlelight.

That made it harder. Ignorance would have thoroughly discouraged him. He could have pretended she was still a schoolgirl, for all intents and purposes. But the worldly understanding gave her a woman’s presence and provided a foil to her innocence that proved dangerously provocative.

Perhaps he had sensed it that day at the school. His instincts must have told him. It was why she was so perfect for the role.

It appeared that she might be too perceptive, however.
For what purpose are you parading me?

As he escorted her out, he realized that the answer to her question was not the one that he thought to be true.

He had enjoyed the evening more than he could remember doing in the past. Even the company of a favored Margot, as Diane so neatly referred to mistresses, had never pleased him as much.

He was not just parading her for her education, to provide a bit of polish and to put her at ease with wealth and high society. He was doing so because he was delighted to have her company and to be seen by her side. The world might think of them as cousins, but he knew they were not. He was incredibly proud of her, and had reacted to other men’s responses to her in a way that was immediate and personal. And possessive.

This was not how it was supposed to be. He contemplated that as they left the theater to await the carriage.

A crowd filled the area. Not only the attendees milled around, but also city dwellers who came to gawk at the coaches and gowns. Some of the latter shouted insults at the many foreign men exiting the theater, often with Parisian women on their arms. The top reaches of French society had survived the war fairly intact, but the common people of Paris still felt the deprivations and resented the occupying conquerors.

He guided Diane to the edge of the crowd as he saw his carriage inching down the line toward them.

“Sanclare.”
The furious word, snarled like a curse, pierced the noise. Daniel swerved as a ragged, bearded, fiery-eyed man lunged through the crowd.

Instincts shouting, Daniel grabbed Diane to shield her from the danger. Someone jostled her out of his grasp and she stumbled right into the attacker. The assailant swept her aside and kept coming, snarling the word again.

A knife rose. Daniel grabbed the arching arm and swung his fist with all his strength. The knife clattered to the ground as the madman doubled over. Daniel kicked the weapon away.

It happened so quickly that others nearby had only reacted with dumb astonishment. Now pandemonium broke loose in the crowd. A circle of onlookers formed around Diane. Ignoring the internal voice that warned him to hold on to his attacker, Daniel pushed through the bodies and dropped to his knee beside her.

She was badly shaken and breathless with shock. A streak of horror froze through him when a woman cried that the knife had cut Diane’s arm. While other men cleared a path and shouted for the coach, he lifted her in his arms.

In the light of the coach lamp he saw that the cut was not bleeding badly and was only a scratch. The trembling body that he carried, however, said that she was hardly unscathed otherwise.

He got her into the carriage, stripped off his cape, and tucked it around her.

“Who . . . why . . .”

“A madman, perhaps angry with the English. He probably thought me one from the cut of my clothes.”

She pulled the cape closer. “I am so cold suddenly.”

He lifted her onto his lap so she would know she was safe. So
he
would know she was safe.

She took deep breaths to calm herself. “I feel so stupid. I was not badly hurt, but I cannot . . . I feel as though death just brushed against me. . . . It is foolish to be this unsettled, but . . .”

Death
had
just brushed against her. The thought of how closely, chilled him. He could feel the realization of that sink into her as well, frightening her more.

Her cheek was barely an inch from his face. He brushed his lips against it. “Your reaction is not foolish. It is normal. But you are safe now. We are in the carriage, going home, and he is gone.”

She nestled closer and he embraced her more tightly. Slowly, like a lowering veil, her shaking subsided.

He inhaled the scent of violet water and grew too aware of the feel of her body. His concern and relief became colored with other reactions. Their mutual awareness of his embrace filled the carriage, making the silence inaudibly crackle.

He pressed a kiss on her silky hair, to reassure her. For an instant she went very still. Then her head turned up to him. He could not see her expression in the dark, but he had no trouble imagining its cautious confusion.

If not for the danger they had just faced, he might have resisted. If fate had not put her in his arms, he would have heeded the voice of reason chanting the hundred reasons why it was a disastrous mistake.

Instead, he took the step that would complicate everything, and perhaps undo plans laid a lifetime ago.

He kissed her.

She should have guessed the kind of kiss it would be. Even before his lips touched hers she should have known it would not be one of comfort. The mood in the air and the tightening of his arms warned her. So did the little infinity that spread to surround them while he looked at her.

He would have stopped if she had turned away. She did not doubt that. But his embrace felt so safe and the kiss did too. Startling, but sweet and gentle at first.

Not for long.

It changed in ways she could not ignore. The warm press grew insistent, then demanding. She permitted it because she did not know how to refuse. A new, awed part of her did not want to.

Her reaction, the thrilling excitement and deep inner flush, explained so much. Everything. Why being alone with him unnerved her. The reason his dark gaze made her flustered. The power behind his magnetic presence. The kiss was a little fulfillment of a nameless expectation that she had been experiencing with him for weeks.

It mesmerized her. The intimacy felt so wonderful. It awoke parts of her body and heart she had not known could feel this alive. It was the most astonishing, transforming thing that had ever happened to her.

He didn’t stop. The one kiss became many, each one burning into her, startling her again. On her lips and her face and her neck. A series of pleasurable shocks left her senses jumbled in a chaos of amazement.