Tonight or Never (23 page)

What he really wanted to do was take Chloe out into that garden and…

There was little chance of that happening.

His nostrils flared. For some reason, Chloe was furious with him. She had even refused to make love with him, turning her back on him in bed last evening.

That
had angered John.

He had wanted her so much that he had almost been tempted to inform her that as her husband it was his right, if he so desired it.

However, he came to his senses when he realized what he would sound like. John had never been close to pompous and he wasn't about to start now.

It was the
Zambeau's
fault, no doubt about it.

After the men had partaken of their port last evening and rejoined the ladies in the salon,
Zu-Zu
had shamelessly pursued him.
The entire evening.
No matter what he said to discourage the woman, it made no difference. She simply ignored his wishes and proceeded with her lavish fascination.

Chloe was sure John had somehow invited the attention, hinting that she would respond in like manner while subtly remarking that
Adrien
was the handsomest of the
Cyndreacs
, in her opinion, even if they were all stunning.

At that point John supposed he got a bit pompous. He informed her in no uncertain terms that she had better not be spending her time wondering
who was the handsomest
Cyndreac
, for it surely would have no meaningful effect on her.

She had turned away from him in a huff, although at the time he could have sworn he caught the hint of a pleased smile on her face. He convinced himself it was a trick of the low lighting.

There was no reason for her to be pleased that he practically
ordered
her to stay away from the French counts.

In any case, she had gone to sleep, leaving him to stew in more ways than one.

Another new experience for him, thanks to Chloe.

Sexual frustration.

Whoever said abstinence was good for the soul? His fingers drummed the desktop. He didn't care for it much and he certainly didn't feel good!

When he woke this morning—still painfully aroused—he had reached for her, only to discover that she was already gone. "Picking violets," her note had said.

He sighed. This was an odd twist of events for him: the Lord of Sex with no sex.
And no substantial relief without his wife.

He passed a hand over his face.

The thing was, he couldn't figure out how he got into this labyrinthine situation in the first place. But since he had, he didn't see why he should have to suffer.

Dejected, he opened up another ledger, staring blankly at the page. He noticed the majority of the entries were in the flowery script of the Countess de
Fonbeaulard
. As he scanned the columns he noted a section where she had put several question marks in the margins. This area was followed by a bold, brash style that John recognized as his uncle's.

He smiled, immediately figuring out what had occurred. There had been some discrepancies and Maurice had straightened out the problem for her.

The two of them had watched out for Chloe so well, taking care of the estate for her with meticulous care. The later entries, he saw, were done in a neat, precise imprint along with his uncle's. Maurice had been teaching Chloe how to keep the books.

He was like a grandfather to her…

Which made it all the more amazing that he actually entrusted her welfare to John, a man he knew to be a notorious rake.

Why did everyone trust him so much?

Now they were actually looking to him for guidance! It baffled him completely.

Idly, he examined the ink entries.

She had the most winsome nose
. It crinkled when she laughed. Sometimes he liked to tease her by kissing the tip—

What was he doing?

He needed to see to these ledgers! He focused on the small figures in dark blue ink.
Almost violet, really.

Like her eyes…

He could drown in those eyes.

John slammed the book shut.
Later.
He would look at the books later.

He rested his chin in the palm of his hand. Perhaps he should write a letter to his solicitor, requesting any information the man might be able to find on the Sexton heirlooms.

Yes, that sounded like a good idea.

He opened the desk drawer, taking out paper, quill, and ink. A tiny lock of carroty hair, tied with a pink ribbon, rested in a corner of the drawer.

He removed it, smiling faintly.
Chloe's baby hair.

His finger stroked the soft lock. He remembered when her hair had been this fine. A little girl he treasured.

Now a wife he cherished.

Where had that thought come from? A film of sweat broke out across his brow. He did not want to deal with entanglements in his life. Chloe was—

Outside the French doors, he heard the faint voices of the
Cyndreacs
, "
… un…
deux
…
trois
!" followed by what sounded like a squeal of delight. He shook his head, going back to his thoughts.

She was—

"
…
un
…
deux
…
trois
!" This time he heard a definite shriek and identified it as Lady Sexton's exclamation.

He bolted out of his chair and raced to the doors, throwing them wide.

There on the lawn in front of him, the
Cyndreacs
had his wife in the middle of a sheet and they were tossing her up in the air as if she were a new toy or a playful little trinket for their diversion.

He stormed out onto the lawn. "Put her down at once!" he roared.

They all gave him similar looks of stupefaction mixed with a dollop of fear. Fortunately they kept their hold on the sheeting, as Chloe was in the process of tumbling through the air.

She landed in the center with a
whump
!

"Did you not hear me?" His voice was very low and very threatening.

The seven brothers let go of the sheet and took off.

Chloe sat in the center, surrounded by violets, which were scattered over her, over the cloth, and on the ground. Her hands were planted firmly on her hips, a frown of disapproval gracing her lovely face.

She was not pleased.

"John, whatever is the matter with you?"

"Have you no sense? They were flinging you in the air!"

"So what?"

"So what?
You—you could have… they shouldn't…" Not sure exactly what he wanted to say, but positive he needed to say it, John crossed his arms over his chest and scowled.

A huge grin spread across Chloe's face. "Come here, John." She patted the spot next to her.

He raised an eyebrow, reluctantly joining her on the sheet. "What?" he muttered.

Her dimples deepened. "Are you jealous?"

He snorted. "Don't be ridiculous."

"You seem jealous to me." She smoothed out the material beneath her hand in a laissez-faire attitude.

He placed his hands on her shoulders, commanding her full attention. "No more jealous than you were last evening over the countess."

Chloe looked him right in the eye. "Then you are very jealous."

A gust of air escaped his lips. She had surprised him again. "Chloe…" He hesitated; then his expression darkened. "Don't play with me—I don't like it. Not from you."

"I'm not playing with you, my lord." She moved closer to him so he could feel her heat.

He stared at her silently.

"I wouldn't play with you, John." She smoothed a lock of his hair back off his forehead. "Unless you needed it," she clarified.

This was more than he could handle. There had never been these kinds of games between them.

He grabbed her wrist, stopping her intimate action. His jade eyes sparked down at her. "Do not look for trouble, madam," he responded in a clipped tone, "for you shall surely find it."

Chloe flinched, taken aback by his brusqueness. It was a side of John that not many saw.
The determined strength of him, the shutter that closed over him when something scratched the surface of his feelings.

This was the first time she had attempted it and it was the first time he had ever shut her out. It hurt her deeply.

Tears filled her eyes and she pulled away from him.

John felt instant remorse, along with a peculiar tightening in his chest.

Placing his hands on her shoulders, he pulled her back to him. "I'm sorry, Chloe-cat; I didn't mean that the way it came out."

Although shocked at his apology, Chloe immediately realized the leap he had just taken. Sniffing, she peeked up at him. "How did you mean it?"

He opened his mouth but couldn't seem to find the right answer. "I'm not sure," he finally admitted.

Chloe viewed him curiously. John was starting to have the most wonderfully confused looks on his face. To her, it was a picture lovelier than the finest
Fragonard
!

Confusion was
excellent
.

She cupped his mutinous chin, placing a soft kiss on his mouth. "Let's forget it for now, John," she whispered. "Anyway, I think I should like to take a nap." She faked a yawn, sending him a burning look from under her lashes.

Lord Sexton brightened immediately.

"Napping" was an excellent topic for him.

And a safe one, too.

Chapter Ten

The Rose Reappears

Several days later, the
Duc
de
Montaine
; his daughter,
Baronne
Dufond
; and several other expatriated French showed up at the door of
Chacun
à
Son
Goût
.

All with the same story.

They had been saved from the guillotine by the Black Rose. John did not find it odd that they landed on his doorstep; he found it downright suspicious.

He also began to suspect that he was harboring the Black Rose in his household.

His conclusion was based on several factors. One, many of those who had been rescued
were
personal friends of the
Fonbeaulards
; two, once one saved these people, one needed to have a place to deposit them.

The location of
Chacun
à
Son
Goût
, in Southern England between
Dover and
Portsmouth near
Brighton, made the estate an excellent base of operations.

A man could easily cross the channel from here, landing in
Calais if he crossed at
Dover, or not landing at all, simply crossing the channel to
Le Havre and sailing up the Seine to the heart of
Paris. If he went strictly by water, then he would have to contend with the vagaries of wind currents. In some cases, the wind might aid him and he could choose such a route.

The land route, from
Calais to
Paris, was the most popularly traveled and would pose the risk of discovery. A better route would be from Brighton in
England, crossing the channel to
Boulogne
, then from
Boulogne
on land to the city of
Paris. The land travel would be quicker going, for one wouldn't have to fight against the river current en route to
Paris.

Of course the more time he spent on land, specifically French soil, the greater risk of discovery. And then, the Black Rose would have to be sure to have fresh mounts along the way, not to mention someone he trusted aiding him in hostile country.

John was betting that the man crossed into
Boulogne
or thereabouts and sailed back with his liberated souls—for he would not chance being on French soil longer than necessary, especially with his aristocrats in tow.

Considering the fact that the
Cyndreacs
and the
Zambeau
had been rescued with some haste, it meant that the man knew how to ride like hell, fight like the devil, and sail like the wind.

The rumor Percy had told about the man being a pirate might not be far from the truth.

John tried to think back as to who was present on what occasions and who was absent. It was very difficult, since there were so many guests in the house and, at the time, he hadn't been paying attention.
At least, not paying attention to that.
As he recalled, most of that week had been spent almost exclusively with Chloe. The few times they did join the rest of the household, there had been plenty of time in between for someone to come and go.