Unicorn Vengeance (5 page)

She felt him draw closer, heard the tread of his boot alone, despite all the other sounds in the square. Her mouth went dry. Feigning ignorance of his presence, Genevieve bent lower over the lute and played, though the tune grew stilted beneath her trembling fingers.

What should she do? What
could
she do? Naught could she say in such a public place, and she could hardly take her vengeance upon this spot. Avenging Alzeu was well and good, but too late Genevieve considered the possible repercussions should she manage to accomplish the deed. Should she take her retaliation publicly, no doubt she would pay for her crime. No taste had Genevieve for languishing in a rat-infested prison for her revenge. There was indeed no need to make her guilt readily clear, but in a public square there would be no escape from observation.

Imperative ‘twas that she should find some way to draw the murderer to a secluded corner where neither he nor any other might guess her intent.

Aye. Perfect sense it made, but how to accomplish such a goal? Naught came to mind as she thought furiously, and her tune was drawing to a close. Another tread on the cobbles brought him yet closer, and her fingers quivered in anticipation.

‘Twas now or never. Something she must contrive. Genevieve finished her tune with a flourish and took a deep breath before she dared to glance up.

Her gaze immediately locked with one that was pale beyond pale. He stood motionless, watching her like a hunter about to pounce upon his prey. Something else there was in his expression, an intensity she could not fathom, though indeed, the awareness that he watched her alone fired her blood in a most curious way. Genevieve's heart fairly stopped, and suddenly it seemed that the autumn air held less of a bite.

A coin hit the cobbles before her, cast by another onlooker, but Genevieve could not tear her gaze away from his to retrieve it. Trapped she felt. Stalked and cornered, though truly she had thought the reverse to be the case. Had she not sought him out? Was it not she who was the hunter? A shiver crept down her spine as the awareness of what kind of man this was she so boldly eyed, and the hairs stood up at the base of her neck.

Still she could not look away. Though Genevieve felt the crowd of onlookers drift away, she cared naught. The only audience she wanted remained motionless.

So impassive were his features that Genevieve almost fidgeted beneath his perusal. ‘Twas as though he were wrought of stone, not flesh and blood, and trepidation made her skin creep. Impossible it seemed that this man could not see to the very recesses of her heart and know the very reason for her presence, though she had breathed a word of it to none.

Could he know? A wave of panic swept over her. And what would he do if he did guess her objective? Genevieve eyed him warily and was reassured naught by what she saw.

‘Twas a dangerous man who stood a dozen paces away from her. A man who would not be readily brought down. A man who had killed at least once before. Genevieve felt a niggle of doubt of the wisdom of her path.

Had she truly the skill or the will to fulfill her oath? Genevieve's spirits sank before she caught herself.

He had come back, she reminded herself resolutely. She knew not what had drawn him, but he was here, and that was no small thing. ‘Twas a victory of some measure, and an opportunity that could not be overlooked. Genevieve had to ensure that she did not lose him again. Too far away was he for conversation, but as she held his regard, Genevieve sensed he waited for something from her. Why else would he remain?

On impulse, Genevieve smiled.

He straightened abruptly, but did not turn away. Well it seemed to her that his eyes grew brighter, though but a moment sooner she would not have thought that possible. His gaze danced over her face, her hands resting on the silent lute, the barely discernible outline of her crossed legs beneath her faded kirtle, then darted back to her face.

He was surprised. And Genevieve fancied that he was not surprised often. She rather liked that she had managed to unnerve him so in such a short span of time. Well it seemed that the odds had shifted decidedly in her favor. Seemingly of its own volition, her smile broadened, and her lips parted slightly. He stared fixedly but did not move.

A shocking thought assaulted Genevieve with an abruptness that fairly tore the smile from her lips.

What place was more private than bed?

Blood surged hotly through Genevieve's veins at the idea, and she imagined that she flushed scarlet at her audacity. She was suddenly warm beyond compare, though indeed she knew precious little of such matters. Was not her virginity a gift to be cherished by her spouse alone?

Still she could not readily cast the idea aside, particularly given the way the stranger had already responded to her smile. And she had no betrothed who would be bereft.

Truly it might be time to face the reality that she was old to be making a match of any kind. Any man who would have her at the ripe age of nineteen might well not be fussy about details.

Genevieve would have been a fool of the worst order to not realize that this man was attracted to her. Well could she use that fact to her advantage, and ‘twas true she might well need every advantage she could muster to emerge victorious from this mission.

And naught said that she would have to make that final sacrifice before accomplishing her goal. Nay, should fortune be on her side, she would not even come close to such a concession. Emboldened by that thought, Genevieve straightened coquettishly and arched her back slightly. His gaze flicked to her breasts and she stifled a surge of victory.

‘Twould be almost too easy, she thought.

“I would thank you for your coin the other day,” she called encouragingly. He looked momentarily startled before he hastily composed his features. He took a step forward that made Genevieve feel more powerful than she ever had before. Indeed, he stepped willingly into her web.

‘Twas truly the perfect strategy.

“Your playing is quite fine,” he said carefully. His tone was stiffly formal, and Genevieve thought she detected an accent. Was he a foreigner, then?

What manner of man could take the task he had?

Before a hundred questions could clutter her mind, Genevieve deliberately stifled her curiosity. Predators never showed curiosity about their prey. ‘Twould only make the deed more difficult in the end. She swallowed her lingering reservations and forced herself to continue the conversation, that he might come closer.

“Yours was the first coin I earned in Paris,” she said in as genial a manner as she could manage.

He took another pair of steps closer but looked away as he slapped his gloves agitatedly against one palm. Well it seemed that he might be uncertain of how to proceed.

Genevieve almost chortled at the sight. Simple as taking a sweet from a child. Indeed, she might well accomplish her task this very day. He cast a glance over her again that made Genevieve suddenly feel so exquisitely feminine that she momentarily lost track of her intent. She forced herself to take a steadying breath and recovered herself.

Until he spoke once more.

“Regrettably, I must ask for its return,” he said stiffly.

Genevieve regarded him in shock. She blinked, but he did not look away. Her composure completely lost its footing in the face of this development. Surely she had heard him incorrectly. That coin was long spent.

“I beg your pardon?” she asked breathlessly, feeling markedly less the seductress than she had planned to be.

He cleared his throat and frowned, impaling her with that pale regard so suddenly that it fairly took her breath away. “I must ask for the return of the coin,” he repeated. “‘Twas not mine to grant.”

“But...but, ‘tis spent and gone,” Genevieve sputtered in protest, hating the hesitancy in her voice. A far cry indeed this was from her plan!

The stranger looked deliberately at the coin that had just been tossed on the cobbles before her. Indignation rolled through Genevieve at his presumption, and she was on her feet in an instant. She swept forward and snatched the coin from the ground before he could lay claim to it, her anger prompting her to wag it beneath his very nose.

“Not yours is this coin, but mine alone!” she declared hotly. He moved naught, though his gaze was bright upon her. “My dinner and board for the night this is, and I will not grant it to you!”

“The coin was not mine to give,” he said calmly again, as though she had said naught.

“Well does it seem that you might have considered that before you granted it to me!” Genevieve asserted. A tinge of color stained his neck, and she fancied he gritted his teeth.

“I would have the coin returned,” he said tightly.

“Not by me,” Genevieve maintained. She tossed her hair back over her shoulder and straightened to her full height. Still she had to lift her chin to stare him in the eye and, had she not been so angered by his audacity, the coldness she found there might have been daunting.

He leaned closer and Genevieve held her breath, though she did not dare look away.

“Give me the coin,” he insisted. His hand rose in her peripheral vision, palm up, as though he expected her to meekly drop the requested silver there.

Genevieve slipped her hand into the neck of her kirtle and jammed the coin between her breasts. The way his gaze followed the gesture reminded Genevieve of her original intent and made her bold beyond her wildest dreams.

“Fetch it yourself,” she hissed impulsively.

He swallowed and his gaze flicked away. Ha! That had surprised him! When his eyes met hers again, it seemed a flame had been lit there, and Genevieve was tempted to flee from him. But she held her ground, determined to see this matter settled between them.

His gaze was unnaturally steady, and once again she was reminded of the cold stare of a wolf. A wolf on the hunt, a wolf stalking the quarry he would bring down with ease when he was ready to do so. A quarry that he might taunt and tease afore he struck, as surely he would. Naught would stop that wolf from his objective, and Genevieve fancied that little could stop this cold-eyed man. Fear trickled through her with renewed resolve and she wondered what demon fueled her audacious tongue.

But she could not back down now. He had granted her a coin. It had been hers to spend and she had done so. No claim had he on the solitary coin that would ensure her room and board this night.

Still, when he lifted his hand toward her, Genevieve shivered. He touched her wrist and she barely restrained herself from bolting, even as the shock of his intent flooded through her. Would he truly seek out the coin as she had dared him? Did he truly intend to touch her
there?
The heat of his fingertips slid up her arm, but Genevieve could not look away from his simmering regard. Certain she was that his hand shook as his fingers slid over the curve of her shoulder, then his hand rested gently above her heart.

Its frantic pounding would betray her fear, but naught was there that Genevieve could do. Her mouth went dry, her palms became damp, yet still she did not move.

Well it seemed that the stranger had not the will to continue, for he remained motionless before her, his hand cupped over the pulse of her heart. Frozen in time they were, their gazes locked as the autumn wind cavorted around them. Genevieve noted the lines from the sun around his eyes, the faint blond stubble from his beard, the flicker of blue in the myriad grays of his eyes.

There was none but they two in the whole of Paris.

His gaze softened when it fell on her rapidly rising and falling breasts, so close beneath his hand. Genevieve wondered if he thought about the coin secreted there, but when he looked back to her face, she knew he thought of something more earthy.

He desired her. ‘Twas burning in his eyes.

The very thought made Genevieve weak in the knees, but she knew with chilling certainty that she must make this moment count. No matter the test to her resolve. A pledge she had to fulfill. This was an opportunity to be exploited in the name of her cause, no more, no less. She could not afford to let the moment pass, for she owed no less to Alzeu. A weakness had this stranger shown her and she would be a fool not to use it to her advantage. There was one good way to do so that she could imagine.

Genevieve gripped the stranger's shoulder, stretched to her toes and pressed her lips against his.

‘Twas an inexpert kiss at best, for Genevieve was not experienced in any exchanges other than the sweet embraces one pressed to the cheeks of kin. His lips were firm, yet temptingly soft, and the smell of his skin filled her nostrils in a most intoxicating way.

Yet for all the warmth of his skin, his kiss was cold with all the chilling blueness of winter ice in the mountains. She felt his shock as an immediate echo of her own. He stiffened, then it seemed he sagged toward her as though he, too, was struck by some inexplicable and completely unexpected weakness.

Before her heartbeat had echoed twice, Genevieve sensed the aching loneliness within him. She tasted the sense of betrayal, she felt the scar left by a heartless abandonment long past. She knew his fear as surely as her own and peered into the dark abyss where the pulse of his own humanity should have been.

Emptiness alone echoed there, and ‘twas cold beyond cold.

To her complete astonishment, Genevieve felt neither disgust nor dismay, neither revulsion nor hatred. Compassion ‘twas that flooded through Genevieve. Compassion in a tide of such magnitude that ‘twas fit to unbalance her.

Loneliness had wrought a man who could take another's life. Loneliness and the certainty that none could be trusted. ‘Twas that simple, and the truth saddened her beyond compare.

Genevieve closed her eyes dizzily. Gooseflesh rose on her skin, yet she felt feverish. The hand that did not grip the lute tightened on his shoulder before she knew what it was about, and she savored the firmness of his flesh. She wanted to console him. Genevieve wanted to offer this man something he had never had before.