A Scoundrels Kiss

by Shelly Thacker

  He flashed her a wicked grin. “Sometimes, my daring lady, I don’t think you mind very much at all.” He whispered a particularly scandalous command in her ear. Then his mouth captured hers, softly at first, then more deeply as his hands slid her silk nightdress from her shoulders, caressing, arousing.

  He pressed her back into the sheets, lavishing kisses over every lush curve of her body, surrounding her with words of love and promises of shared pleasure.

  And soon her sighs of longing and need told him she was no longer thinking of tigers or letters or dangerous adventures.

  Marie stepped into the parlor, then almost stepped right back out again. “Ashiana, you didn’t mention that he would be here,” she said under her breath, staring at the familiar figure seated in a wing chair in the far corner.

  “Max wouldn’t miss this. We’ve all been looking forward to this day for so long.”

  Ashiana tried to nudge her through the doorway, but Marie remained frozen in the entrance of the tastefully decorated room with its crystal chandelier, mahogany and tulipwood furniture, and what must be several thousand livres’ worth of blue-and-white Delft figurines displayed in a lacquered chinoiserie cabinet.

  She had been here three days now, almost every moment of it in her room. She had only agreed to come downstairs for this afternoon’s gathering after Ashiana spent the entire morning cajoling her. Lord Julian was going to have his bandages removed so he could see again, and Marie had decided she should at least meet him, to express her sincere regret for what had happened to him and his ship because of her chemical.

  Lord Julian was already there—he was tall and blond and strongly resembled his brothers, except for the bandage around his eyes. He waited with a somber-looking man she took to be the family physician, and Lord Saxon, and a petite older woman wearing a stylish gown of pastel pink, whom she guessed must be the duchess…

  And Max.

  Who, from the surprised expression on his pale, strained features, hadn’t anticipated her presence any more than she had anticipated his.

  “I thought he wasn’t strong enough to get out of bed,” she whispered accusingly to Ashiana.

  “Saxon encouraged him to try.”

  Marie frowned. She no longer believed that the D’Avenants had some devious plan to wring the secret formula from her—but she was beginning to suspect that they had a devious plan to reunite her and Max.

  And before she could manage to extricate herself from the scheme, she was outflanked by one of the other conspirators.

  “My dear child, it’s good of you to join us.” The duchess broke the awkward tension, stepping forward with outstretched hands, her warm smile reaching all the way to her silver-gray eyes. “I’m sorry we haven’t had the chance to meet until today. I’m Max’s mother, Paige.” She took Marie’s hands in both of hers. “I understand that I have you to thank for saving my son’s life. I’m so grateful, my dear. It was very courageous of you to do what you did.”

  “I-I didn’t…it wasn’t…” Marie didn’t understand why everyone insisted on attributing qualities to her that weren’t factual. She had never done anything courageous in her life; she had been in a complete panic at the time. “It was nothing.”

  Lord Julian chuckled. “I would hardly call it nothing, mademoiselle.” He crossed to the doorway with measured steps, as if he had memorized the path. “Max may be somewhat tedious at times, and entirely too serious, but he means quite a bit to us. We’ve become inexplicably attached to the idea of having him around.”

  “Thanks,” Max muttered.

  Ashiana laughed. “Marie, allow me to introduce the one and only Julian. Julian, this is Marie. She’s every bit as sweet and clever and lovely as you’ve heard—but behave yourself.” After giving Marie and Paige each a quick hug, Ashiana joined her husband on the other side of the room.

  “Mademoiselle LeBon.” Lord Julian took one of Marie’s hands, flashing a roguish smile. “Lord Julian D’Avenant, at your service.” He bowed gallantly. “I must say, I’m getting truly annoyed with my brothers for snapping up all the most intriguing ladies without giving me first chance at them.” He kissed her hand.

  Marie felt warmth rising in her cheeks at his flattery. She thought of denying Ashiana’s description, especially the part about her being lovely. And how could Julian think her intriguing when he couldn’t even see?

  But instead of saying any of that, she blurted something else entirely. “I’m sorry. I am genuinely sorry for what happened to you, Lord Julian. I didn’t know—”

  “There’s no need for apologies,” he said firmly. “I don’t hold anything against you.” He tucked her hand in the crook of his arm to escort her into the room. “And please call me Julian.”

  She stared up at him in surprise, wondering how he could be cordial to her—how he could even stand her presence—when it had been her invention that caused his blindness, the loss of his ship, the deaths of his men.

  How could anyone forgive so easily?

  “Mademoiselle LeBon,” the duchess said softly, walking beside them, “Max has explained that your chemical was taken by the military without your knowledge. You certainly cannot be blamed for that. In fact, you’ve suffered a great deal because of it. I was so sorry to hear about the loss of your home and your sister.”

  “Th-thank you, madame.” Marie glanced from the duchess to Max, surprised and a bit uncomfortable that he had told his family so much. She had never been the sort of person who shared her pain with anyone. She usually preferred to keep such feelings private.

  To keep any feelings private.

  “What the French navy did with your invention was not your fault,” Julian said emphatically. “You and I were both victims in this, mademoiselle. Caught up in something larger than either one of us.”

  “You’re very kind.” She looked from him to the duchess and back again. “Both of you.”

  “Not at all.” Julian shrugged. “I’ve simply never been a believer in regrets. Or grudges.”

  The duchess gave Marie a warm smile before reclaiming her seat on an elegant settee. Julian remained standing a moment, keeping his full attention on Marie, her hand still tucked in his arm.

  Almost without realizing it, she found herself smiling back at him. If he could see her, she felt certain he wouldn’t be showering her with such gallantry, but he did have a certain…disarming charm.

  Max cleared his throat. “You can let go of her any time now, Jules.”

  Julian chuckled. “If you insist, little brother.” Moving with measured steps, he escorted Marie to a chair…in the farthest corner of the room from Max.

  Then he took his seat at the center of the gathering. “Let’s get on with this, Dr. Webster,” he said with an impatient wave of his hand, his rakish grin never wavering. “I’ve got places to go and a ship to build.”

  Saxon drew the curtains and Ashiana turned down the lamps. A hush fell over the room as the physician took an instrument from the black bag at his feet, bent over Julian, and snipped one end of the bandage.

  Then he began unwrapping the long strip of white linen. Marie felt her stomach tighten. She realized she was feeling exactly what everyone else in the room felt. Hope.

  Strange, to feel part of the family, even in a small way.

  She could sense the love all around her, almost a palpable force: Lord Saxon and Ashiana standing so close to one another, his arm around her shoulders; the duchess, her features full of concern as she watched the physician unbandaging her son’s eyes; Julian himself, stalwart and confident in the face of whatever might come.

  They were kind. Caring. Undeniably good people.

  All of them.

  Moving only her eyes, she secretly glanced at Max. He didn’t notice; his gaze was fastened on his brother, his gray eyes dark with concern, with hope. With love.

  She couldn’t help remembering his words from yesterday morning.

  I did this because of what happened to Julian. I was trying to save
lives.

  Trying to save lives…the same reason she had created her fertilizer.

  His motives were nearly identical to her own.

  And the qualities she had admired in him from the beginning—they were all still there. All undeniably real. His intelligence. His love of books, of science. His concern for others. His strength.

  What Ashiana called his “gentle soul.”

  All the qualities that had made her fall in love with him.

  She glanced away quickly, chastising herself. Clearly, she had allowed her emotions to run riot for too long. She couldn’t trust her own judgment anymore. Just being in the same room with Max was making her irrational.

  He had lied to her. Misled her. Despite the love he claimed to feel for her.

  And he had shot her brother.

  She couldn’t forgive him. Didn’t dare trust him.

  Didn’t dare trust herself.

  She resolutely focused her attention on Julian. The doctor finished unwinding the bandages at last and stepped back.

  They all waited. Julian didn’t move a muscle. The room was so quiet, she swore she could hear the candles flickering.

  “My lord?” the physician asked expectantly.

  Julian blinked, then smiled.

  Marie felt a swell of relief and happiness.

  Until he spoke.

  “Why stop now? Go ahead, Doc. Finish taking the bandages off.”

  No one said a word. Or took a breath.

  “My lord…” The physician cleared his throat uncomfortably. “All of the bandages have been removed.”

  Julian’s smile faltered.

  For an agonizing moment, he remained still, a hint of optimism still present in his handsome features, before disbelief took over.

  He reached up to touch his face. Blinked several times. Looked around the room. “I can’t…see.” He held his hands directly in front of his eyes. “I can’t see anything.”

  The physician gestured for the curtains to be opened and Ashiana swiftly moved to comply.

  “You see no light, my lord?” The man looked concerned. “No shapes? Or shadows?”

  “Nothing.” Julian couldn’t seem to catch his breath.

  The physician bent over him, peering closely at each eye in turn through a magnifying glass. “There doesn’t appear to be anything physically wrong. It may only be a question of time.”

  “That’s right, Jules.” Max was the first member of the family to speak. “In a few months—”

  “Or weeks,” Saxon said.

  “Or never.” Julian’s voice was so bleak, it seemed to come straight out of the darkness that surrounded him so completely.

  Marie gripped the arms of her chair, feeling his anguish. She knew how it felt to be so alone in the darkness, so uncertain, so afraid…

  She found herself glancing toward Max just as his gaze sought hers.

  He understood as well as she did. Both of them knew better than anyone else present what it felt like to be dependent, helpless.

  And she realized in that moment that Max had not lied to her about his illness, any more than he had lied about the rest of his past. It was fixed deeply in his eyes, how close he had once hovered to the shadows.

  Uncomfortable with the intimacy, she glanced away.

  The physician took a fresh bandage from his bag and started unrolling it. “We will try again in another few weeks.”

  Julian flinched away when the doctor touched him. “Stow it, Doc,” he ordered stiffly.

  “My lord, it is merely another bandage. You should protect your eyes.”

  “What’s the point?” Julian laughed, but it was a harsh, dry sound, without humor. “What’s the bloody point?”

  “Dr. Webster, thank you for your assistance.” Lord Saxon stepped forward to intervene, picking up the man’s bag and handing it to him. “We’ll contact you if there’s any change. Townshend will show you to the door.”

  Looking a bit upset at having his expertise rejected, the physician nodded politely to all present and took his leave.

  Closing the parlor door behind him, Lord Saxon came back to his brother, who hadn’t moved from the chair. “Julian, you’ll beat this. You know you will.” He placed a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “You just need to be patient.”

  “Patient.” Julian echoed dully. “Sure, Sax. I’ll be patient. Why not? It looks like I’ll have plenty of time on my hands.” His voice became thin. “All of it on dry land. And I’m sure the Company will…offer a very generous…pension.”

  Marie covered her mouth with one hand, holding back a sob, suddenly fighting tears. Her chemical had done this.

  Whether he blamed her or not, this was her fault.

  Saxon straightened. “They won’t retire you. I’ll call on the directors and—”

  “No.” Julian stood up suddenly. “I’ll talk to them myself. I’ll handle it myself. Tomorrow. But today, I’ll just…I’ll, uh…” He started toward the door, his steps wooden and uncertain, as if he couldn’t remember the path he’d memorized. “I…need to be alone for a while.”

  Judging by the looks his family gave him, that was an unprecedented request.

  As he made his way awkwardly to the door, everyone remained still, all clearly longing to offer help and struggling to honor his wishes.

  He walked out alone. They could hear his boots echoing in the entry hall…step by slow, solitary step…until the butler closed the parlor door.

  The salon remained utterly silent.

  Marie didn’t know whether she should excuse herself or stay, but somehow at the moment, she couldn’t bear to be alone.

  Then the duchess started to cry.

  “I’m sorry.” The older woman took out a lacy handkerchief. “I was so certain we would be celebrating today! How will he…how will Julian possibly…” She rose, unable to stop her tears. “Please excuse me, children.”

  She left in a rush. Ashiana looked at Saxon, gave Marie an apologetic glance, then hurried after her mother-in-law.

  Which left Marie alone with Lord Saxon…and Max. Feeling suddenly awkward and out of place, she stood. “If you would both excuse—”

  “Mademoiselle, wait,” Max called from his seat in the far corner before she could take a single step. “I’d like to speak with you.”

  “My lord,” she said tonelessly, addressing him directly for the first time since leaving his room the other morning, “what more is there for us to say?”

  “There are a few matters we need to discuss,” he insisted with cool formality. “If you could spare a moment.”

  Marie didn’t sit down, but she didn’t head for the door, either.

  Lord Saxon went over to his brother, leaned down, and whispered something that Marie couldn’t hear. It seemed to be a question, because Max nodded and said, “Yes.”

  The answer didn’t seem to please his older brother, who frowned and glanced at Marie.

  But whatever it was, he didn’t argue about it. “Please excuse me, mademoiselle.” He inclined his head politely as he took his leave.

  When the door closed behind him, Marie felt the latch click shut.

  Felt it all the way to her toes.

  Still standing, she kept her gaze on the arm of her chair, tracing the Oriental pattern of the upholstery fabric with one finger, waiting.

  Max didn’t speak. She could feel him looking at her. Felt his gaze travel over her from her loose chignon to the hem of her emerald green gown. The tension in the air built until she could scarcely catch her breath, her pulse racing.

  “My lord?” she asked finally. “You said you had something to discuss?”

  “Three things, actually.” His voice was still calm, remote. “But first I would like to ask a question. You said you wanted to leave here. Have you any plans as to what you might do once you left?”

  “If I did, my lord, I certainly wouldn’t reveal them to you.”

  “Of course. I merely wondered whether you’ve considered the various asp
ects of the situation you’re in. The French are still looking for you. And British Intelligence, such as it is at the moment. You’re valuable to a great many people, mademoiselle. People who won’t hesitate to harm you to get what they want. They’ll hunt you for the rest of your days. You’ll never be safe.”

  She glanced up at him from beneath her lashes. “Are you trying to frighten me into staying here with you, my lord?”

  “I am trying to make you realize the full extent of the danger you’re facing.” He shifted in his chair. Despite his cool, controlled tone, he was obviously in quite a bit of pain.

  It made something deep inside her ache. In spite of everything, she couldn’t bear to see him suffering.

  “I would also like to suggest,” he continued, “that there is an alternative to spending the rest of your life on the run. If you would care to listen.”

  Her heart was beating uncomfortably hard. She wished her unruly emotions would calm down. “Very well.”

  “There are three points I would like to make. First of all, the informants employed by our family have learned that the man I was working for, by the name of Wolf, is dead. He was one of two men in charge of the British intelligence ministry. It was his colleague, Fleming, who sent assassins to murder him. With a garrotte. The same day he placed the notice in the papers that lured me into his trap.” A muscle flexed in Max’s cheek. “Fleming is a turncoat working for the French, and he may still be in England—or he may have taken the formula you gave him and fled to France.”

  Marie shuddered at the man’s name. “I don’t see how—”

  “How all of this relates to your plans is relatively simple. British Intelligence has been thrown into chaos, which might give us some time.”

  Before she could object to his use of the word us, he continued.

  “The second point I wish to make is that I still love you.”

  He said it in the same matter-of-fact manner he had stated everything else, so calmly that it took her a moment to react.

  She straightened with a sharp gasp. “My lord, since you insist on repeating that, I would like to ask you a question.” She crossed her arms. “When did you fall in love with me?”