by Leda Swann
She smiled at him, laughing inwardly at herself for the direction her thoughts were taking. “Well, you have my company – for now.” She arranged her skirts tidily on the stone edge of the fountain, making room for Monsieur de Tournay to sit beside her. “What else could you possibly want?”
He took her hands in his and leaned forward so that his sweet breath tickled her cheeks. “A kiss from a beautiful woman.”
She felt the pit of her stomach curl in excitement. She had been hoping he would try to steal a kiss from her. She was not a complete novice when it came to kissing. Several of her suitors had tried to snatch a kiss from her in the past, but she had sent most of them away with a most unladylike box around the ears. She would make an exception for this handsome Frenchman though. He could kiss her all he wanted and welcome.
She pretended to misunderstand him. “You may kiss my hand,” she said, raising her hand partway to his lips.
He caressed her fingers with his own as he raised her hand to his lips and planted a row of gentle kisses on each finger. “You have beautiful hands,” he said, when he had kissed every inch of her hand, “but that is not what I wanted.”
She laughed. “It was not?”
“Pleasant though it was, I did not want to kiss your hand.”
She made a face of mock disappointment. “I am not a beautiful woman?”
He twirled one finger round a lock of her blonde hair. “On the contrary - you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.”
“Then why do you not want to kiss me?”
“I do want to kiss you. I want it very much - but even more than that I want you to kiss me.”
His tactics were sneakier than those of her previous suitors had been. They had been content to steal a kiss from her. He wanted her to give him one willingly. She lifted his hand to her mouth and gave it a brief peck. “There. Your wish is granted,” she said as she dropped his hand back into his lap.
He shook his head with a rueful smile. “For such a beautiful woman, you are a miserly kisser indeed.”
She raised her nose in the air, miffed at being accused of miserliness. “I do not kiss every man who asks.”
“I am not every man. One of these days I will show you just how different I am from every other man you have ever known.”
So he said, at any rate. She was unsure whether she ought to believe him or not. “I shall look forward to the day.”
He ignored her sarcasm. “Look at me, Miss Ruthgard, Courtney.”
Her name was a sweet, soft caress on his tongue. She knew she should not look at him, but she could not resist the temptation.
His deep brown eyes held her gaze in a grip so potent that she could not break it. She felt as though she was drowning in their depths. “I dare you to kiss me.” His voice was deep, compelling. It was the voice of a spirit who urged her on to seal her doom. She could sense its fatal power over her, and yet she could not resist it. She could not turn her head away.
Without her willing it to, her head inched closer to his. Their faces were close, almost touching. The tip of his moustache tickled her cheek like the wisp of a feather. His nose bumped gently against hers. She could feel his breath intermingling with her own as their faces inexorably drifted together.
The softness of his lips against her own formed an unlikely contrast with the sharp prickling of his moustache against her upper lip. The hairs tickled her nose and she suppressed a giggle. Her first proper kiss was nothing to laugh at.
His kiss was tender, yet insistent. She knew she was falling under his spell, but she had no desire to break it. She was content to be entranced as they sat by the fountain together, his hand around the back of her neck, clasping him closer to her.
The soft summer breeze played about her shoulders, stirring her hair in its gentle grasp. Crickets chirruped. As if from far away, she could hear the sounds of revelry inside, at the celebration for her birthday. None of it mattered anymore. Her only reality was the man who held her in his arms.
So this, she thought to herself as she finally broke off their kiss and looked deep into the soft brownness of his eyes, is what falling in love feels like.
George Charent crossed his legs in front of him, sucked on the end of his pipe and blew a cloud of foul-smelling smoke out into the room. “You have done well. The girl likes you right enough.”
Pierre de Tournay leaned against the windowsill scowling. His eyes were watering from the smoke and he wanted badly to cough. “What can I say?” He didn’t care that his irritation with his commanding officer showed plainly in his voice. “I’m well-known to be irresistible to women. Isn’t that why I was chosen for this mission?”
Waving his pipe in one hand, Charent held up his glass with the other. It was filled with wine the deep red color of blood. “I must toast to your success so far. I did not think it would be so easy even for a man of your reputation.” He took a large swallow of his wine and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand.
Pierre felt uneasy about his partner’s crowing – as if they had done something to be proud of already. He had been sent on an important mission for the King of France, but all he had done so far was to make love to a young girl too sweet and inexperienced to see through his fakery. What was so damn fabulous about that? “I have not done anything yet. This is only the beginning.”
Charent gave a fat belch. “An auspicious beginning nonetheless.”
A prickle on his conscience made him speak up. “I do not like using the girl as a pawn. She is innocent of this affair.”
Charent’s eyes narrowed as he sucked again on his pipe, giving his face a suspicious cast. “You have cold feet all of a sudden?” he sneered. “Are you scared?”
Pierre gave an uneasy shrug. He was used to Charent’s unpleasant gibes by now, but they still rankled on his soul. Heaven knew he was no coward, yet his conscience misgave him about the part he was expected to play in this affair. He had thought his part was to be one requiring bravery and skill with the sword, not one needing deceit and trickery. “You know me to well to believe that I am scared of anything. But I like the girl – and she is a real beauty to boot, with her golden blonde hair and her soft white skin. I had not expected to find her so… so young and so untouched. She had never even been kissed properly before.”
Charent gave a great belly laugh. “You are complaining that the girl is handsome? There’s no pleasing some people. That just means your task of making love to her is less onerous then, doesn’t it? Or would your tender conscience give you less trouble if she were old and fat with a face like a toad? Would you like making love to her better if she were ugly?”
He hated his officer at that moment – hated him more than he could ever have imagined. He wanted to put his hands around the man’s throat and squeeze until his face turned purple and the life was choked out of him. With some difficulty he swallowed down his bile and composed his features into a mask of bland dislike. “And if I refuse to go any further?”
“Then your beautiful blonde sweetheart with the soft white skin will no doubt be desolate at your sudden departure, and ready to fall like a ripe peach into the arms of another man who can commiserate with her in her time of sorrow.” Charent gave an evil grin. “She is a tolerably attractive young woman. I would enjoy playing your part if you foolishly decided to relinquish it.”
He shuddered at the thought of Charent’s fat lips kissing Courtney’s sweet face, his greedy hands pawing at her breasts or reaching beneath her skirts to fondle her thighs. Charent would have no scruples about abusing his position to ruin the girl – he would enjoy making love to her all the more knowing that he was working to betray her all the while. “I will not relinquish it.”
Charent’s satisfied smile showed that he knew he had won. “Don’t worry about the future for now, Pierre,” he said, as if he were giving away a great boon. “Win the girl’s trust, and the rest will follow easily enough.”
Pierre felt sick to his stomach as he turned on his hee
l and stalked out of his officer’s chamber. He was caught – and he and Charent both knew it. Whatever he did now, whatever protests he made, Courtney Ruthgard was destined to be a pawn in the high-stakes game they were playing – a pawn to be knowingly sacrificed for the greater good. He could not save her – he could only keep on playing this damned game and try to make sure that she was hurt as little as possible when, as was inevitable, she got in their way.