by Danice Allen
Anne swallowed. Nervous, she licked her lips. He watched her avidly. This close watchfulness did nothing for her composure. “We are friends, Mr. Delacroix.” She paused, then coyly returned his own frequently used catchphrase. “N’est-ce pas?”
He sat back against the carriage squabs, fluctuations of light and shadow from outside the window passing over his chiseled features. A faint smile played about his lips. “Yes, we are the best of friends. I saved you from a lech, didn’t I?” he finished with an ironic smile.
Then he waited, building Anne’s anticipation. He was a master at withholding, she thought ruefully, building her to peaks of excitement before giving her what she wanted. Hadn’t he proven that in the cabin? But the wait had been well worth it. “Please do call me Lucien.”
“Lucien,” she repeated, rolling the sibilant sound over her tongue like melted chocolate. She had always liked his name, even when she considered him a scoundrel. When she suddenly realized how besotted she might appear, she snatched another glance at Katherine. This time her aunt was paying attention. She shifted an inquiring look between her and Lucien.
Lucien, always ready to do his part, looked perfectly unconcerned and harmless. Anne endeavored to appear just as nonchalant. She was rewarded for her efforts when Katherine’s face relaxed. But only for a minute. Her aunt’s puzzled look was replaced by one of worry. She got right to the point.
“I’m concerned about your uncle.”
“I know you are, Aunt Katherine. I’m a little worried, too. But I think Uncle Reggie’s just got a headache, as he said.”
“You know how protective he is of us … of you, that is. He’s never left us in a public place before.”
“And he wouldn’t have tonight if Mr. Delacroix hadn’t been available to take us home. He was prepared to sit through the entire opera with that wretched headache.”
Katherine’s face softened with tenderness. She sighed. “I know. Such foolish nincompoopery!”
Anne glanced out the window. They were turning onto their street. She tried to inject enthusiasm into her voice for her aunt’s sake. “We’re almost home. In less than five minutes, we’ll have scouted down James and know exactly how Uncle Reggie’s doing. Maybe his headache’s gone by now, and he’s waiting up for us.”
This idea cheered Katherine considerably. She immediately grabbed handfuls of her skirt, ready to leap out of the carriage even before the horses drew to a complete halt. Anne turned her attention back to Lucien. She expected him to look as wistful as she felt, as disappointed as she was for the quickly approaching conclusion to their forced togetherness. Instead he looked exultant, eager. His eyes glimmered like wet coal, so black, so full of … mischief? What was he up to?
The carriage rolled to a smooth stop. Too impatient to wait for the coachman to open the door, Katherine reached for the handle. Lucien beat her to it, turned the latch, and stepped outside, reaching up for Katherine’s hand to assist her in getting out. Katherine took his hand and stepped down, but just as she was about to pass him and head willy-nilly for the front door, he detained her.
Still clasping her hand, he pulled her close and whispered in her ear. Katherine listened for perhaps half a minute, shook her head vigorously, then stretched on her toes to whisper something back. When she appeared to try to step away, he detained her and whispered in her ear again. Judging by the stiff manner in which Katherine held herself, she didn’t like, or didn’t agree with, whatever Lucien was saying.
Anne found this intense exchange most intriguing. What on earth were they arguing about? If nothing else, it was rather rude to talk secretly in plain sight of a third party! But they continued to whisper till Katherine’s shoulders drooped slightly, as if she were giving in.
Then, without a backward glance, she marched down the walkway toward the front door. Lucien ignored Anne’s outstretched hand and called up to the coachman, “Drive down River Road till I rap three times, George, then head back here at a leisurely pace.” He got in the carriage, shut the door behind him, and pulled down the leather shades on both sides, enclosing them in complete privacy. Then he sat back and smiled wickedly.
“Close your mouth, cher,” he advised her.
She took his advice, overcome by the implications of what had just occurred. “You’re kidnapping me?”
“Regrettably, only for a short while.”
“What could you have possibly told my aunt to have persuaded her to let me go with you?”
“It wasn’t easy. She’s miffed with me.”
She gave a short, nervous laugh. “This is most—”
He crossed his arms, grinning like a satyr. “Improper?”
Her fan slipped through nerveless fingers and clattered on the carriage floor. “If Reggie finds out—”
“Reggie is most probably snoring away in bed. James will have dosed him with a sleeping potion.”
“But if he’s not asleep, and waiting up for us—”
“That’s unlikely. And if he is waiting up, Katherine’s prepared to tell him the truth.”
Anne leaned forward. Her lips could barely form the words. “The truth? But—”
“Your aunt knows all about us.”
Anne’s voice rose to a squeak. “She knows that we … made love?”
“Yes.”
“She knows who you are?”
“Yes.”
“But… but how?”
Lucien leaned forward and traced her cheek with his knuckle. Anne felt a shiver run down her spine. “Your aunt knew that Dandy Delacroix and Renard were the same man from the beginning. In fact, she helped me set up the operation and is an integral part of it. Have you never wondered about the clockwork regularity of your aunt’s visits to a certain Madame Tussad? And their solitary nature? She always goes alone, as you may recall.”
“I assumed it was charity, or a long-standing friendship she didn’t want to share with anyone else.”
“Madame Tussad is Armande’s cousin.”
“Oh!”
“Sometimes we meet there together. Other times pertinent information is simply passed along. Your aunt has been very valuable to me, and to the cause. Someday you must get her to tell you all she’s done. Mostly she’s a strategist and strong moral support. In short, she’s a brave and brilliant woman.”
Anne’s reticule slipped from her grasp and fell next to her fan, and she plopped back against the carriage cushions. Amused, Lucien picked up her dropped articles and placed them in a far corner of the seat. “Good God,” she murmured, truly shocked. “This is too much to take in in one night. First to find out that you have been living a double life, one as a man I’ve hated, and the other as a man I’ve admired and loved. And now to learn that my aunt is part of your operation!”
“You never really hated the Dandy, did you?” asked Lucien. “Tell me truthfully, sweet Anne.”
She smiled shyly and shook her head. “No. Actually I thought I was wicked because I was so attracted to him. To you. It was a relief when I found out tonight that all along I’ve been lusting after just one man.”
“Lusting, eh?” His eyes lighted up like obsidian just picked from a volcanic rockpile, still lava-hot, still throbbing with life from the core of the earth. The power he had over her was humbling, frightening, exhilarating. He took one of her gloved hands and slowly began to unfasten the tiny pearl buttons, from elbow to wrist.
“What are you doing?” she asked, snatching back her hand. Just from this small sexual overture, this tiny step in what was probably going to be a full-fledged seduction, Anne could feel the honeyed heat gathering at her woman’s core. But she didn’t want it to be so easy for Lucien to seduce her. She was angry and wanted answers.
Lucien looked surprised. “I’m taking off your gloves, cher.”
“I … I can see that, but I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”
Lucien smiled. “But I think it’s a wonderful idea. And only the beginning of something even better.”
Anne raised her brows imperiously. “Where have you been for the past week and a half, Lucien? I’ve been sick with worry.”
He reached again for her hand; again she drew back. He pursed his lips, amusement twinkling in his eyes. “Anne, don’t be angry,” he soothed. “I couldn’t come to you. It was too dangerous. Don’t you think I would have come if I could?”
Anne squared her shoulders, lifted her chin. “I don’t know what to think. You were right when you said in the cabin that I really don’t know you. I’m crazy to let you charm me into submissiveness.”
He leaned forward and, without touching her with his hands, kissed the sensitive hollow behind her ear. “And I’m simply crazy about you,” he breathed.
She felt her resolve melting. His lips felt like heaven against her skin. “You’re a scoundrel, with women flocking after you like ants to a sugar bowl.”
His hands gently, tentatively clasped her shoulders, and he ran his palms down her arms, making gooseflesh wherever he touched. “Your lips are like sugar, Anne. Sweet, so sweet.”
He touched a forefinger to her chin and slowly coaxed her head to turn. Their lips met in a brief, whisper-soft kiss. She moaned softly. “You’re a rogue, Lucien.”
“A rogue with a mission.”
“A mission?”
“To loosen these damned buttons,” he said wryly. Bemused, intoxicated by her consuming desire for him, she watched him apply himself with single-minded intensity to the task of undoing her buttons. It occurred to her then that he was rather adept at the procedure, as if he undressed women on a regular basis. The idea made her feel rather prickly. Then, unbidden, unwelcome, the image of his mistress loomed up in her mind. He had both gloves off now, and he bent his head to kiss her wrist. Filled with unexpected heartache, she pulled her hand away.
Half-amused, totally frustrated, Lucien looked into her face. “Cher? What’s wrong now?” His lips tilted in a rueful smile. “Are you feeling shy?”
Anne bit her lip, averted her gaze. “You have a mistress.”
There was a pause, a sigh. He lifted her chin again, forcing her to look at him. “I had a mistress. I don’t anymore.”
Anne’s heart soared. “You don’t?”
“Not since I kissed you, cher. Your passion made everyone else pale in comparison.” He smiled, his eyes full of teasing affection. “That night in the cabin was the most exciting performance I’ve ever experienced.”
Pleased but disbelieving, Anne felt warmth creep into her cheeks. She dropped her gaze. “Oh, Lucien, how can you tell such lies? She is experienced in the ways of pleasing a man, and I’m just—”
He took both her hands and spoke earnestly. “You’re just the most passionate, desirable, beautiful woman I’ve ever known. Something stirred in me the minute I first saw you on the deck of the Belvedere. I wanted to make love to you before I even knew your name.”
She shook her head, amazed, immensely flattered. But a tiny voice inside said, He only speaks of desire, never of love. She turned away.
“Cher, don’t you want me anymore? Are you no longer interested now that you know I’m just plain Lucien?”
She couldn’t let him believe that. She placed her fingertips on his firm jaw. “I don’t believe you can ever be just plain anything, Lucien. You are a good man, an extraordinary man to have risked so much to help others.”
“But I need to be myself.” His tone became grim, emphatic. “I don’t intend to keep up this charade much longer. But first—”
“But first you’re going to deal with Bodine.”
He was surprised. “How did you know that?”
“You can’t bear to let the most blatant abuser of slaves off scot-free. Bodine needs to be stopped, and he ought to be punished. How are you going to accomplish this, Lucien?”
“That is only for me to know. I won’t endanger you again by including you, even in the smallest way.” He touched the faint scar at her temple.
“But Lucien, I want to—”
He laid a quieting finger over her lips. “Shhh, ma petite. We have so little time together tonight, I don’t want to spend it discussing Bodine. I want to spend it making love to you.”
She trembled, but not with fear. “In … in a carriage?”
“Anne, you seem to think the thing impossible,” he said, laughing. “Believe me, where there is sufficient motivation, anything is possible. And sometimes the most unexpected places bring the most pleasure.”
Convinced, Anne wrapped her arms around his neck, twining her fingers behind it. She set aside her doubts, her worries. She might never see Lucien again, but she would take whatever she could get now, whether he loved her or not … She answered him by placing her mouth on his.
He groaned and pulled her into his arms and onto his lap, burying his face in her hair. “Anne, I never thought I could desire a woman as I do you. God help me, I’m obsessed with you.” His lips trailed down her neck, leaving behind a shivery path of pleasure.
She turned her face to his questing kisses. His hands roamed over her back. Their kisses became deeper, more intense. She was blissfully lost to all reason and thought.
She shifted, straining to get closer, and nearly slipped off his lap. “This skirt!” she complained, grabbing his shoulders to keep from sliding to the floor. She’d never been so thoroughly disgusted by the dictates of fashion. Yards and yards of alpaca were an encumbrance to lovemaking!
Lucien laughed, caught her waist, and set her firmly on his lap again. “Don’t worry, cher. I won’t let you fall. And as for this trifling barrier…” He started gently tugging on the skirt, pulling it out from under her till her chemise and silk drawers were the only thing between her bottom and his lap. Her skirt billowed out on all sides of her, like a full-blown ivory rose.
“Straddle me,” he ordered, his voice husky. Wide-eyed, curious, and aroused, Anne did exactly as he told her. Now she faced him. There was no mask, no darkness to obscure his beloved features, or to hide the desire in his eyes. With her open palms braced against his broad chest they kissed.
She’d almost forgotten how delirious his kisses could make her feel, how joyful. Their tongues tangled, dipped, and explored. Their lips roamed over each other’s faces, throats. She kissed his beard-stubbled jaw.
He kissed the smooth ridge of her collarbone, then moved lower, lower, till his lips and tongue played along the lace ruching of her low-cut neckline. His hands slid up slowly from her waist till they cupped her breasts from underneath. Anne instinctively leaned into his palms. When his thumbs came up and flicked both nipples, she moaned with pleasure.
“Oh, Lucien, how I wish … how I wish…”
“Say it, Anne. Say it.” He bent and buried his face in her cleavage. Her hands tunneled through his hair, her eyes closed, her mind tilting, reeling.
“’Tis immodest to say it,” she whispered, half-gasping, half-laughing.
“Nothing is immodest between lovers.”
“I just wish I could be naked, lying next to you, feeling your body against mine. And I wish I could look at you in the light. All of you.”
“Will you be satisfied tonight to see only part of me?” he asked tenderly. “If the carriage was stopped for some reason, I couldn’t bear to have you exposed to the greedy eyes or the sordid speculations of others. But at least this is more than either of us was granted that first night in the cabin.”
“And more than I ever dreamed possible when I left the house this evening,” she agreed. “Just let me feel your bare chest, Lucien. Let me open your shirt.”
She gently pushed his hands away as he started to undo the buttons of his vest and then his ruffled shirt. She wanted the pleasure all for herself. And as Lucien had done to her, she was going to make him wait.
She felt his eyes on her as she intently, slowly undid each button. His hands glided up and down her waist, teasing the undersides of her breasts, but not cupping them fully as he had before. He, too, was playing a teasing game. Soon Anne was steppin
g up the pace, too eager to hold back.
Finally she was able to slide her hands inside the opened shirt. His chest was hard with muscle and lightly dusted with soft swirls of black hair. Her palms tingled on contact, the thrill of touching him traveling up her arm and into every nerve of her body. His nipples were small and wine-colored. She lowered her head and lathed the taut buds with the tip of her tongue. He groaned and moved his hands up and over her breasts, squeezing gently, pressing her erect nipples between thumb and forefinger.
“Now my turn, cher,” he growled as he undid the few buttons at the front of Anne’s gown and carefully eased down the bodice to expose her breasts. Anne couldn’t control her breathing, her chest heaved up and down. At first he only looked at her; he didn’t touch.
“You’re so beautiful, Anne,” he whispered, his own breath seemingly suspended. “Your skin is so white, and your nipples are so richly tinted—like a damask rose.”
If she was beautiful, that was good, because she wanted to be beautiful for Lucien. Only for him. If he didn’t touch her soon, she’d go mad.
He touched her. His hands kneaded her breasts, his clever fingers teased her nipples, and then his head lowered, and he suckled at each breast till Anne knew the meaning of madness.
“Lucien,” she pleaded huskily. “Now, Lucien. Love me now.”
He moved her onto the seat next to him while he undid his trousers. Anne watched with unmaidenly interest as his erection sprang free, full and hard. He pulled her atop him. She eagerly straddled his thighs and pushed her skirts out of the way. Lucien reached under her, found the slit in her drawers, and sheathed himself in the tight, moist channel of her womanhood.
Anne was nearly overwhelmed with feeling. To be literally filled with the man she loved was the closest thing to heaven on earth she could imagine. Tears of joy welled in her eyes. Their gazes met and locked. “I love you, Lucien,” she whispered, her throat tight with emotion. “I love you.”