by Maggie Dove
“Long enough to know I’m going to enjoy those willful ways of yours. Not to mention putting you in that bed of mine.”
Her heart pounding fast against her heaving chest, Angelique watched in stunned silence as Nicholas turned on his heel and made his exit.
She could still feel his warm lips against hers as his deep, masculine chuckles echoed in the hallway.
* * * *
“I’ll race you!” Angelique dared Nicholas, her face burning from the scorching heat as she urged Champagne to a full gallop. She looked back and shouted with mischievous laughter. “You are gaining on me, monsieur. But you shall not win!”
She prodded Champagne all the more, but Nicholas, the older and more experienced horseman, beat her only by seconds.
“Champagne does not perform well in extreme heat.” Angelique pouted as he helped her down off her horse.
“Angelique,” Nicholas replied, laughing. “Are you actually trying to deny me my victory?”
“You were just lucky, monsieur,” Angelique insisted.
“Luck, mademoiselle? I was riding horses when you were still crawling the nursery floors and, no doubt, giving your poor old nanny a difficult time.”
“You may have won on horseback, m’lord, but due to that same rugged nursery floor to which you refer, I developed very sturdy legs. I’ll wager they are much faster than yours. I was known to have given my poor old nanny quite the merry chase!”
Angelique began to run down the hill toward the orange grove below. She lost her straw hat along the way, but did not stop to retrieve it. Instead, she kept running.
“You’ll never catch me, monsieur,” she taunted. “I’ll get there first!”
Taking his time, Nicholas began to walk down the hill. “Silly girl,” he countered casually, “I would think that after two weeks, you would know better than to challenge me.”
“Why, Lord Kent,” she yelled over her shoulder, “how boastful of you! Even on an off day, my nanny was much quicker than you. I suppose it must be your age. Maybe it’s best that you take your time and not overly exert yourself. I would not want you to get injured, my lord.”
That did it! Without another word, he sprinted after her.
* * * *
Glancing over her shoulder, Angelique saw Nicholas quickly approaching. Mon Dieu! She would not let him beat her this time. Glancing back again, she grinned. He was only inches away from her now and soon he would pass her. Smiling at what she was about to do, she came to a dead stop and stretched out her arms to halt his descent.
“What the—damn it, Angelique!”
Nicholas tried to swerve so as not to hit her. But he had gained too much momentum, and upon his descent, he pulled her down with him. Simultaneously, they fell to the ground and began rolling downhill.
Giggling hysterically, Angelique landed face up, and within seconds Nicholas’s body toppled over her, burying her beneath him. The sheer weight of his solid, hard mass made her gasp for air. However, she could not relinquish the opportunity to gloat over her victory. Indeed, she had landed first.
“I won, monsieur,” she mumbled breathlessly against his ear.
“You little fool. What the hell did you think you were doing? I could have hurt you,” Nicholas chided, his breathing raspy from the run. Then sudden realization caused him to raise his head to stare into her face. “What the devil did you just say?” he asked incredulously.
“I said I won, monsieur. And no amount of swearing is going to change that,” she insisted as she heaved beneath him, trying to catch her breath. “I landed first. I won!”
“Of all the nerve. Tell me, are you always this competitive? You could have broken your neck.”
“Say it, monsieur,” Angelique demanded, enjoying a sense of the ridiculous, pinned underneath him.
“Say what?”
“Say it,” she persisted. “Say it or we don’t eat.”
The corner of Nicholas’s mouth twisted with humor. “You won, damn it. You drive a hard bargain, mademoiselle.”
“Indeed, I do, monsieur,” Angelique agreed, bursting out in giggles.
Her mirth proved contagious for suddenly Nicholas’s firm, hard belly trembled against hers as his smile deepened into laughter.
“Damn it, minx. You really are the most exasperating woman I’ve ever met.”
“I know,” she conceded proudly, and again the hearty sound of their laughter echoed throughout the countryside.
Seconds later, Angelique’s giggles subsided as she noticed Nicholas had stopped laughing altogether. Tanned and rugged, like a dark warrior, he glowed above her. She could not help herself. Impulsively, she reached out to touch his handsome brow.
“They are gone, those tiny wrinkles and lines at the corners of your eyes. Bring them back, monsieur. They suit you well. But they only come when you smile. You should smile more often.”
Nicholas kept silent. Slightly intimidated by his lack of response, Angelique started to withdraw her hand from his brow. But before she could do so, he caught her hand and brought it to his lips.
The sudden dark expression on his face sobered her playful mood into one of stunned suspension as he kissed her palm. What had begun as child’s play had taken a very different turn for him, and she sensed it. She could feel the rapid beating of his heart against her chest and for the first time was painfully aware of the close proximity of their bodies.
Nicholas’s breathing had become labored. His blue eyes had clouded gray, boring into hers with an intensity that left her breathless. His burning gaze held hers as she felt his hardness pressed intimately between her thighs.
He bent down to kiss her. “Angelique,” he whispered hoarsely, his lips almost touching hers. “I want you.”
Titillated by the tension between them, her body began to quiver at the unknown sensations that flurried inside her. She panicked.
“No! We mustn’t—we can’t—it’s wrong!” Angelique cried out, terrified that she would succumb to the intense, uncoiling heat rapidly spreading through her lower body.
Her frantic outburst, along with the intrusive sounds of loud birds squawking at a distance, broke the spell.
Overwhelmed by what had just transpired between them, she turned from him, attempting to calm the erratic, furious beating of her heart. She tried to find her voice. “It—it is time for us to eat, monsieur,” she said, trying her best to sound unaffected.
* * * *
Nicholas did not reply. He cursed the blasted birds for ruining the moment and then cursed himself for the aching bulge that swelled within his britches. She was not of easy virtue. Judging by her reaction just now, he knew that his hard arousal had frightened her.
He would have to be more careful. He could not afford to do anything that would drive her into the safety of the Frenchman’s arms. But damn—she was too damned beautiful for her own good. After two weeks of constant companionship and rigorous courting, it was becoming increasingly difficult to behave the gentleman.
Nicholas rose brusquely and extended his hand to her, pulling her up to her feet.
“What is this?” Nicholas queried as he bent down to retrieve a book that lay on the ground. “It must have fallen from the folds of your dress.”
Angelique immediately snatched the book from his hand. “Oh—this? It is nothing, monsieur,” she replied quickly. “I just brought it along in case I became bored.”
“Bored? I was not aware that spending time with me bored you so, mademoiselle.”
“Monsieur, as you may recall of our last outing, you fell asleep after our game of cards, leaving me with nothing to do. Therefore this time, I brought my book to keep me occupied. And I fear you are going to get me into plenty of trouble.”
Nicholas smiled at her choice of words. Damn it, she was doing it again.
Undressing her with his eyes, he imagined her breasts, soft and full, and suddenly wondered how her naked body would feel pressed against his. His mind flashed to an image of their coupling,
envisioning her breathless and glistening from their lovemaking.
“Trouble?” he repeated absently, still preoccupied with visions of her naked body.
“Oui, you are going to get me into trouble with the cook. I can’t continue to sneak into the kitchen and take what she has planned to serve for dinner, monsieur. But if I don’t, you are left hungry.”
“Well, where is it? Where’s that basket of delicious contraband?”
“I left it with the horses.”
“I’ll get it.” Nicholas turned and started to ascend the hill. But his thoughts were not on food. His appetite was only for her. He returned within seconds, carrying the basket and joined Angelique underneath their designated tree.
“It’s heavier than usual. I’m impressed. You’re getting quite good at it, minx. How much have you stolen from Josephine’s kitchen today?”
Angelique flicked an imaginary speck of dirt from her dress and gave him a little wink. “I’ve taken enough food to put an army to sleep,” she said saucily. “But feel free, monsieur. I’ve got my book to keep me company if you choose to drift away.”
Bloody hell! She sure wasn’t making it easy for him. In an attempt to shift his libidinous thoughts away from the interesting ways Angelique could bring him to lose himself in slumber, Nicholas gave his full attention to what she was taking out of the picnic basket.
Clearing his throat, he demanded, “Let’s eat. And while we are doing so, you can go ahead and tell me all about that book you don’t want me to see.”
* * * *
Reclining against the tree trunk, Nicholas stared down at the sleeping girl beside him. He recalled how an hour earlier, after feasting on the delicacies snatched from the kitchen, they had sat underneath the same oak tree with their heads bent over a game of cards. Beaming, the little cheat had suddenly declared, “I win again!” And such was her pleasure that he had chivalrously allowed her to get away with it.
Careful not to rouse her, he slowly began to unclasp her fingers, one by one, finally freeing the book from her grasp.
Hidden Desires, the title amused him. Her reluctance to allow him to read it earlier intrigued him.
Just like a woman, he thought. After all her talk of bringing the book for company and her making sport of his “drifting away” after a heavy meal, the little imp was the one to fall asleep. He smiled. Let her sleep. He was going to savor the moment she would awaken. Ah yes, the millisecond when those captivating green eyes of hers would flash open, and to her complete annoyance she would find that he had bested her, yet again. The longer she slept, the more irritated she was going to be upon awakening. Yes, let her sleep. He smiled. He could wait.
His eyes lifted from the book to the landscape before him. Rarely had he been awed by anything other than his English soil. But somehow it all seemed different today. More brilliant—breathtakingly different.
The scent of pine overtook him as he noticed deer munching on wild oats in a clearing below. The trees looked greener, the soil richer. And the sky—the sky was the brightest blue he had ever witnessed. He could not remember a time when he had felt such contentment.
His gaze returned to Angelique. He had to hand it to her. Never before had he been forced to woo a woman in such an elaborate manner. It had been years since he found it necessary to pursue any woman. And even longer since he’d met anyone as arresting as she.
Like the Loire she called home, he knew this girl was different. That is, he reminded himself, until the day would come when he would finally bed her. In his bed, all women were the same. No matter how different and enthralling he found Angelique to be now, he knew that once the chase was over, his lust would start to diminish. It was always like that for him. He saw no reason why it would be different with her, regardless of how much she stirred his blood now.
He sighed with pleasure, bending down to inhale the unmistakable scent of gardenias in her hair. God, she was beautiful! Like a sleeping fairy-tale princess, waiting for a kiss to wake. Staring at her now, so innocent and vulnerable, he could almost forget the night in the courtyard. However, the visions of that night returned to plague him, making him recall how she was none of those things.
Innocence and vulnerability could not possibly exist in a woman who coldly schemed to run away with her lover, while she heedlessly courted another man. A man whom she intended to leave at the altar.
No, appearances aside, Mademoiselle Beauvisage was no fairy-tale princess. Looking down at her, Nicholas conceded that he was no prince, but instead he resembled more the tailless, leaping amphibian. At times like these, he wished he could be honest with her, putting an end to this ridiculous charade.
Soft and tender, her velvety lips beckoned him as she moaned in her sleep.
Suddenly consumed with a strong urge to kiss her, Nicholas stopped himself just inches short of her mouth, placing a kiss on her forehead instead.
Angelique stirred at his touch and he feared he had wakened her, but she turned on her side only to resume her sleep.
“I only hope this toad’s kiss has left you free of warts, princess,” he muttered under his breath.
Her nap was taking longer than he had anticipated. Suddenly weary, Nicholas glanced back at the book in his hand. Hidden Desires. Curious, he glanced at the author’s name. He should have guessed. Who else could pen such trite and insipid vulgarity but the grand dame of banality herself, Miss Amanda St. John.
Although Nicholas had not actually met the woman, more than one eager friend had zealously described her to him. And from what he had heard of her reputation, he imagined her an oversexed, man-devouring, she-devil with whip in hand. Her racy and steamy books were now the rage in London.
Nicholas began to flip the pages, scanning through the book with mounting interest. Grinning, he read on: Lord Alexander was upon her with panther-like precision. Cassandra melted like butter in his hands. He held her close, and whispered the words she had so longed to hear, “I love you, my little buttercup!” He kissed her softly on the lids of her eyes then he tore open her bodice with his teeth, as a starving man tears open an oyster from its confining shell, to free her sweet little pearls inside. He basked in the glow of her …
Nicholas could read no more. He doubled over as deep, roaring guffaws exploded from his chest. “Little pearls!” he cried out, his eyes tearing with mirth. Never before had he heard a woman’s breasts described in such a ludicrous manner. This St. John woman was too much!
So absorbed was Nicholas in his critique of the novel, he had failed to notice Angelique no longer sleeping, but sitting up and staring at him with wide-eyed mortification.
“Monsieur!” she exclaimed.
“So you’re awake,” Nicholas said nonchalantly, “You were right to bring the book, mademoiselle. I’m curious, though.”
“Curious, monsieur?” Angelique hemmed, biting her bottom lip.
Nicholas wanted to take her in his arms. She looked adorable with guilt on her face, as if she had been caught stealing or worse. “I had no idea your taste in books ran so earthy—so carnal.”
Angelique blushed crimson. “I secretly borrowed it from the Bertrand library and had meant to return it without anyone’s knowledge.”
“Without anyone’s knowledge?” Nicholas chuckled. “And to think that I, who am nothing but a roué, a lowly and depraved libertine, was attempting to do my best to live up to your high standards of propriety.”
“Stop, my lord. You must forgive my outburst that evening. I had heard vicious rumors of no value or veracity. You are none of those things.”
“And what are you, minx? I would think a nice girl would never be caught with such a scandalous book,” he ribbed her mercilessly.
“Lord Kent, I beg to differ. This novel happens to be written by one of the best English writers of our day. I’m sure you’ve heard of her. Her name is Amanda St. John.”
“I am familiar with Miss St. John.”
“Oh? Have you read many of her novels?” Angelique a
sked anxiously, hoping he had not read the one about her fictional dead and buried ex-beau, Gerald Mustelier.
Nicholas handed her the book as if it were toxic.
“Of course not. On occasion and on their request, I have been known to purchase one or two of these novels for Janie and Moira. I can assure you this is the first and last time that I will read this nonsense.”
“Janie and Moira?” Angelique asked curiously.
“Cook’s daughters,” Nicholas explained. “They avidly read all of Miss St. John’s books.”
“Oh, how very kind of you to purchase nonsense for the help.”