Adele Ashworth Page 8

  Their time on board ship had been uneventful after that first day, as Jonathan had either been silent and meditative or talkative and friendly. Underneath, though, he’d seemed distracted, even restless, and she had eagerly obliged his desire for quiet between them. She really didn’t mind his moods, but she had to ponder a little what a gentleman without cares could possibly have to worry about.

  She really didn’t mind sleeping with him either, she had to admit—if that’s what one would call it, and she supposed one would have to call it that. She had, in fact, found his presence comforting, his body oddly protective, as she had awakened that first morning to find his sleeping form snuggled up against her back, his arms surrounding her and drawing her close to him, his face in her hair, breath on her neck. He hadn’t tried to kiss her, or even touch her inappropriately; and since he’d been the perfect gentleman, she instead snuggled deeper under the blankets and into him, for he was protecting her after all, he’d said it was his duty, and she supposed she needed to indulge that distinctly masculine part of him. He seemed somewhat immune to her charms after their talk the first night in the ship’s cabin anyway.

  But now they’d been in Marseilles for nearly two days, and it was her turn to feel restless. She was ready for more excitement, more adventure. It was true she found some enjoyment in observing the people, but she was fairly well educated in French culture, customs, and history, and she was here for a purpose, had plans to carry through. She wanted more action. Finally, just a few short hours ago, she got what she wanted.

  After a light breakfast of pastries and coffee (which she now liked more than tea), Jonathan unexpectedly informed her of an impending appointment, the reason, apparently, for his trip to France. This was the first she’d heard of his plans, which she supposed explained his distraction, but he hadn’t, until that moment, really discussed his reasons for journeying to the southern port. If she thought about it, he had been a bit sly regarding his intentions. But that was none of her business, she kept telling herself.

  Yet there was something in his darkened eyes, in the light evasion during a simple breakfast, that made her curious. She hadn’t mentioned the Black Knight since their first evening together, although she was sure Jonathan knew she was becoming anxious about finally meeting the legend face-to-face. She would consent to his terms but she didn’t want to waste her time in France, either. Impatience was getting the best of her. With his odd behavior this morning, if one could call it odd, she was flooded with the excited realization that Jonathan probably intended to meet with the thief today.

  So, all good judgment aside, she had feigned an aching head, informed him of her desire to rest, then followed him when he left the hotel room at half past nine. But he hadn’t met the thief, he’d met a woman, and a stunningly beautiful one at that, although Natalie had only caught a glimpse of her elegant form from across the street as the lady swished onto her front porch, a slender, graceful figure of shining hair and silk and lace.

  Her initial reaction was surprise; she hadn’t expected him to meet a woman at her home in the middle of the day. And for what? Then she was filled with thoughts and feelings she couldn’t exactly describe—a tangled mess of shock, annoyance, and something she didn’t dare put her finger on. She wasn’t wholly ignorant. The woman was his mistress, obviously, for the man had lots and lots of them. It just perturbed her so that he felt the need to meet one of them now, on this journey, when he really should have more important things to occupy his time.

  Natalie sighed and thumped her fingertips even harder on the shredding armrest, leaning her head back to stare at the paint peeling from the ceiling, feeling incredibly bothered because she very much enjoyed the company of a man with such a nefarious reputation. She nearly smiled, wondering for a moment whether she wanted to be with him because she liked him as a person or because her mother would just be so thoroughly appalled by her lack of judgment.

  The sound of a key in the lock brought her immediately upright and alert. He walked in, relaxed and comfortable in his tailored morning suit, with nary a crease or wrinkle in the fabric. Natalie had trouble remaining lucid as it dawned on her all too vividly that of course his suit wouldn’t be wrinkled since he hadn’t worn it half the morning.

  After closing the door behind him, he tossed his hat on the small, narrow bed and turned to her at last, looking her up and down as she sat in the chair, his eyes lingering on every curve he could possibly detect beneath lavender silk. The man had no decency at all, in her opinion.

  “I see you’re feeling better,” he acknowledged flatly.

  She squirmed a little, suddenly feeling worse. She was hot and sweating, stray curls sticking to her face and neck, and had to look positively frightful to him.

  “Yes, I’m much better, thank you,” she returned with a forced smile. “I feel wonderful.” She swished her ivory fan in front of her face with one hand while wiping the other across her perspiring cheek, wondering how he could look so cool and composed in such sweltering heat. Maybe it was the offshore breeze he’d just walked out of that couldn’t possibly find its way inside the hotel. She should have gone browsing through street-vendor displays instead of locking herself up waiting for him. It certainly would have been a more constructive use of her time.

  His features turned contemplative as he stood his ground in front of the door. “Did you do anything while I was gone?”

  Natalie bit her lip to keep from blurting out an unbelievable fabrication. He would know immediately if she lied.

  “I went for a walk. It’s been so warm.”

  “Mmm . . .”

  She averted her eyes to her fan, tapping it absentmindedly in her lap. “And where have you been, Jonathan?”

  After a prolonged silence, she lifted her lashes just barely enough to view him. Her heartbeat quickened as she caught his frank gaze.

  “I had a business meeting this morning, Natalie.”

  The deception made her fume. “I certainly hope you completed it successfully,” she replied hotly.

  With that, he began to saunter toward her, his mouth curving up on one side. “It was very successful, I’m glad to say.” He stood in front of her, hands on hips beneath his jacket, now pushed back behind his arms. “And your walk?”

  She batted her lashes. “My walk?”

  “Don’t be coy with me, darling Natalie.”

  She fidgeted, hardly able to look at him any longer as she glared instead at the ivory buttons on his shirt. “My walk was lovely, although as I said, it was slightly too warm.”

  “Perhaps you walked too fast,” he suggested pleasantly, reaching for her fan which he promptly pulled from her grasp and tossed on the bed to his left. “It’s difficult to walk slowly when one is trying to keep up with another.”

  Her eyes grew round in surprise. Then he grabbed her bare arm and pulled her up to his level, holding her close, almost touching. He scrutinized her face, not angrily, but with vague amusement.

  “Why did you follow me?” he asked, clearly puzzled.

  His breath touched her heated skin, his eyes bore into hers, and she’d had just about enough of the game. “Why did you feel the need to visit your mistress at ten o’clock in the morning of our second day in town? Your urges must be uncontrollable, Jonathan.”

  She had trouble defining his expression. At first he seemed stupefied by her words, or perhaps just her boldness. Then his mouth twisted upward again, and he lowered his voice to a cool whisper.

  “I’m controlling my urges perfectly, Natalie.” Tightening his grasp on her arm, he drew her so close to him her gown bunched between them, and her breasts grazed his chest. “The woman you saw is not my mistress.”

  She smiled sarcastically but didn’t try to pull away. “I’m not stupid, Jonathan.”

  “I’ve never thought so,” he quickly agreed, “but you are naive.”

  Her eyes lit with fire. “Not so naive I don’t know what goes on between a man and his mistress. You just seem to
do it more than necessary.”

  Jonathan did his best to keep his features slack. She was so unbelievably adorable, sitting in their tiny, hot hotel room, waiting hours for his return, jealous without even realizing it. Knowing he could read her so clearly made his insides boil over with absolute satisfaction. He would always have that advantage, and they both knew it.

  She continued to stare at him defiantly, through glowering eyes of displeasure, her skin warm and dewy moist from heat and humidity, looking ridiculously out of place in her summer day gown made strictly for English weather. She had the appeal of an overdressed seductress in a steam bath, teasing him with a calculating look of “disrobe me if you dare.” With all her innocence and inability to know what she did to him physically, she’d been making him insane with desire since they’d left England, especially in bed when she snuggled up next to him in her nearly transparent nightgown and he could do nothing but restrain himself.

  Jonathan’s eyes narrowed mischievously as he continued to hold her against him. “What is it you think I do more than necessary?”

  That question she never expected, and he knew it confused her as he watched doubt shade her face.

  Nervously she raised her palms to his arms to push him away. “That’s irrelevant, and I refuse to discuss your intimate . . . problems when they are none of my business.”

  Thoroughly enjoying himself, he refused to release her, wanting to hear her attempts to get out of the messy conversation she’d started.

  “I think it is relevant,” he said at last through an exaggerated sigh. “Tell me, darling Natalie, do you know all of what takes place intimately between a man and a woman, or just bits and pieces?”

  She squirmed, turning her attention to the door to avoid his gaze. “I won’t discuss it.”

  “You brought the subject up,” he countered with pleasure.

  She wrestled uncomfortably to come up with a suitable answer, or at least just a way to close the topic. Finally she masked her expression and looked back into his eyes. “I have an excellent idea of what happens intimately between a man and a woman. Now if you will please release me, Jonathan, I’m very hungry and ready for luncheon.”

  For all the money in the world, he wouldn’t release her now. “An excellent idea?” When she added nothing, he continued with the challenge. “Do you remember how long I was in her home?”

  Her eyes flashed brilliantly. “I remember she was beautiful and hardly the Black Knight, the only person you should have been meeting today. I’m paying you to introduce us. Perhaps you’ll try to remember that.”

  The urge to kiss her was suddenly overwhelming. “Answer my question,” he insisted instead.

  She faltered, then sighed and announced, “At least ten minutes.”

  He leaned very close to whisper, “Intimate rendezvous usually take longer than ten minutes.”

  She grinned triumphantly. “But not, I’m sure, for someone of your experience, Jonathan.”

  He laughed outright and squeezed her against him, both arms now encircling her waist, relishing in the feel of her supple, perfectly formed breasts against his chest. “How long would it take you to remove and dress again in these layers upon layers of clothes?”

  She gaped at him, made speechless for once.

  With the sweet taste of victory, he murmured, “It would take her just as long.”

  Driving that point home, he let her go.

  Indignant, Natalie knew he’d won for the moment because she found the topic just too disturbing and foreign to discuss further. She watched him walk to the small bureau of chipped and faded cherry wood, open the top drawer, and pull out a shirt. Realizing he intended to change, she turned her back to him, considering quickly how she could move to a more suitable issue of discussion without him realizing she did so purposely, then ultimately becoming grateful when he did it himself.

  “We’re leaving here,” he said from behind her.

  She folded her arms over her breasts. “Going where?”

  She heard the rustle of clothes as she imagined him pulling them from his body, and she resisted the urge to peek. For all his faults, and disregarding her virtuous upbringing, she considered his bare chest one of nature’s marvels.

  “I’m taking you somewhere nicer and cooler,” he replied. “That’s where I’ve been for the last three hours, in case you’re wondering. Finding lodgings where you’d be more comfortable.”

  Now she felt guilty. With growing shyness, she mumbled, “I hope you weren’t thinking we’d stay with the Frenchwoman.”

  He chuckled as she heard him sit on the bed. “Her name is Madeleine DuMais, and I think you’ll like her—and no, we won’t be staying in her home.”

  “You’ll like her” implied a meeting between them, and Natalie couldn’t contain her curiosity any longer. Brushing sticky curls from her cheeks, she asked as indifferently as she could manage, “I suppose Miss DuMais knows the Black Knight and that was the reason for your visit?”

  When he didn’t answer her immediately, she allowed herself to pivot back to him, watching him put his shoes on with concentration, taking in his impressive appearance made casual in dark-brown trousers and a pale, silk shirt, similar to those he’d worn their first day out of port. He certainly didn’t bring much variety for clothes.

  “Jonathan?” she pressed, tired of waiting for answers.

  He cast her a sideways glance, and again she got the feeling he was annoyed, or perhaps just hiding something.

  At last he ran the fingers of one hand through his hair, placed both palms on his knees, and pushed himself up. Hands on hips, he stared at her candidly. “The widowed Mrs. DuMais is arranging a business meeting between the comte d’Arles and me for later this week.”

  She blinked, surprised. “A business meeting between you and a French count?”

  “Yes.”

  “Arranged by a gracefully beautiful young widow,” she stated rather than asked, pronouncing each word precisely.

  He spread his palms wide. “Exactly.”

  That just seemed so thoroughly preposterous to her she wanted to applaud. Restraining herself, Natalie merely tilted her chin knowingly and tapped her fingers on the sleeve of her gown. With mild sarcasm, she charged, “And I suppose, Jonathan, since it’s your business to buy and sell things, your intention is to purchase a priceless antique from the man.” Her eyes lit up dramatically. “Oooo. Maybe a new weapon for your wall.”

  For a second or two he watched her with a face void of expression. Then slowly, levelly, he shook his head in wonder. “How did you guess?”

  “How did I—” She stopped talking abruptly and gaped at him in mounting disbelief. “You’re here to buy a weapon from the comte d’Arles?”

  His brows rose innocently. “A sword, actually.”

  “A sword,” she repeated flatly, her hands now resting on either side of her waist. “You came all the way to France to buy a sword for your wall.”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “From the comte d’Arles.”

  “Yes.”

  “And the lovely Mrs. DuMais is arranging it all.”

  He shrugged. “I think we’ve covered everything.”

  “I think I’d like to see this sword of yours,” she demanded suspiciously.

  He grinned wryly. “If and when the time is right, Natalie, I will allow you a very good look at it.”

  Even now he was so arrogant. Natalie had no idea what to say to him, if he was lying outright, teasing her, or making excuses to conceal his romantic affair with the beautiful Mrs. DuMais. She couldn’t begin to imagine any man, even him, a gentleman with too much time and money on his hands, traveling abroad simply to buy a sword to hang on a wall. But if he was fabricating an incredible story, she would never recognize it because she just couldn’t read him, and that’s what truly made her mad. He always seemed to be able to tell what she was thinking.

  He turned toward the bed, reaching for his suit. “We’re invited to a ball at his
estate Saturday,” he continued indifferently, moving in the direction of the small wardrobe closet. “I assume you have an appropriate gown hiding somewhere in the piles and piles of things you brought.”

  It was a statement, not a question, and Natalie ignored it. Her inability to travel lightly was somewhat of a touchy subject between them.

  “And before you ask,” he went on, now kneeling before his only trunk, “I’ve sent a message to the Black Knight.”

  “You waited until now to tell me?” she blurted.

  He brushed over that. “He hasn’t replied, but there’s a rumor he’s also planning to attend the party.”

  “Why?”

  “What?”

  “Why is he attending this particular function?” she clarified, exasperated.

  He lifted his shoulders negligibly but didn’t look at her. “I should expect he has a worthy reason, though I really have no idea.”

  “No doubt to steal the count’s precious sword,” she offered sarcastically.

  He smirked. “Maybe he’ll carry you off instead, my sweet Natalie.”

  His lighthearted words didn’t register. Her mind was already racing with possibilities, her heart pounding with anticipation, and suddenly she didn’t care about Mrs. DuMais or the count or swords or France. It was now only days until the meeting of a lifetime.

  Jonathan walked up to stand before her, gazing down at her face, his excellent eyes turned pensive. Then quite unexpectedly he raised his palm to her cheek, momentarily startling her with the feel of his warm skin against hers.

  “Meeting him is extremely important to you,” he said softly, thoughtfully.

  She inhaled deeply but didn’t pull away. “Yes, it is.”

  He was quiet for a long moment, studying her, gliding his thumb along her jaw.