Part 5 (1/2)

He lowered his arm and his gaze.

It took two wild heartbeats before she realized he was staring at something on the floor. She forced her gaze down, her insides still quivering with the residual pleasure of his small caress. The book she had dropped lay on the woven rug.

He was staring at her again, one dark eyebrow slightly c.o.c.ked, before he retrieved the fallen item.

”You-I'm afraid that you startled me, and the book-I dropped it...” Definitely not your most eloquent response, Angelica. She turned her gaze away to a safer sight than the far too attractive Simon de Villette.

”You can read this?” he asked.

Her eyes darted back to his. The book was in French. She wasn't about to divulge that she could indeed read every word in the book of love sonnets. In fact, she was gripped with the most powerful urge to devour each and every beautifully romantic line.

She quashed the silly yearning.

”No. It's written in French, is it not? I couldn't possibly...” His penetrating gaze made her uneasy. She wished she could read his thoughts behind those disarming light-colored eyes.

”But you can read, Angelica.” Yet again he managed to unbalance her by the way he spoke her name. It was astonis.h.i.+ng what it did to her insides every time he said it.

He'd done nothing but show kindness toward her. His manner was gentle, attentive. His words spoke of concern for her welfare. Yet she was forced to stoop to deceit. She simply couldn't lower her guard. Not for a moment. Not with a single soul. Keeping her secrets had kept her safe. And she wasn't about to break with precedent.

Besides, this man was dangerous. No one had ever inspired these physical responses from her before. The sooner she left France, the better.

”I learned to read at the convent,” she lied. Again. ”I teach there...the children in the orphanage...” At least that was the truth, albeit clumsily told.

He placed the book back on the shelf. ”Why?”

”Why?” She knitted her brow in confusion.

”Yes. Of what use is it to teach the children of commoners?” Despite his words, she had the distinct feeling he was not expressing his personal view of literacy and the lower cla.s.s. He was trying to draw information from her.

She chose her next words carefully. ”At the convent, we believe everyone should have the opportunity of an education, n.o.ble or peasant. Male or female.”

”Your pardon, Captain.” The French phrase came from the doorway.

Relief washed over her when she saw the old male servant standing at the threshold of the library.

”Your meal awaits you in the dining hall, sir.”

Simon gave a nod. ”Merci, Henri.” He turned to her. ”Have you eaten?”

”No...”

He smiled. ”Good. Then you will join me this evening for supper.” He tossed out phrases to Henri in French, ordering him to set another place in the dining hall.

Though she'd wanted to speak to him, the thought of dining alone with him was daunting. She seemed to be completely out of sorts in his presence at the moment, struggling to get her mind and mouth to work together.

”Perhaps Gabriella would like to join us?” she said with a polite smile. If he would summon her friend, she was certain she could get through the meal and convince him to return them to the convent.

”She has already eaten. We are the last to dine this evening.” Amus.e.m.e.nt flickered in his eyes. ”Are you nervous to be alone with me, Angelica?”

”No.” Her smile remained frozen on her face. ”Of course not.” He didn't frighten her. Though her reactions to his physical appeal were another matter altogether.

”Do you find my company unpleasant? Would you rather dine alone?”

”Unpleasant? No, absolutely not,” she quickly a.s.sured, wis.h.i.+ng at the moment he were old, potbellied, and missing some teeth. ”I would be pleased to dine with you, if you consider this suitable attire.” She touched her garb.

A slow, gorgeous, knee-weakening smile formed on his appealing face. He leaned in, and in her ear softly he said, ”You are beautiful just as you are.”

His unexpected words astounded her. As did the look in his eyes when he pulled back. He actually looked...sincere. No one had offered her a compliment, not for a very long time. And certainly not about how she looked. She touched her plain garment once more, so different from his costly attire. He was being far too kind.

He placed her hand in the crook of his arm. ”Let us proceed. This will be an excellent opportunity to learn more about each other.”

Oh G.o.d...

Simon downed some of the burgundy in his goblet as he marveled at Angelica's elegant profile, her lovely face illuminated by an orange hue from the candlelight. She was seated immediately to his left in the dining hall. He was permitted but a glimpse of her pretty eyes before she forced her gaze down, her posture as stiff as the long wooden table before him.

She was driving him to distraction. He was so hard, he was practically ready to crawl out of his skin. She had the most incredible effect on his libido. He still couldn't believe she'd managed to erode his good reasoning and had provoked him into a rare moment of recklessness.

And he was never reckless. Not ever.

Being alone in her company was like playing with fire. But he couldn't draw away. Not yet. Not until he demystified this mystifying woman.

One thing he was certain of was that she was a little fraud. He'd noted her body's response to his touch in the library. He knew she felt the mutual carnal heat between them. There might be a compelling reason this sweet enchantress wanted to return to the convent, but neither a religious calling nor a deep devotion to a cloistered existence were it.

However, that didn't negate that she was still a virgin. And he wasn't about to let himself forget it-no matter how good his every rakish instinct told him it would be between them. He wanted to believe that years of carnage and chasing ambitious dreams hadn't stripped away all decency in him. Whatever it took, he'd resist. He didn't claim maidenheads. And he wasn't about to start with hers.

The women he bedded were experienced in the carnal arts. Enjoyed s.e.x that was recreational. Raw l.u.s.t with no emotional involvement was his preference.

He was going to draw out her secrets, shatter her mystique, and break this peculiar libidinous hold she had on him once and for all. All it would require was a bit of patience and finesse.

How difficult could it be?

s.h.i.+fting in his chair, trying to ease the discomfort of his arousal, Simon picked up his spoon. Neither of them had touched the poached-egg soup before them.

”Does the soup not appeal to you, Angelica?”

”Yes... It smells delicious.” Her manner was pleasant, despite her obvious unease. She was clearly unaccustomed to being alone with a man. He admired her bravado, fully appreciating how unsettling this entire experience was for her.

He covered her hand with his. She started at the touch. ”Easy.” He was pleased she didn't pull away from him, more than he'd ever admit, and gave her hand a gentle squeeze to rea.s.sure her. ”It is but a meal. Try to relax. Pretend we are old friends.” He smiled. ”I would be very pleased if you would call me Simon.”

She took a deep breath and let it out. ”Very well...Simon.”

Reluctantly, he removed his hand. The urge to trail his palm inside her sleeve and lightly up her arm was far too strong. ”Let us eat.” He tasted his soup, encouraging her to do the same.

She tried the broth. ”Your home is lovely,” she said, initiating some polite conversation, her alluring mouth capturing his attention.

He was starved for a taste of that mouth. ”This is not my home. It belongs to a friend of mine.”

”Oh? Where is your home?”