LITMIR.BIZ

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his cousin’s safety.

      And how had she sensed Will’s presence on the balcony? He knew for certain he’d made no sound as he carefully scaled the wall from the courtyard to the ledge outside her window. Either she was incredibly prescient, or he’d badly lost his touch, and he didn’t think it was the latter.

      Her awareness impressed him even more than her courage, sparking an admiration he had no wish to feel.

      Any more than he’d wanted the reaction triggered when he’d placed his hands around her neck. The softness of her skin, the faint scent of lavender teasing his nostrils, sent a fierce desire surging through him, as abrupt and immediate as the leap of her pulse under his thumbs.

      Finding himself attracted to Elodie Lefevre was a complication he didn’t need. What he did need were answers to all the questions he had about her.

      Such as why it was so important for her to get to Paris.

      A quick examination of her room told him nothing; the hired furniture, sewing supplies and few basic necessities could have been anyone’s. She seemed to possess nothing that gave any clue to the character of the woman who’d lived here, as he’d learned, for more than a year, alone but for the daily visits of her former maid.

      He’d just have to go question the woman herself. He suspected she would be as vigilant at keeping her secrets as she was at catching out uninvited visitors to her rooms.

      To achieve his aims, he needed to master both those secrets—and her. Turning on his heel, he headed for the garden.

       Chapter Three

      Will found Madame Lefevre picking spent blooms from the border of lavender surrounding a central planting of tall yellow flowers.

      Hearing him approach, she looked back over her shoulder. ‘Well?’

      He waited, but she added nothing to that single word—neither pleading nor explanation nor entreaty. Once again, he was struck by her calm, an odd quality of stillness overlaid with a touch of melancholy.

      Men awaiting battle would envy that sangfroid. Or did she not truly realise how vulnerable she was?

      ‘For a woman who’s just had her life threatened, you seem remarkably tranquil.’

      She shrugged. ‘Nothing I say or do will change what you have decided. If it is to kill me, I am not strong or skilled enough to prevent you. Struggling and pleading are so … undignified. And if I am to die, I would rather spend my last moments enjoying the beauty of my garden.’

      So she did understand the gravity of her position. Yet the calm remained.

      As a man who’d earned much of his blunt by his wits, Will had played cards with masters of the game, men who didn’t show by the twitch of an eyelid whether they held a winning or losing hand. Madame Lefevre could hold her own with the best of them. He’d never met a woman so difficult to read.

      She was like a puzzle spread out in a jumble of pieces. The more he learned about her, the stronger his desire to fit them all together.

      Delaying answering her question so he might examine that puzzle further, he said, ‘The garden is lovely. So serene, and those yellow flowers are so fragrant. Did you plant it?’

      She lifted a brow, as if wondering why he’d abruptly veered from threatening her to talking about plants. ‘The daffodils, you mean.’ Her lips barely curved in amusement, she looked at him quizzically. ‘You grew up in the city, Monsieur Ransleigh, no?’

      ‘Commonplace, are they?’ A reluctant, answering smile tugged at his lips. ‘Yes, I’m a city lad. But you, obviously, were country bred.’

      ‘Lovely flowers can be found in either place,’ she countered.

      ‘Your English is very good, with only a trace of an accent. Where did you learn it?’

      She waved a careless hand. ‘These last few years, English has been spoken everywhere.’

      She’d grown up in the country, then, he surmised from her evasions, probably at an estate with a knowledgeable gardener—and an English governess.

      ‘How did you come to be your cousin’s hostess in Vienna?’

      ‘He never married. A diplomat at his level has many social duties.’

      Surprised at getting a direct answer this time, he pressed, ‘He did not need you to perform those “duties” after Vienna?’

      ‘Men’s needs change. So, monsieur, do you accept my bargain or not?’

      Aha, he thought, gratified. Though she gave no outward sign of anxiety—trembling fingers, fidgeting hands, restless movement—the abrupt return to the topic at hand showed she wasn’t as calm as she was trying to appear.

      ‘Yes,’ he replied, deciding upon the moment. At least seeming to agree to her demand was essential. It would be a good deal easier to spirit her out of Vienna if she went willingly.

      He was still somewhat surprised she would consent to accompany him upon any terms. Unless …

      ‘Don’t think you can escape me in Paris,’ he warned. ‘I’ll be with you every moment, like crust on bread.’

      ‘Ah, warm French bread! I cannot wait to taste some.’

      She licked her lips. The gesture sent a bolt of lust straight to his loins. Something of his reaction must have showed in his face, for her eyes widened and she smiled knowingly.

      He might not be able to prevent his body’s response, but he could certainly control his actions, he thought, disgruntled. If anyone was going to play the seduction card in this little game, it would be him—if and when he wished to.

      ‘How did you, cousin to Thierry St Arnaud, come to be here alone?’ he asked, steering the discussion back where he wanted it. ‘Why did he not take you with him when he fled Vienna?’

      ‘Nothing—and no one—mattered to my cousin but restoring Napoleon to the throne of France. When the attempt failed, his only thought was to escape before the Austrian authorities discovered his connection to the plot, so he might plot anew. Since I was no longer of any use to him, he was done with me.’

      It seemed St Arnaud had about as much family loyalty as Will’s uncle. But still, self-absorbed as the earl might be, Will knew if anyone bearing Ransleigh blood were in difficulties, the earl would send assistance.

      What sort of man would not do that for his own cousin?

      Putting aside that question for the moment, Will said, ‘Were you equally fervent to see Napoleon restored as emperor?’

      ‘To wash France free of the stain of aristocracy, Napoleon spilled the blood of his own people … and then created an aristocracy of his own. All I know of politics is the guillotine’s blade was followed by the emperor’s wars. I doubt the fields of Europe will dry in our lifetime.’

      ‘So why did you help St Arnaud?’

      ‘You think he gave me a choice?’

      Surprised, he stared at her, assessing. She met his gaze squarely, faint colour stirring in her cheeks at his scrutiny.

      A man who would abandon his own cousin probably hadn’t been too dainty in coercing her co-operation. Had he hurt her?

      Even as the question formed, as if guessing his thoughts, she lowered her gaze and tucked her left hand under her skirt.

      An unpleasant suspicion coalescing in his head, Will stepped closer and seized her hand. She resisted, then gasped as he jerked it into the waning sunlight.

      Two of the fingers were slightly bent, the knuckles still swollen, as if the bones had been broken and healed badly. ‘An example of your cousin’s persuasion?’ he asked roughly, shocked and disgusted. A man who would attack a woman was beneath contempt.

      She

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