Miss Lavigne's Little White Lie Page 30
Monsieur Baptiste had stolen money from a vicious killer, a traitor to his country who had amassed a fortune selling secrets to the British during the war. According to Daniel, who had read Reynaud’s letters, the pages were filled with information about secret meetings, information sought, and the monetary reward for Reynaud’s success.
How Baptiste had come to be in possession of Reynaud’s correspondence remained a mystery, but it didn’t matter to Lisette. His treachery had killed her father, and then he had sought to kill her and Rafe. Baptiste was as evil as Reynaud, maybe even more so, because he had hidden his true intentions while pretending to care.
The door to Lisette’s bedchamber softly clicked beyond the dressing room, bringing her lady’s maid to attention. Henrietta moved to intercept the interloper, but Daniel appeared in the doorway. Lisette’s maid froze in place.
“You may go, Henrietta,” Daniel said with a soft smile for Lisette. “I will assist my wife with her bath.”
“Yes, sir.” The poor girl twittered and bumped into the tub in her haste to escape, almost toppling into the water with Lisette. Henrietta closed the door on her way out.
Lisette couldn’t suppress her smile. “You embarrassed her, but I’m glad you are here. What word do you have of Isaac Tucker’s condition this evening?”
Daniel removed his jacket and waistcoat, tossed them over the ivory tufted chair in front of her dressing table, and crouched beside the tub.
“There’s still no sign of infection. He’s a lucky gent.” Grabbing the cloth draped over the tub, he stretched for the bar of jasmine soap sitting in a dainty mother-of-pearl dish on a side table. Daniel dipped the soap into the bathwater and rubbed it into the cloth to create a lather.
He had arranged for two of his men to move Monsieur Tucker to Curzon Street as soon as the doctor had deemed him stable enough.
Daniel frowned. “Serafine remains by his bedside. I believe she’s sleeping in his room.”
“They are to be married. Besides, who am I to pass judgment? I slept in your bed when you required tending.”
“Still, I should arrange for the crying of the banns this Sunday before anyone notices something is amiss. Lean forward, darling, and I shall tend you.” She did as he requested, and Daniel smoothed the cloth over her back, his touch gentle and soothing. His loving caresses washed away her tension and cleansed her mind of distressing thoughts.
“Are you still sore?”
“Only slightly. I hardly notice.” She understated her condition for fear of his reaction. He had sent for the doctor upon their return the other day then questioned the man relentlessly until Lisette began to pity the poor doctor. She wouldn’t relish a repeat performance of The Browbeating of Doctor Cassian.
Daniel glided the cloth down her arm and back to her shoulder again before trailing up her neck. She rested with her eyes closed, reveling in his touch. He repeated the same action in reverse on her other side before moving to her chest. His breath came out in a low hiss as he skimmed the cotton square across the tips of her breasts and over her stomach. Tingles traveled through her body, feeding her desire for more.
She opened one eye and peeked at him. “Your sleeve will become wet. Perhaps you should remove your shirt.”
A corner of his mouth lifted and his dimple dented his cheek. “I’m here to take care of you, luv, not to seduce you.”
“Pity.” She drew back her hand with a wicked grin and splashed him, saturating his linen shirt.
Daniel’s smile widened. “Behave yourself, vixen.”
“I don’t wish to behave.” She made to splash him again, but he captured her wrist.
“You are positively dreadful this evening, Mrs. Hillary. Whatever shall I do with you?”
Lisette grasped the front of his shirt and pulled him closer until his lips lingered a whisper away from hers. “You know very well what to do with me, Captain.”
She kissed him as her fingers twisted into the wet fabric of his shirt. Slipping her tongue into the welcoming warmth of his brandy-tinted mouth, she sighed. This was what she had yearned for all day.
Daniel turned his head, breaking the kiss, and pushed to his feet. “I’ll collect a towel.”
Disappointment made her sink lower in the water. He hadn’t touched her since their return home and exhibited no inclination to do so now either.
Snatching the folded towel from her dressing room chair, he draped it over one arm and offered her a hand up. Lisette accepted his assistance, trying not to grimace as her stiff legs and back screamed their disapproval.
The worried crease between his brows returned. “You are more than a little tender, luv.”
Daniel wrapped the towel around her body as if she might shatter from the slightest touch. Although his concern was sweet, his sensitivity was interfering with her desire. She wanted her husband to bed her, not treat her like a newborn babe.
She hugged the towel close to her body. “I’m as fit as ever.”
“You’re not as fit as ever.” Daniel slipped a stray tendril of hair behind her ear. “Therefore, I shall have to take extra care when making love to you.”
“Oh!”
Daniel chuckled. “Surely, you didn’t think I had the wherewithal to resist you.”
“But you haven’t touched me in days.”
“I thought it best to practice restraint until you had time to recover, but it has been killing me.”
***
As gently as possible, Daniel scooped Lisette under her knees and lifted. The ease with which he held her in his arms sent a shiver down his spine. His wife felt so fragile, yet she had shown great strength of spirit in her encounter with Baptiste. Perhaps Lisette was fashioned of sterner elements than Daniel had imagined, but he would still treat her with care.
Carrying her to the bed, he placed her on the counterpane and removed his shirt. Her eyes darkened to that of a lush forest as her gaze roved from chest to waistband then back to his face. She gave him an appreciative smile. Daniel groaned deep in his chest. Lisette’s blatant admiration served as a potent aphrodisiac.
Her heavy eyelids lowered to half-mast, giving her an air of seduction. “Remove your trousers.” Her voice was smoky with desire, and her confidence stoked the slow-burning fire in his lower belly.
He kicked off his boots and unfastened the front fall of his pants. Reaching for the towel wound around her, he unwrapped her like a gift and rained kisses on her bronzed skin—neck, shoulders, collarbone, breasts.
“Oui.” She twined her fingers in his hair and held him against her bosom.
Daniel chuckled then blew on her nipple, not giving her what she wanted yet. A tremor coursed through her body, and she released him.
“Please hurry.”
He moved with speed to lose his trousers then climbed on the bed beside her. When she rolled toward him, he caught her under the arms and hauled her to perch atop him.
Her eyes flew open. “What are you about?”
“Shh.” His fingers feathered over her breasts with nipples the color of ground ginger. Lisette sighed, wiggled until his shaft nestled against her bottom, and sighed again.
Daniel’s chest rose and fell with each labored breath as he fought to gain control of his lust. He wished to take time making love to his wife, demonstrating his adoration, not devouring her in a matter of minutes. But she was making it damned hard to control his urges.
Caressing her back, Daniel coaxed her to lean forward and took her nipple into his mouth. Lisette dissolved against him, threading her fingers with his hair. She kneaded his scalp and arched her back like a contented feline as he lavished her breast with the attention she enjoyed. Grinding her hips against his lower belly, soft moans fell from her lips and shattered his control.
“Come here, Lis.” He adjusted her position, sucking in a sharp breath when his shaft slid inside her. Lisette held still, her body hugging him tightly. Her mouth sought his, and she kissed him with such tenderness, he thought he might burst.
“I love you,” she whispered, her sweet breath fanning across his lips.
His heart felt light. He grasped the back of her head to kiss her deeply, expressing his affection in ways words failed. When she finally broke the kiss, she didn’t pull away. They lay there lip to lip, breathing life into one another. Everything that was Lisette, her essence, flowed into him. And all that composed him, he gave freely to her.
“I love you, sweetheart.”
He kissed her again and rolled her beneath him, slowly sinking into her. Lisette welcomed him, held him securely. Rising above her, he delved deep again, luxuriating in the warm glow surrounding them. Her arms clutched at his back, urging him closer. He met her clear gaze and held it as he reveled in their partnership. She had been correct all along. He needed her as much as she needed him. With Lisette, he had become a whole person again.
A wave of passion flooded over them, leaving them quaking. Lisette grasped at his shoulders; her movements grew frenzied. Daniel rolled to bring her on top again, handing control over to her. Not only control of their lovemaking, but of his heart.
Lisette accepted his invitation and cried out two heartbeats before him. But then he too reached the pinnacle of ecstasy and hovered there a breathless moment before tipping over the edge to fall back to earth.
Back to his home.
Back to his wife’s loving embrace.
Lisette melted against him, and he shifted her to his side to cuddle her. She lay entwined with his limbs a long time, her steady breaths flowing over his neck. He caressed her from rounded hip to her tapered waist, savoring her softness.
“Lis, how do you feel about me becoming Rafe’s guardian? If you don’t lend your support, I will withdraw the petition immediately.”
Her fingers forged a lazy path over his chest. “I have no concerns about Rafe becoming your ward, but if you think you are leaving me alone in London, you’re mistaken.”
Daniel kissed her temple. “Never again.”
She lifted to her elbow and eyed him with arched brows. “And what of your proclamation of no ladies onboard the Cecily?”
He shrugged one shoulder. “I’m afraid there’s nothing to be done for it. I can’t change the Cecily’s rules.”
Fire ignited in her eyes. “And why not?”
“Captain Emerson makes the rules. Now, the Rafaela has an entirely different set of standards.”
“The Rafaela?”
“Did I forget to inform you?” Daniel laughed when she scowled at him. “I’ve purchased another ship ripe for creating new memories.”
“Daniel.” She caressed his cheek, her expression softening and making her more beautiful than he had ever seen her. “You named the ship for Rafe?”
He smiled, pleased by her reaction. “Perhaps he will captain it someday.”
“That is the kindest, most generous act.” She placed a kiss on his cheek. “So tell me of these new standards? Will the Rafaela allow passengers of the fairer gender?”
“Only the ones willing to share my bed.”
She pulled a mock frown. “I believe I made it clear I don’t share my husband.”
“How convenient for me.” He hugged her close. “For I don’t wish to be shared.”
Read on for an excerpt from Samantha Grace’s debut novel
a Publishers Weekly Top 10 Romance of Spring 2012
London, England
May 26, 1816
Two types of men crowded the Eldridge ballroom this evening: the dashing gentlemen whose ardent, but proper, pursuit any debutante would welcome. And then there were the ones who pursued Lana Hillary.
While the pretty ladies, like the shy Miss Catherine Mitchell and her intimate circle of acquaintances, captured the hearts of the handsome Lord Gilfords of Town, Lana hid behind a potted fern, hoping the desperate Lord Carrington and those of his ilk didn’t spot her without the protection of her brother.
How long did it take Jake to collect two glasses of punch?
Drat!
Carrington’s black gaze locked on Lana. With a satisfied smirk accentuating the viscount’s droopy jowls, he came straight toward her, jostling past the elegant guests awaiting the first dance. Lana’s less than subtle discouragement last evening had obviously failed.
Where was her blasted brother when she needed him? A quick perusal of the crowded ballroom proved futile.
Carrington stalked in her direction, a destitute predator in expensive evening dress. Rumor had it duns circled the viscount’s property like merry children around a Maypole, ready to seize the last of the small luxuries left to him. He was desperate. Determined. But then so was she. Lana would never consent to become the third Lady Carrington given marriage to the lout transformed the sweetest of debutantes into empty vessels with no will to live.
He shouldered his way through the crowd, coming closer. Dread washed over her. If word of his interest reached her mother… Lana shuddered. Why, Mama would wrap her in gilded paper with bows and have her delivered to the viscount’s doorstep posthaste. Nothing would thrill Mama more than hoisting her off on any gent. A title would simply be the icing on the wedding cake.
Dashing into the crush to evade the gentleman, Lana threw a hurried glance over her shoulder. Carrington followed, proving as skilled at tracking as the bloodhound he resembled. She reached the perimeter of the room only to realize she had nowhere to go.
Carrington flashed his rotting teeth in a triumphant leer. He had her where he wished, trapped between a wall of French doors opening to the terrace, a completely unacceptable alternative, and a doorway leading to the inner maze of the house.
Heaven help her. On impulse, Lana darted into the deserted corridor moments before Carrington reached her. She would hide in the retiring room.
The first bars of a country dance floated from the ballroom and faded as she made her escape. Lamps mounted on the damask walls spilled pools of light on the polished wood floor. Staying to the shadows as best she could, she glided down the wide passage past gilt-framed landscapes she had no time to admire. She didn’t slow her pace until she rounded the first corner.
Lana released an elated breath. She had done it, thought quickly, and orchestrated her own rescue. She smiled as she continued to the retiring room, a newly acquired bounce to her step. Who needed Jake, or any of her older brothers for that matter? She could handle the odious viscount without their assistance, thank you very much.
“Miss Hillary?” Carrington’s voice rang out in the empty corridor.
She wheeled around with a gasp. Oh, blast it all! He followed?
“Miss Hillary, did you come this way? I desire an audience.” He sounded closer and winded, as if he hurried after her.
Lana would rather die than be discovered alone with him. Abandoning all regard for etiquette, she ran. The whisk of her slippers grew silent as she reached the thick Turkish carpets lining the corridor.
“Miss Hillary.” He sounded exasperated and much too close. She would never reach the retiring room in time.
Would the blackguard truly ruin her reputation to acquire what he wanted?
“Miss Hillary, I demand you wait.”
What had she been thinking to leave the ballroom? If caught in his presence without a chaperone, Carrington could demand anything once her parents forced them to marry. A shiver of revulsion shook her frame. Well, she’d not let that happen.
Lana tried the next door she came to and, finding it unlocked, slipped inside before closing it again with an almost imperceptible click. Leaning her ear against the solid oak surface, she listened for evidence of the blackguard dashing past. Minutes ticked on a clock from somewhere in the darkened room, but there was only silence from the corridor. No imperious demands, heavy footfalls, or arduous wheezing. Where was the pudding head? He should have passed the room by now.
She pressed her ear closer to the door and strained to hear any little sound. Only the thundering of her heart filled the silence. Had he abandoned his pursuit? Lana
wilted against the door with a relieved sigh.
What a narrow escape. She would never do anything so foolish again. And this time she meant it. Lana brushed a hand over her skirts to set herself to rights. She really should return to the ballroom before she stumbled upon more trouble. Lana reached for the handle as a bump shook the door. She scurried backwards, banged her hip on a corner of a sturdy chest, and uttered a soft cry of surprise.
Carrington was still out there.
If any member of the ton discovered her and the viscount in a darkened room, her mama would kill her first and then force her marriage to the man.
Frantic, Lana searched for an alternate exit. The window.
She ran across the room, lifted the lower sash, and poked her head outside. A glow from the lanterns lining the garden pathway provided enough light to assess her situation. The second story definitely presented an obstacle, but not an impossible one. Lana eyed the rose-laden trellis, looking for footholds.
Double drat!
The thorns would rip her to shreds.
Dismissing the trellis, she contemplated a maple tree growing close to the house. If she sat on the ledge and stretched, she could reach one of the sturdier branches. Climbing trees proved easy for Lana, a lesson she’d learned as a girl with four older brothers happy to teach her. Scaling a tree in a ball gown, however, was a feat she’d never undertaken.
She glanced between the door and window. For a long time, nothing but the constant whirring of crickets on the balmy evening air filled the silence and diminished her fears.
Now who’s the pudding head?
She studied the long drop to the ground. Had she really considered such a foolhardy plan? Her parents would have her carted to Bedlam if they knew, which sounded surprisingly more appealing than marriage to the bloodhound.