Awakened by a Kiss (18 page)

“Really, Henriette, you are making much out of nothing.” Camille’s statement arrested Henriette’s steps.

“Much out of nothing?” Henriette’s eyes were wide with disbelief. “Dear sister, do the words”—she lowered her voice a notch—“ ‘Gilbert Leduc’ mean anything to you?”

Camille frowned. “Of course they do. They mean as much to me as they do to you, Anne, our dear Comtesse—not to mention all the women who have entrusted their stories to
him
.”

“Then perhaps you can explain to me how we are to interview the very skittish Madame de Montbel and Madame de Boutette for Gilbert Leduc’s next stories with these gentlemen here? You know the next volume must be brought to press in three weeks or Bruno won’t print it. The more popular the books become, the more risk there is for those involved.”

Camille frowned. “I’m quite aware of the deadline and the risks. What I don’t understand is why you are fretting over the presence of Savignac and Gamory.”

Henriette’s mouth fell agape. She turned to Anne. “Will you please explain it to her?”

“Camille . . .” Anne strove for a more reasonable tone than Henriette’s, though her sisters’ bickering was grating on her patience. Like Henriette, she didn’t relish having anyone whom she didn’t know staying at the hôtel when one of Gilbert Leduc’s volumes was in the works.

Especially a man as inflaming as Nicolas de Savignac.

“Leduc’s identity must be protected at all costs,” Anne said. “Especially since behind his pen are a number of women who have provided scathing secrets for Leduc’s stories. There would be disastrous consequences for them if they were exposed.”

“And the consequences for Leduc would be even worse,” Henriette added for good measure.

“But these gentlemen are part of the Comtesse’s family. Nicolas de Savignac is her very own grandson,” Camille countered. “Surely that makes him trustworthy enough to—”

“To what? To tell him of Leduc?” Henriette sputtered.
“Are you mad?”

Camille jabbed her fists into her waist. “I assure you I have complete command of my faculties. Henriette, you are—”

“Enough,” Anne demanded. Usually the one to settle her siblings’ arguments, she was not in the mood for this tonight. “Camille,”—she turned to her younger sister—“Madame de Cottineau is estranged from her grandson, and we don’t know her reasons for it. Until she returns and we speak to her, we’ll not reveal a thing to Savignac or Gamory. We’ll not put anyone in jeopardy.”

Henriette crossed her arms. “I don’t trust Savignac.”

“You haven’t even met him yet,” Camille said.

Anne had, and she didn’t trust him either, or more particularly, herself around him, the physical calamity he inspired a serious detriment. And something she intended to get under control. Lest it got out of control. “We won’t allow this situation to turn into a problem.”

With resolve, Anne stalked toward the dining hall once more. Her sisters quickly fell into step. There was no other option, really. Leduc wrote the sorts of stories that needed to be written. Had to be told.

And would be published. On time.

After a few silent moments, Henriette conceded. “You’re right, of course, Anne. Among the three of us, we can entertain our two guests until Madame de Cottineau returns—and keep them from stumbling onto our secret. Isn’t that right, Camille?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Good. Then there is nothing left to argue about and nothing to be concerned over,” Anne said with more confidence than she felt. Why was she riddled with niggling doubts? What was the threat, really? “I doubt either gentleman has ever even heard of Leduc.” Nicolas and Thomas came from the country, preferring to live at their country estates over Paris, as some nobles did. Leduc’s popularity was for the most part contained inside the city. “And even if they know of him and his books, even if they see a few women come and go from the Comtesse’s home over the next few days, they’d never conclude Leduc is under this roof.” Anne glanced at each sister. “Right?”

“Right,” they responded in chorus.

The tension in Anne’s body eased the more she thought of the situation. Her biggest challenge in all this was to keep her distance from her patroness’s enigmatic grandson. And how difficult could that be? With her sisters sharing the duties as hostess, she could limit her time in Nicolas’s company—until she’d mastered her maddening reactions to him.

Anne’s next book would go to press on time without their houseguests ever knowing that the notoriously famous author—who had tongues wagging in every Salon in the city—was right under their noses. Her books of poetry had never been as popular as her Gilbert Leduc volumes.

But she didn’t write under the name “Gilbert Leduc” for the notoriety.

What motivated her pen was the women behind the stories—and their personal experiences that hit close to home and heart.

Before she knew it, Madame de Cottineau would return, deal with her grandson as she saw fit, and be delighted to find that Anne had published a new volume to titillate Leduc’s fans.

She exchanged knowing smiles with her sisters. By the look in their eyes, she knew they were in accord; Leduc was a secret they wouldn’t reveal.

Not to anyone outside their trusted circle.

There were many who’d tried to learn who was behind Leduc’s pen. None had succeeded. No one ever would.

Keeping their secret from two men who weren’t even interested in Leduc wasn’t going to be difficult.

In fact, this was going to be easy.

Laughter rippled through the
Salle de Buffet
. The women were starting to relax. Nicolas was pleased as he chuckled along with his dining companions at the latest witty exchange.

Sweeping his gaze down the long elegant table, he glanced at each of the three sisters. Then at Thomas. Seated at opposite ends of the table, their gazes met and Nicolas could tell by his friend’s expression that they were in agreement: the night was going well. Even the rather icy Henriette was beginning to offer a smile and the occasional laugh.

In short, Nicolas was making great progress; he was lowering the ladies’ guards a charming comment at a time.

His eyes were drawn back to Anne. Repeatedly during the meal he’d caught himself watching her. Practically gawking at her. The candles on the silver torchères lined around the room cast an orange light, making the shade of her coppery curls bedazzling.

Making her skin look warm and so enticing.

He was dying to trail his fingers along the contour of her scooped neckline over the gentle swell of her breasts. He was dying to do far more than that with the enchanting poetess. Fantasies of her naked in his bed, wet with wanting, ran rampant in his mind.

Nicolas shifted in his chair, his stiff prick straining uncomfortably inside his breeches.
Merde
. She was seated to his right, dressed in a simple gown—hadn’t done more than offer polite conversation—and she was driving him to distraction.

Anne brought a spoonful of soup to her lips.

By God, his yearning to possess that lush mouth mounted by the moment.

“Do tell us, Nicolas,” Henriette’s voice cut through his thoughts. “What has driven such a wedge between you and your grandmother? Why the estrangement?”

“Henriette!” Camille chastised.

Anne simply met his gaze and held it. By the look in her beautiful dark eyes, he could tell she was curious about the answer.

He decided to offer an honest one. “My mother married my father—a man my grandmother didn’t care for. She disowned her when she learned of their secret marriage ceremony.”

There was silence for a moment as the women absorbed his response.

“Why would the Comtesse object to your father as a husband for her daughter?” Anne asked softly. He liked her voice. He couldn’t help but wonder at the sultry sounds she made in the throes of passion, what she’d sound like when she came. Or what the tight clasp of her wet sex around his thrusting cock would feel like . . .

She was staring at him. Waiting. Nicolas shot a glance at the others at the table. They all sported similar expectant expressions on their faces.

He cleared his throat. “Because my father was an ass, and he remained that way until his last breath.” By the expression on her lovely face, it was obvious he’d surprised her with his bluntness.
Merde
. That could have been put a little more gently.

If he didn’t fuck her soon, he was going to lose his mind.

“He—He didn’t treat your mother well?” Camille voiced the question that was likely on everyone’s mind.

“No, Camille, he did not.” And despite her reservations, his coldhearted grandmother had never once inquired about her daughter’s well-being—from the day she married until her death two years ago.

Camille lowered her head.

“Husbands seldom do—treat their wives well, that is,” Anne said. “Your mother was not alone in that regard.”

“Oh?” This was a direction he definitely wanted to go. Thanks to the forward Vignon sisters, they were making it easy for him. “And why do you say that?”

“Because it’s the truth,” Henriette interjected.

He dragged his eyes away from Anne. “Is it your truth, madame?”

She cocked a brow at him.

“Forgive me, but since we’re being candid with each other, I thought you wouldn’t mind my inquiring.”

Henriette set down her spoon. “I do mind—not about you asking questions, for we have nothing to hide here. But about discussing the subject of my late husband. He had a lot in common with your father, you see. He, too, was an ass.”

Nicolas briefly glanced at Thomas.

Henriette rose. “If you will excuse me, I shall return to my chambers now. Good night.”

Nicolas and Thomas were on their feet immediately. Henriette stalked out of the room.

Camille was the next to rise. “I should make certain she’s all right.”

With his eyes, Nicolas motioned Thomas to follow Camille out.

“Camille,” Thomas called out, halting her steps. “Please, allow me to escort you.” He offered his arm. Together they walked out of the
Salle de Buffet
.

Nicolas turned his attention to Anne. She was standing and he knew she was about to offer her excuses to leave.

“I have ruined the evening. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cause distress.” This was
not
how he’d intended the evening to end. Distracted by Anne, he’d blurted out his question to Henriette when he should have taken care to ascertain the answer.

“Henriette is fine. She’s still sensitive about the late Baron and doesn’t like to be questioned about him.”

“I gather theirs was not a marriage filled with wedded bliss?”

She shook her head. “No, hardly that. Like your mother, my sister fell in love—and suffered for it.”

He walked around the table and stopped before her. A light floral scent emanated from her beautiful hair, tantalizing his senses. “You sound as though you don’t care for love.”

From the moment he drew close, her cheeks took on a pretty blush, and Nicolas noted the rapid beating of her pulse along the side of her slender neck. Telltale signs of his heated effect on her.

These were exactly the reactions he wanted from her.

She glanced at the door and then at his mouth. Her desire was evident, but so was her unease at being alone with him. His greedy cock twitched.
Easy now
. If he moved too quickly, she’d bolt from the room. He’d already made mistakes tonight. He wouldn’t make another. This mission was too important to him.

The matter required finesse. Patience. For the first time ever, he struggled with both—thanks to the bewitching writer with the flame-colored hair.

“No, I don’t believe in love,” she stated firmly. He was disappointed in her answer, and he had no idea why he should be. He wasn’t much of a believer in the fickle emotion either, but he’d read her works. They were filled with romantic sentiment. Romantic sentiment she’d clearly lost. Was it her sister’s disagreeable marriage that had jaded her? Or Anne’s own personal experience?

“But I’m told you write poetry. Love poems, to be precise.”

“I do . . . rather . . . I did . . . two volumes of love poems . . . a while ago.” Anne mentally cringed. She sounded like a babbling fool.

He was standing so close—too close—trapping her between the table and his tall sculpted form. From the moment she’d walked into the room and saw him standing in the dining hall with Thomas, her blood had warmed. Now it raced through her veins white-hot.

If he’d step back, she could think. As it was, it took every effort just to keep her breathing even, so that she didn’t humiliate herself by panting in heat. How in heaven’s name did she end up alone with him? This wasn’t supposed to happen. Her sisters were not supposed to abandon her in his company, but then, they had no idea how he incited her senses.