Pale Moon Rider (17 page)

Renée had no doubt he would, but she also knew precisely what Tyrone meant. Even through the initial, blinding rush of desire, she had paused a moment to remind herself how shockingly inappropriate such a liaison was, however brief and passion-driven it might be. To a servant, whose opinions on class and social distinctions were often more rigid and unbending than those they served, such a lapse of judgment would be an affront in itself.

“If you are worried about what Finn would say or do if he found out, rest assured, m’sieur, he would not betray you. Not if it meant betraying me or hurting me in any way.”

His mouth released her nipple with a soft, wet
fwithp
and, after a long, considering look into her eyes, he shifted his body lower and ran his lips along the smooth, flat surface of her belly. His hands skimmed down to remove her stockings and garters and, after a brief tussle with linen and tapered wool, he cast his breeches away into the shadows. “M’sieur!” Her eyes widened as she realized his intent. “Do you think it wise—?”

“No. I do not think it wise at all, mam’selle. In fact, I think it very
unwise
for me to stay here one moment longer than necessary. On the other hand,” his hands coaxed her legs apart then slid around to cradle her bottom while he bowed his dark head between her thighs, “there is the matter of defining what is necessary.”

Renée’s mouth fell open. He was the cat now and she felt his tongue lapping her like a bowl of cream. Instinct bade her to try to wriggle herself higher on the bed, but his hands were firm, his tongue devilish as it mocked her efforts to escape him. “M’sieur—! You mustn’t—!”

He lifted his head a moment. “You did say you trusted me, didn’t you?”

“Y—yes,” she stammered, “but …”

The unruly waves of his hair brushed the skin on her inner thighs as he murmured something against her flesh. She thought he said something about discipline and fishmongers, but then it was nearly impossible to think at all. It was enough just to be able to twist her hands into the bedsheets and hold on for dear life.

CHAPTER NINE

R
enée felt the bedding rustle and the mattress jostle slightly beside her. She was incredibly content, drifting in a state of semi-sleep, and resented the need to open her eyes. But then she remembered … and came awake so fast, she almost gasped out loud.

The room was dark. The fire was reduced to a bed of glowing red cinders and did not allow for much more than a vague impression of a shadowy figure moving to and fro, gathering up scattered articles of clothing. Renée was sprawled naked, facedown on the bed, half blinded by the veil of thick blond hair that was scattered over her eyes.

Careful not to move anything other than her hand, she pushed the hair off her face, tucking it behind her ear. Even so small a gesture made her aware of subtle changes elsewhere in her body. She felt flushed and warm, her skin so keenly sensitive she could identify every fold and crease in the bedsheets. The flesh across her breasts felt deliciously chafed, her inner thighs were wondrously
achy
, and deep inside, she was all soft and slippery and still throbbed tenderly with the lingering effects of expended passion.

Mon Dieu
, she thought, but he had certainly made up for his initial haste and lack of control a hundred times over. Subsequent lovings had been exercises in sensual torment, lasting half an eternity and culminating in such prolonged and protracted torrents of pleasure, she had very nearly fainted from the excess. There was not one square inch of her body he had not explored with meticulous care, not one sensation he had left a guarded secret, not a single cry or gasp or plea he had not obliged with chivalrous extravagance.

If she thought about it, she should resent the fact that he could still stand and walk and dress as if nothing untoward had happened. On the other hand, if she thought about the things he had done, the things she had allowed him to do, she would surely melt into a puddle of shame and never be able to lift her head again.

She squeezed her eyes tightly shut and did not open them again until she was able to focus on the moment at hand.

A surreptitious peek at the window confirmed it was still dark outside. He would, naturally, want to be away before any hint of dawn light betrayed his presence to any servants rising early to tend their chores. She could have set his mind at ease somewhat by assuring him that none of the servants at Harwood House was overly conscientious. Not even Jenny ventured up the stairs with hot water or a pot of chocolate before mid-morning.

Renée turned her head slightly, repositioning her cheek on a fresh puff of feathers in the pillow. There was, she realized, another pillow under her hips, but she curled her hand into a small, embarrassed fist and refused to dwell on how it came to be there, or why.

Tyrone moved in front of the remnants of the fire and bent over to pull on his drawers. She had never watched a man dress before. Granted, it was difficult to see now, but there was enough of a glow behind him to gild the taut muscles of his thighs and buttocks as he drew the linen garment up his legs and tightened the drawstring around his waist. The muscles in his arms bulged and the veins stood out in prominent relief; the lean and tempered plane of his belly folded in hard, layered bands as he bent over again to repeat the motion with his breeches.

His chest was a magnificently sculpted display of curves and contours, and her hands tingled with the memory of running through the forest of crisp, dark hairs, of feeling the thunder of his heartbeat beneath her fingertips. He had encouraged her to explore his body as thoroughly as he had explored hers and she had done so, shyly in the beginning, but then with increasingly bold strokes and forays that had revealed some breathtaking pleasures … and some unsettling surprises. The number of scars he bore had disturbed her. Marring the broad plates of muscle across his back and shoulders were varying levels of raised welts, suggesting he had been subjected to a lash on more than one occasion. There was an ugly, round pucker on his thigh and another shiny trough on his arm, the results of a bullet and sword respectively, she guessed, for he had not answered her questions when she had asked how he had come by the marks. He had deftly distracted her with his hands and his mouth instead, branding her body in ways that would be invisible, but no less indelible.

Tyrone’s movements startled her thoughts back to his dark silhouette. He stood in his breeches and boots and was shaking the folds out of his shirt to separate the tails from the collar. Pulling it over his head gave him substance, made him a ghostly white blot against the darkness, and when he started groping about him, searching for something else in the shadows, she bestirred herself to sit upright.

“You may light the candle, m’sieur, if you are having difficulty finding everything.”

He straightened slowly and turned his head toward the bed.

“I am managing. But thank you.”

She did not give voice to her suspicions, but it occurred to her that he likely had a great deal of experience locating his clothes in the dark.

“Actually … I am glad you are awake,” he said. “I have been giving the matter some thought and—”

“And you have decided to turn down my request?” She dragged the sheets up over her breasts and curled her legs beneath her hips. “I have been thinking the same thing, m’sieur, and I believe it is for the best. Roth is determined to catch you and I fear he will succeed if you go through with this thing.”

“You appear to have lost a great deal of faith in my abilities over the past two days.”

“It is not your abilities I doubt. I have known men like Roth before; the leaders, the ruling parties of the revolutionary government changed three times in four years and
Paris
was infested with
citizens
who would sell their souls, betray their closest friends in their hunger for power. Roth is a little man who strives to be more than he is. He will kill you if he has the chance.”

“Assuming I don’t kill him first, of course.”

She regarded him with huge, solemn eyes. “If you had wanted to kill Roth, you could have done so long before now. This time, I think it is you who wishes to make me believe you are more than what you are.”

His soft laugh came out of the shadows. “So now my abilities
exceed
your expectations?”

He was mocking her, gently to be sure, but it stung all the same. “I simply do not want the burden of your death on my conscience.”

“And I have told you, mam’selle, I am not your burden to bear, With Roth on one side of you and Edgar Vincent on the other, I would think you have enough to worry about already.”

“Until now, I have been too afraid of my own shadow to do much more than run and hide. Or to obey like a meek lamb and always do what is expected of me.”

“Running has merit, mam’selle,” he said, sobering. “So does hiding. But nothing feels quite as good as beating a bastard at his own game.”

She shook her head.
“Non.
I release you from the agreement we made,
capitaine.
You are free to—to practice your trade elsewhere.”

The blur of white moved closer to the bed. “Are you
firing
me?”

Her cheeks warmed, but her mind was made up. “Yes. Yes, I am.”

“Just like that.”

“This”—he spread a hand to indicate the bed— “wouldn’t have anything to do with your decision, would it?”

She looked up at him and frowned. “If you recall, I had all but made up my mind before this happened.”

“Ahh. Yes.” He drew his arm back and folded it, along with the other, across his chest. “We were discussing the comparative values of our necks. But what will you tell Colonel Roth?”

“I will not have to tell him anything. When you do not show up tonight for our meeting, he will correctly assume you became suspicious of a trap and changed your mind.”

“Frankly, I have learned never to assume anything where Roth is concerned. But what about your marriage to Edgar Vincent?”

She clutched the sheets closer to her chest. “I told you, m’sieur, I have no intentions of marrying a man who has blood on his hands. What he does is of no further concern to me. I will not be here one way or the other to know.”

His head tilted thoughtfully to the side. “Where will you be?”

“As far away as Finn can take us.”

“You are not worried about the warrant Roth holds for your brother’s arrest?”

“The warrant was to be destroyed if I cooperated. He cannot possibly blame me if his scheme does not work.”

“Mon pauvre innocent
”
he murmured. “Do you honestly think that is all Roth wants from you? Did his behavior at the Fox and Hound
suggest
that was all he wanted?”

Renée felt a chill that had nothing to do with the fact the fire was a smoldering ruin. “But he and Edgar Vincent are friends.”

“Roth has no friends.”

“And you do, m’sieur?”

“I have acquaintances with mutual interests,” he said after a brief hesita
tion. “And the name is Tyrone.”

“Pardon?”

“My name is Tyrone. Surely you have not forgotten it already?”

This time the edge in his voice left a hot blaze of color on her cheeks. “I have not forgotten. But since I will never see you again after you leave here, and you will never again see me, I think it best if we return to being … formal.”

At that, Tyrone’s irritation was defused and he could not resist a smile. There she sat in her crumpled nest of bedsheets, gloriously naked and gleaming in her dishevelment, her skin still rosy from their lovemaking, her thighs undoubtedly as sleek as butter and reminding her why on each indrawn breath … and there she was dismissing him like a servant, telling him she never wanted to see him again.

By the same measure, here he stood under the mistaken impression his sense of imperviousness and self-assurance had been fully restored, feeling his flesh thicken and throb as painfully as if he had never touched her.

“Before I do leave,” he asked wanly, “may I ask how you intend to get away from here? You said Roth has men watching you, and I doubt if he has assigned fools to guard the coop. Roth himself is no half-brain, though it bears arguing at times. If the meeting tonight does not go off as planned, he’ll not simply shrug his shoulders and walk away. He has gone to an inordinate amount of trouble to bring this together and if he even suspects you have had thoughts of double
-
dealing, you will see a side of him that will keep you screaming through nightmares the rest of your life.”

“But I have done my part. I have done all he has asked me to do. He has no reason to suspect me of anything.”

“Until the jewels go missing.”

“What?”

“I said”—he leaned slightly forward—“until the jewels go missing. Then he will most assuredly suspect you of something.”

“I do not understand.”

“It is quite simple, really. I think the risk is worth taking. I think we should meet tonight, as planned, and I think we should steal the jewels as per our agreement. That was what I was about to say before you interrupted me with your cavalier order of dismissal, and that is what I plan to do, with or without your help.”