Spring Fires (47 page)

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"Shh!" Devon admonished as she clung to her husband's arm. "You must be serious. We can't have them notice us!"

"Milady, I assure you that I am completely serious."

They were near a tall sculptured hedge that offered concealment from the moonlight. Raveneau turned his back to it and pulled his wife against the length of his rugged body. Devon tried to keep one eye on the figures that seemed to trade secrets as they rounded the corner of the footpath and came closer to the hedge. However, her husband's warm, insistent lips were kissing tender spots on her throat and face before covering her pliant mouth; Devon forgot all else. Andre's hands were in her gleaming hair, then touching the soft beauty of her neck, shoulders, arms, and the sensuous silk gown that hid even more delectable charms. After a dozen years of heated passion, he still craved each fresh glimpse and taste of his wife's breasts. The idea of undressing her made him as hard and hot the few-thousandth time as it had the first. Feeling Devon sigh, he molded her body more intimately to his. Real love was certainly a splendid puzzle....

Soft feminine laughter drifted across the footpath, followed by a slightly admonishing voice: "Are you certain that he hasn't guessed the truth, Gabrielle? It wouldn't do for you to become too sure of yourself or to underestimate Nicholai Beauvisage...."

"How
could
he guess? Only you and I know, and certainly I have not confided in anyone else!" Gabrielle lowered her voice upon spying another couple against a nearby shadowed hedge. There were more people lingering behind the supper boxes and ahead of them, where late diners strolled to and from their secluded tables. This did seem to be the safest spot for Gabrielle's conversation with Angelique... and when she glimpsed a white breast in the starlight and the tall man bending his head to it, Gabrielle smiled with relief. Even if they did overhear, they wouldn't care or comprehend. In silhouette, she saw the woman arch her neck; the man raised his head to trail kisses over a pale throat before crushing anxious lips. The sight of dark hands sliding down the woman's back to curve over and then pull her silk-clad buttocks roughly against what must have been a splendid erection made Gabrielle flush with envy and desire.

"Eh bien,"
Angelique murmured in consternation. "It must be worse than I thought between you and Nicholai! I can see you getting hot just watching those strangers. Shame! Has he been absent so much from your bed?"

"Too much," confessed Gabrielle. She couldn't bring herself to admit that Nicholai had made love to her only once since their reunion, and that even then she had sensed his emotional distance. "I don't know what it is, but—"

"What is wrong? What do you see?" pressed Angelique after a moment.

Gabrielle was peering sharply into the darkness. Had the woman inclined her head in their direction while her lover kissed the far, bare shoulder? Probably it was imagination, but to be safe Gabrielle decided that this conversation should be in French.

"It is nothing," she said in their native tongue. "I am tired of English, that's all. As for Nicholai—what I was going to tell you is that I am certain he suspects nothing. I admit that there are problems in our relationship, but I feel that they are rooted somehow in his new life in America. He has changed."

Angelique let out an ingenuous little gasp and pressed a hand to her mouth. "Oh! Do you suppose he has fallen in love with a woman from over
there?"

"How could he?" Now that they were speaking rapidly in French, Gabrielle began to forget about the couple by the hedge. "If that were true, Nicky would certainly have remained in Philadelphia."

"So you believe that he has come to help you even though his feelings for you have changed?"

"I am certain of it. And perhaps his feelings have not really changed after all. You know men. Sometimes their behavior is positively baffling. As long as Nicky helps me to find Henri, I don't really care what his feelings are for me."

"Liar!" Angelique laughed. "You were burning for him all summer until he arrived."

"I won't deny that Nicky is a better, more thrilling lover than any man I've ever known..."

"
And?
"

"And his careless charm is irresistible, but the truth is that he would never marry me, and even if he did, we would not suit. Nicky would not marry a woman he didn't love completely. I am not capable of that. I must be free! We always dealt so well together in the past because we were involved in an illicit love affair. I loved him in my own way, but I must admit that it was the thrill of the forbidden that drew me on over the years. I mean, he could have had anyone, but it was I for whom he journeyed long miles—often to be alone with me for just a few hours!" Gabrielle sighed, remembering. "Those were such thrilling times. The queen herself would have given up her finest diamonds to share a bed with Nicholai Beauvisage!"

Angelique gave her an odd look. "But you would rather be married to Henri than Nicholai...?"

"I'd prefer the best of both worlds." Gabrielle strode over to a tree and leaned her face against the cool bark. Glancing over at the lovers near the hedge, she felt a hot twinge between her legs at the sight of the man unbuttoning the woman's gown while she nibbled at his ear and neck.

"The security of a rich husband and the excitement of a handsome lover?" Angelique queried softly.

"Don't you take that tone with me! You were no sooner in London than you had Dudley in your clutches, charming him into marriage!"

"I may have sought a good marriage so that I could survive, but I have tried my best to do right by him! I have other things in mind besides myself!"

"So do I," Gabrielle returned hotly.

"Oh, yes!" Angelique's high voice turned shrill. "You coaxed Nicholai to come to you because he thought you needed his help in finding your brother... and perhaps because he thought you loved him! Now we realize that, when he came to help you, he must have left someone special behind. Don't you think I can see the disillusion already in his eyes? What do you suppose Nicholai would say if he knew that your
brother
was the one claimed by the guillotine, and that the
comte de Louviers
is the person, hiding or imprisoned in France, whom you seek?"

"Henri might be dead as well," Gabrielle countered, irritated by this lecture from her usually featherbrained friend.

"But if your husband is alive, he will be able to lead you to the fortune in gold and jewels that he hid so well after the Revolution broke out."

"I won't let you shame me, Angelique! After all, I
am
the
comtesse,
and Henri's fortune should be mine! You were certainly thinking about money when you snared Lord Dudley Whitloaf!"

Angelique gasped, eyes blazing. "At least I have kept my part of the bargain; I am a faithful wife! You cannot even be truthful with your
lover
! What will you do if, after so much scheming, Henri is not alive after all?"

"I will just marry Nicholai, then, even though he would be far too possessive and strong willed to deal with as a husband. But at least he has wealth... and other redeeming attributes." She smiled suggestively.

"Do you honestly believe that Nicholai would wed you after he realizes the lies you have drawn him into?"

Gabrielle arched an eyebrow. "There are ways to soften the heart of even the angriest man." Her gaze slid back to the amorous couple, who were now stealing off into the darkness. She shivered slightly, then turned back to Angelique. "Somehow, everything will work out... and in the meantime, you and I should not quarrel. Have we not been friends for a dozen years? I know secrets of yours that no one else does,
ma cherie.
Your little tryst with two stable boys at once...?
"

"I made a mistake!" Angelique's face burned in the shadows. "I would like to forget about that

"I am certain that you would. Will you also forget to scold me about Nicky from now on?"

"If the subject annoys you so much, then I shall not raise it again." She took a step backward. "It is late. Dudley will be wanting to go home."

As the two women continued down the footpath that curved around the supper boxes, Raveneau was leading his wife farther away, deeper into the woods.

"Lady Whitloaf is right," whispered Devon through muffled laughter. "It
is
late."

"Not late enough." His mouth quirked in a wicked half smile. "Besides, I must translate their conversation for you."

"I know French too well to be swayed by that excuse, sir!"

"But you might have missed some tiny phrase that would prove crucial, madame." Raveneau had guided her under a cluster of weeping willows and now drew her into his embrace. All admonishments of propriety died on Devon's lips as she melted against her husband's demanding body. The tiny buttons that closed the back of her gown were deftly unfastened.

"Andre!" She turned her head nervously, suddenly afraid that someone would see them. All around, willow branches caressed the ground to create a lacy curtain of protection from prying eyes. She felt a bit less conspicuous and gave herself up to the pleasurable sensations. Then her breasts were bared to the cool night air and she gasped, shocked. "Andre, what are you doing?"

"I believe I am kissing your breasts,
cherie,"
came Raveneau's murmured response. Slowly, his tongue teased circles around each nipple. The breeze and Devon's arousal combined to pucker them into especially hard peaks that responded ardently to Andre's warm, skillful mouth. All the while, his hands were slowly exploring her smooth exposed flesh, wonderingly, as if this were the first time he'd touched her satiny neck, back, the contour of her shoulder, the round swells of her breasts. Even her lovely arms were traced as lean fingers slid her sleeves farther down, finally freeing them completely.

"Andre!" Devon managed to gasp again. A familiar tingling ache was building in her loins along with a warning in her mind. "Do you mean to strip me naked?"

"That's an inspired idea,
ma petite
!" He raised his head and, smiling, captured her mouth in a hot, lazy kiss.

She realized that he was shrugging out of his jacket. Watching as he spread it over the lush grass, she felt weak with excitement and panic. "I—I thought that you wanted to translate the things that Gabrielle was saying."

"I have another, more important translation to make first." Raveneau was pulling Devon against the length of his body and the hardness that strained against his breeches.

"Oh, Andre," Devon murmured shakily, "aren't we too old for this sort of thing? I mean"—her breath caught as he drew her down until she lay trembling on his dove gray coat—"we are married, after all... and we could go home to our own bed!"

Raveneau's hand found its way under his wife's gown and petticoats, sliding up white silk stockings to the bare thighs that felt like satin. Devon flinched and moaned softly. "Yes,
cherie,
I know all about our bed," he whispered teasingly against her fragrant hair. "We'll get there, in due time..."

Their mouths met in a long, hungry kiss. She worked at buttons on his waistcoat, yearning to caress his warm lean-muscled back. His fingertips grazed the curls between her legs, tantalizing until Devon's breath came in ragged gasps. Finally, he touched the sweet flesh that ached for him, then held his hand away. By this time, she had successfully wrestled with his shirt buttons and now curved one little hand over the hardness still trapped inside his breeches.

"You're wet," he murmured while kissing her ear.

"Oh—you mustn't tease me!" Her hips arched in search of his hand.

"Are you certain? You don't want to go home?"

"For God's sake, Andre!" She pressed fiery kisses along his scarred jaw.

One lean finger returned to circle the pouting bud of her desire. "You've changed your mind, then? We aren't too
old
for this sort of thing?" The feel of her, so hot and moist and eager, was driving him mad.

Devon's only response was soft laughter. She reveled in the sensation of Raveneau's lips and tongue on her breasts and midriff. Moonlight spilled over his black hair and she reached out to feel its texture. Now he moved lower to bestow kisses that scorched the tender insides of her thighs all the way up to...

"Andre! You mustn't—not here!" She tried to pull at his hair, without success. Hot pleasurable waves of sensation spread and intensified under his mouth. "This is madness!"

Raveneau caught her hands and pinned them against her sides, pausing, teasing, until Devon's release came in a sudden storm. As she shuddered against him, he moved upward and filled her with his urgent hardness so that she moaned aloud. Each thrust was feverishly met, slim arms clutching his wide back, and Raveneau's whisper, husky with love, tickled Devon's ear: "I must concede,
mignonne;
you are right... but this is a madness so sweet that I dread the return of sanity!"

Chapter 41