Nick’s eyebrows rose. Such fire! He never would have guessed from her cool exterior. “The rumors are true, then?”
Her head swung to face him, green eyes flashing in the dim light of the balcony. “Of what rumors do you speak?”
“’Tis said you come to London to find a husband,” Nick explained, wondering at her hostility.
“Oh.” Lady du Roche visibly relaxed and then looked away from him again. “Oui.’Twould seem that search is nearly at its end—even now, my father makes arrangements with my future husband.”
“Halbrook?” Nick asked, remembering the aging lord whom he’d seen speaking to the lady’s father. “He has grandchildren older than you!”
“But he is very wealthy,” Lady du Roche sighed. “And that is the only criterion on which there seems to be no compromise.”
“Have you an affection for him?”
Nick was surprised at her laugh—clear and bubbling, like water tumbling over rocks. “Nay, my lord. I have learned that affection plays no part in this business of marriage.” She glanced at him again. “If I were in love with him, why would I be here with you now?”
Her words were painfully honest and brought to Nick’s mind Evelyn’s betrayal. Perhaps this woman had been burned as well—hadn’t Lady Haith mentioned a broken betrothal?
“Ah, beautifulandwise,” he murmured, his eyes roving her delicate features. “You do not dread living out your days with a doddering ancient?”
“As you said, he is old. With luck, I will outlive him and one day be left in peace.” She turned to him, leaning her hip against the railing, her features shadowed by the moon over her shoulder. “Perhaps he is not so old that he might yet give me a child to keep my company.”
“Your words are bold,” Nick said, sidling closer to her until he could feel her heat. “’Tis a shame for a woman of such passion to be paired with one so aged and dwindling—he will never make you burn.”
He saw her smirk in the intimate space between them, and she chuckled. “Do you think you might accomplish that task if given the chance, Nicholas FitzTodd, Baron of Crane?” It was almost as if she mocked him.
Nick was shocked into silence for a moment. He tugged the chalice from her grip and set it on the railing. Reaching out a hand, he laid it alongside the warm, soft skin of her neck, forcing her to look up at him. He heard her soft breath at the physical contact and smiled when she would not meet his eyes. Nick thought it best to teach the girl to what ends teasing would gain her.
“Verily, Lady du Roche,” he began, “I—”
“Simone,” she amended in a husky whisper, glancing into his eyes for only an instant. “My name is Simone.”
“Simone,” Nick repeated, drawing out the syllables of her name even as he pulled her closer. “Shall I demonstrate my abilities for you?”
Just when Nick expected her retreat, Simone reached her hand from beneath the confines of the cloak and laid it upon his chest. Her eyes found his, and the invitation he saw there, the raw need, tested his resolve to move slowly.
She licked her lips, a fleeting dart of pink tongue. “Please do…Nicholas.”
He dropped his mouth to hers and pulled her fully against him. She tasted of honeyed wine and autumn’s chill, and the sweetness of her small hands cupping his face shook Nicholas in a way no other dalliance with a woman had.
He slipped his free hand beneath the cloak to find her waist, then wrapped his forearm behind her, lifting her slightly. Simone’s hands smoothed to the back of his head, holding him to her mouth as tightly as Nicholas himself clung.
Nick wrenched his mouth from hers. “Lady Simone, have a care. I am not known for my restraint,” he said, giving her opportunity for escape.
He could feel her breasts pressing against him with each breath as she looked up at him. “Then why did you stop?”
The sight of her lips parted like wet rubies and the innocent impatience flashing in her eyes destroyed any thought of return for Nicholas. He pulled her head to his to once more seize her mouth. His hand dropped to her collarbone, smoothed over her shoulder, and down to cup her breast.
Simone gasped at the intimate touch, and he raised his head slightly. “I should warn you,” he whispered, “if this is some intricate plot to ensnare me as your husband, ’twill not work. I do not yield to feminine trickery.”
Simone’s eyes sparkled and one delicate eyebrow arched. She even huffed a short breath of laughter. “Fear not, Lord Nicholas. My betrothal is all but sealed, and any matter, you would not be a suitable match for me.”
She leaned forward and closed her eyes as if eager for the kiss to continue, but Nick avoided her lips.
“Why do you say that?” he demanded, feeling a frown pull at his mouth and brow. She opened her eyes with a sigh of impatience, and he continued. “Because I am younger than four score?”
“Nay.” Simone blinked, as if surprised. “’Tis because I think you a drunkard and a braggart and, most likely, you do not possess the wealth my father requires of my husband.” She leaned in once more, but Nicholas retreated further.
“What in God’s holy name led you to those conclusions?”
