Suzanne frowned as she slid into the bed. “I wish I could say that he wouldn’t, but I can’t. Marie’s story sounds like the kind of lies aristocrats use to seduce pretty girls, and then cover up the existence of illegitimate children. But I’m sure Marie believes the tale, and I suspect that Philippe does, too. He has a gold Chambron signet ring that she said came from his father.”
“Jean-Louis might have had a drawer full of rings to give out,” Simon said cynically.
“Quite possibly.” Suzanne gave a sigh of relaxation as Simon drew her over to him. “Even if Philippe is legitimate, it might be difficult to prove. There has been too much chaos in France, and the château is a charred ruin along with any records that might have been stored there.”
“Do we want to allow him to succeed in his claim to be the latest Comte de Chambron? The house may be a ruin, but the lands are extensive and valuable. You have a claim on a widow’s jointure at the least.”
Suzanne said firmly, “I imagine you’re right, but proving my claim sounds time consuming and difficult. It’s much easier if I just let you support me in comfort.”
He laughed. “I’m happy to do so. You haven’t been very expensive so far. Don’t you have any desire to claim what you’re entitled to?”
“Depending on what Napoleon does, there might not be anything to claim,” she pointed out. “What about you, milord? There’s a good chance that you’re the nearest legitimate heir. Don’t you want to claimyourrights?”
“Not really. I thought about it this afternoon as we were driving here. I have enough responsibilities in England, and sufficient income as well. I would be inclined to allow Philippe to have the title and estate. Since he was raised on a farm and schooled in agriculture, he’s probably better prepared to manage the lands than I would be.”
“The title and the property may be separate issues,” she said thoughtfully. “If the estate isn’t entailed to the next comte, Jean-Louis could have chosen to leave it to his illegitimate son. Perhaps Philippe will have the estate while you become the next Comte de Chambron?”
“Perhaps, though it doesn’t seem very important just now,” Simon observed. “Did Jean-Louis have a lawyer who might have his will and other legal documents?”
“Yes,” Suzanne said. “I met Monsieur Morel once and signed papers when he told me to. He lived near Paris and had an office with a number of hardworking clerks. He might still be there. He seemed like the sort of man who could survive all the political changes of the last years.”
“Maybe we can look him up later, when and if the world calms down again.” Simon stroked his hand down her side, sending curls of warmth through her. “But for now, are you interested in testing more boundaries?” His hand slid around her waist and down, coming to rest quietly with his palm on the juncture of her thighs. She felt the warmth through the soft linen of her shift.
She sucked in her breath, tense from what had happened before, when pleasure had turned to panic. But the pleasure had been real, and she dearly wanted to overcome the panic.
After a quiet moment of steeling herself to go forward, she moved her hand down his torso and discovered that he was certainly interested in what might happen. When she clasped him, it was his turn to catch his breath. She smiled into the darkness, pleased at how he reacted to her. “Perhaps we should start here to render you . . . less interested? Then we could explore those boundaries again. More carefully this time.”
He laughed and bent for a kiss, his mouth warm and provocative. “You are a brave woman to keep trying. And I am a very grateful man!”
She laughed with him, then focused on driving him a little mad. With her harem skills she could have finished him quickly, but she chose to tease and caress slowly, and she found that the intensity of his pleasure created a surprising echo in her. As his breathing quickened, so did hers. As his heat and pulse rate increased, so did hers, and lingering fears dissolved into the richness ofnow.
“Suzanne . . . ,” he gasped when he culminated, crushing her to his convulsing body.“Mon ange . . .”
She clung to him, shaking and aroused. When he raised her shift and touched her with exquisite skill, it was swiftly her turn to convulse. She bit his shoulder to keep from crying out, for this time she felt only pleasure.Simon, Simon . . .
“Mon trésor,”she murmured when she could speak again. Safe in his arms, she drifted into sleep, thinking that someday soon, panic would be no more than a sad, distant memory and they could lie together with boring normality.
No. Sharing a bed with Simon would never be boring.
* * *
The next morning dawned sunny and pleasant. Wordlessly they indulged themselves by lingering in bed for extra minutes, just holding each other as golden bands of sunlight slowly moved across the bed.
Eventually Suzanne sighed and rolled out of Simon’s arms with a fleeting caress for his whiskery jaw. “I do so like waking up with you.”
He propped himself on one elbow and smiled at her, thinking how lovely she was with tousled morning hair and fewer shadows in her green eyes. “The feeling is mutual,ma chérie.” He stretched and swung from the bed. “Now we begin what might be a complicated day.”
He did a quick shave as she brushed out her shining dark hair. Thick and luxuriant and with hints of auburn, her hair was always a mesmerizing sight. He was lucky he didn’t cut himself with his razor.
After they dressed and descended to the ground floor, they made their way to the bedroom at the back of the house shared by the younger Duvals. Simon tapped on the door. A couple of minutes passed before Madame Moreau emerged carrying a tray with empty mugs.
“How is Philippe?” Suzanne asked.
“The crisis has passed but he is still very ill, very weak,” the landlady replied. “He will not be able to travel for several days.”
“Would a physician help?”
“A physician couldn’t do more than I’ve done.” She sniffed. “And there is none nearby I’d trust with my dog, much less a person!”
