At that moment, as the English stranger took the seat beside her, their shoulders and hips pressed side-by-side, Serena knew she was definitely pushing the boundaries of the independence granted by her grandparents. She was riding alone with a man she barely knew, a rather spirited one with a gun in his pocket.
Moreover, this particular man had caused some especially interesting feelings to swirl inside her. Perhaps he was even more dangerous than a Vauxhall rake.
Chapter Four
When Malcolm helpedhis new acquaintance and rescuer down from the hired taxi, he kept hold of Mademoiselle Renault’s hand, causing her to glance up at him. Her verdant gaze was mesmerizing, and her lips seemed the perfect shade of rose. More than one time on the quick ride across Paris, he had the urge to kiss her.
An absurd and inappropriate notion, to be sure, albeit one he’d acted upon numerous times when in London, while rushing between Prinny’s flamboyant Oriental drawing room at Carlton House and some well-attended ball. If he was in close quarters with a beautiful woman and had the desire to kiss her, it would be foolish not to.
If the lady was willing, why not steal a kiss?
But this mademoiselle would not know of the games played by theton. A kiss could be a prelude to something far saltier, or it could be nothing more than a momentary remedy for ennui, enjoyed by both parties.
“Are you going into one of the cafés?” he asked her.
“No, monsieur. I am going home.” And she carefully withdrew her hand from his.
That surprised him.Why hadn’t she let him escort her to her residence?He had to squash down the notion her actions were suspicious, and she had something to hide. Probably nothing more than an overly protective mother, or less likely, a jealous husband, both of whom he’d dealt with before. There was a reason rakes turned to willing Cyprians, to avoid trouble.
Then he surprised himself. “I hope to see you again.”
Her lovely green eyes widened. “Will you be in Paris for very long?”
He noted she didn’t ask himwhathe was doing there precisely.
“As long as it takes,” he said. “And you spend your days at the Halle aux Vins and then come here to the Palais-Royal to meet your friends?”
“Often, yes. And you spend your days angering people and then come here to meet ... whom?” she asked.
He grinned. “I, too, meet friends here.”
“Then we may, indeed, see each other again,” she concluded with a flirtatious smile making him fervently hope that was true.
“Bonsoir, monsieur,”she said.
She must know he was watching her every move as she strolled away with a slight yet utterly enticing sway to her hips that women must instinctively know how to do. Her movements assured his continued stare until she disappeared down one of the columned arcades.
