She laughed at his woebegone expression. “I won’t tell anyone. Are you still going to kiss me?” She hoped so, because her entire body, on edge from the evening’s caper, was tingling and ready for his touch.
In answer, he claimed her mouth under his, and she relaxed against him, even as her insides seemed to melt. She slid her hands behind his neck, causing her breasts to lift and crush against him.
“Mm,”she said, already forgetting the horrors of being underground. She wished they could be alone somewhere more comfortable. And then she recalled how angry she’d been at him and how she’d been ready never to see him again.
But she was hopelessly besotted. When he was close, her anger evaporated. He made her want only to be in his arms and to experience things she knew she should save for her marriage bed.
“Do you think we might find a taxi if we walk a little?” he asked.
“If we walk back along the Boulevard d’Enfer—”
“The Boulevard of Hell, yes,” he translated before slipping back into French. “You Parisiennes have such a way with words. I saw a street named for a woman with no head and one for a cat who fishes,” he added.
She shrugged. “What about the Londoners with their Haunch of Venison Yard and Cock-Pit Steps and Cock Lane!”
He was staring at her. “How on earth did you know about those?”
Oh dear! How indeed!“I have read books, monsieur. And people from London visit,” she added quickly, “and they’ve described their city.”
He looked unconvinced, even puzzled, so she quickly returned to the topic at hand.
“There will befiacresfor hire just past the Boulevard d’Enfer on the Boulevard du Montparnasse.”
They turned their footsteps in the correct direction.
“Your grandparents will be worried,” he guessed, putting to words what she’d been thinking. “We had best hurry before your grandfather calls out the gendarmes.”
All at once, she wished she could tell him she would be leaving soon, but that would cause too many questions.And for what purpose?A part of her wanted him to ask her to remain in Paris. Or if he discovered she was going to England, how lovely if Malcolm promised to see her again upon his own return.
A foolish fantasy. She certainly didn’t want him suddenly declaring his love for her simply because he learned she was a baron’s daughter.
“You’ve become silent,” he said, squeezing her arm. “You must be cold and tired.”
“A little of both yes.” The only time she’d felt warm and exhilarated was when he’d kissed her.
As she’d predicted, they found afiacreeasily. In a few minutes, they’d crossed the Seine and she was on her way home. With Malcolm’s arm draped across the back of her shoulders, she decided to enjoy the time she had left in his company and snuggled against him. After all, perhaps they would indeed meet on one of those streets in London they’d been discussing.
Thinking she felt his nose upon the top of her head —was he sniffing her hair? —Serena turned her face to his. As she’d hoped, he kissed her again. With the touch of his mouth to hers, now-familiar delicious warmth flowed through her, and she squirmed at the sensations pulsing in her body.
It would be easy to divert the hired carriage to his garret. And then she would be exactly as he suspected, a blowsy strumpet.
“You were beyond helpful as usual,” he said. “I don’t know what I would do without you.”
His words tore at her heart, and again, she wanted to confess her impending departure.
“Why did you help me?” he asked suddenly.
What could she tell him?“I suppose because my grandparents have instilled in me a sense of duty to France.”
“But I am an Englishman.”
“Helping the French,” she said. “At least I believe you are doing your best.”
Turning to her, he threaded his fingers into her hair and held her face still. In the dark, she could hardly see his expression, but enough light caught his eyes. She would be happy to stare into them for the rest of her life. He’d confessed to being a rake, and she knew that meant a man who dallied with women for sport and pleasure before moving on. Perhaps she was foolish to think herself special.
“What do you want?” he asked, his tone husky.
If she saidI want you, what would he think? She supposed he meant what did she want for France’s future, but the answer she gave was closer to her heart.
