“The working class and merchants of Paris are for Napoleon, including many vintners. But most of the people, as you know, simply want peace. They don’t want to go back to a time of war. It hurts business.” She thought a minute, then added, “Still, it would be best if we don’t declare any allegiance at all when we get there.”
“Agreed,” he said. “Now that you’re speaking to me again, will you tell me about your parents? I expected them to be at the winery.”
Serena bit her tongue and wished she hadn’t started speaking at all. As soon as he knew her to be a baron’s daughter, everything would change. Given her true position in society, he might be shocked at her behavior with him, which she knew had been truly outrageous. On the other hand, he might suddenly declare her suitable to be a future viscountess.
In either case, they would no longer be plain Serena and Malcolm, nor could she allow him to kiss her or carry her to bed, ready to tup. Without her French accent and working-class disguise, she would feel too vulnerable.
Moreover, he would still be a rake.
Deciding to let him remain entrenched in his wrong-headed notions until she was ready to disabuse him of them, she considered what she could tell him.
“Presently, my parents live happily in the countryside of England.”
“Why? Where?” He sounded utterly confounded.
“Are you taking me all the way to them, or only to the Devon coast?” she asked.
“I intend to get you safely to the British shore and into a coach bound for your home before returning to France at once.”
“Then you don’t need to know where my parents are, or even why.”
“Very well. I shall tell you stories of my own life and bore you to tears.”
As it turned out, none of Malcolm’s stories were boring, as he’d had adventures at university and then many more while in service to the Crown.
“I have grown weary of it,” he confessed. “And my parents would like me to settle down.”
“I am sure any parents of a renowned rake would prefer he at least give the appearance of domesticity and responsibility by taking a wife, but can you really stop your philandering ways?”
He didn’t hesitate. “I would not take a wife for appearances’ sake, I assure you. The female I intend to marry will hold my interest and excite my passions and keep me utterly captivated.”
“That seems a tall order for any woman.”If he was waiting for such a gifted female, he might be unwed forever. “You need aPandora,” she added.
“A guitar?” he asked, cocking his head, making him look utterly boyish and charming.
But what was he saying?“Excuse me?” she asked. “A guitar?”
“Apandura, like a guitar, maybe more of a lute or a mandolin,” he said, slipping into English. Then back to French as he added, “While I enjoy music, I would rather have a wife.”
She smiled at his confusion, which made him smile back, and suddenly, her heart gave a little kick at how much she loved him.
“No, monsieur, I meant you need a woman like Pandora for your future wife. You know, the Greek goddess. She was all-gifted. An impossibility, I think.”
“I think not,” he retorted. “I think it entirely possible. In fact, probable.”
She turned her head at his tone and was rewarded by his expression of pointed interest.Was he saying ...? Did he mean...?
Serena couldn’t even form the thought in full, so astounded was she that he might be inferring he thoughtherto be such a woman.
Feeling the heat creep up her cheeks, she turned away.
“I fear I offended you last night, Mademoiselle Renault, and I must apologize and tell you it was the last thing I meant to do.”
Obviously he hadn’t meant to, for it lost him the easy enjoyment he’d been expecting. But it stung nonetheless, the way he’d magnanimously excused her supposed immorality in order to make love to her. As if she was supposed to thank him for his generosity.Should she have forgiven him for being a rake?
Sighing, she wished she didn’t feel flattered by his interest at the same time as she felt insulted. She should have slapped his face the first time he’d touched her. Instead, she’d encouraged him. She’d wanted him desperately, and she still did.
By the time they’d eaten the food Madame Lucie had packed for them and made it as far as the winery in Saint-Rémy, Serena had decided she’d been too harsh and too hasty. Fearful of a libertine’s reputation for dallying with women, she hadn’t taken into consideration how Malcolm had treated her rather decently so far.
