Anthony tipped her face up to his. In the dark, she failed to read his expression. At the touch of his lips and his clever hands on her body, she lost herself in the sensations he aroused. While Anthony made love to her, her fears for tomorrow lessened. She would deal with the loneliness when he was gone from her life. He must pick up the threads of his life back in England while she must try to make a life for herself here.
She could never return to London. The Marquess of Ramsbotham wouldn’t hesitate to smear her name. Few would take her side against him. Once, society got wind of it, she would be labeled a courtesan. And she refused to embarrass Anthony, or upset Henrietta, in her first Season. She would not!
* * *
Christian went in search of Henrietta. He found her leaning against a gnarled old oak, staring up at the blanket of stars. “That’s Venus.” He pointed to the star, a brilliant glow in the sparkling arc of sky above them.
“It’s the brightest.” Henrietta kept her distance, obviously still upset by what had happened. “Do you condemn me for searching François papers?”
“No. And neither does anyone else. But we had to be seen to take his side.”
She sighed. “Can’t we leave this place? I hate it here.”
“Soon, sweetheart.” He placed an arm around her shoulders. He longed to make everything right for her. A young woman should never be burdened like this. He breathed in her delicate perfume as her slender form leaned against him. He longed to make love to her.
“We are waiting for François to do as he promised and help us. And every day we delay gives Philippe a better chance.”
She sighed. “François is taking an enormous risk in sheltering us. Why? Verity is his niece, but she’s French. And what about that letter?”
He stroked her arm. “Your father and I are acting on it.”
“How?”
“Not sure yet.”
“So, you understand why I did it?”
“We do, Henrietta.”
She turned to face him. “I don’t think Papa does.”
“He’s proud of you. He loves you dearly.” He hated to see her hurt and confused; she was such a brave young woman. “You’re like that star, Venus.” He nodded toward the sky, watching her face dappled by moonlight. Her full mouth looked bruised and vulnerable. “You shine brighter than anyone around you.”
“Do I?” She fingered the cleft in his chin.
He caught her hand and kissed it. “You are loved,” he murmured.
“Oh, Christian. I love you.” Her voice was just a sigh. His hands slid around her slender diaphragm, her heart beating fast beneath his fingers while he fought to keep a cool head. Her firm, unfettered breasts pressed against him, sending a frisson of lust darting through his veins. He wanted to ease her down onto the grass and make endless love to her.
“Let’s go back inside,” he said his voice tight.
She took his hand and smiled, love and trust in her eyes, and he knew he had made the right decision.
Anthony and Verity reached the cottage door at the same time, disheveled and flushed.
“I’ll go and talk to Philippe,” Christian said with a twinge of envy.
* * *
Henrietta drew Verity aside before they followed the men inside. “Are you angry with me for searching François papers?”
“No, but I cannot back you in this, Henrietta. François is my uncle. When you return to England, he is the only family I have left.”
Henrietta stared at her. “I thought you would come with us.”
“I intend to remain in France.”
Her voice was so soft it seemed to fade on the breeze. Henrietta wondered what it cost her to say it. Verity did not want to stay here, of that she was certain. She doubted her father would leave Verity to face this dangerous regime. Henrietta wished to defend her father, and persuade Verity to come. Instead, she surprised herself by holding her tongue as she followed Verity into the house. Perhaps she was learning discretion. And her father didn’t need her help, he was perfectly capable of getting his own way.
