“Ah, ah, ah, I’m not about to spill all my secrets, mademoiselle. Not without a bit of… impetus.”
“What sort of impetus?” Her words came out in a breathy rush.
He leaned forward to set his wineglass on the table behind her head. “I could ask for a kiss, but you were right about me,” he whispered back, his mouth mere inches from hers.
“How? When?” His gaze was mesmerizing her.
“When you said I wasn’t about to ply you with wine and try to kiss you.”
“You’re not?” Oh,whydid the news disappoint her?
“No. I’m not the type totry. I prefer action.” He pulled her into his arms, his mouth hovering just above hers.
Danielle’s wineglass nearly toppled out of her hand, but Cade managed to grab it and place it on the table, too. He was going to kiss her, wasn’t he? Why didn’t he? She wanted to sob.
“When I kiss you,” he drawled, his breath hot on her lips. “You’ll welcome it and wine won’t be involved.” He pushed himself away from her and moved back against the settee, a smug look on his face.
He could tell she was disappointed. She knew he could tell. It was sitting there, obvious, in the pompous smile on his handsome face. She did her best to right her skirts and appear completely unaffected but oh, how she had wanted his kiss.
“Why did you come back? Why are you here?” she asked in an effort to distract herself.
“Miss LaCrosse, you’re going to have to do a lot more than almost kiss me to get me to answerthat.” He stood, winked at her wickedly, and exited the room.
***
One hour later, Danielle slipped into bed still replaying her conversation with Cade in the library. The man had many secrets. And that was coming from a woman who had many secrets. He seemed discomfited by the fact that his brother was a viscount. While he apparently enjoyed the fine things his brother’s new life had to offer, something about it didn’t sit well with him.
That near-kiss had been enough to scorch off her stockings. The most shocking part was that when he’d told her she’d have to do more than kiss him to get him to answer her other questions, her first thought had been to ask what. And then to do it. The man was tempting. It would be a pleasure to trade kisses for secrets. In fact, they might make a game of it. Ooh la la.
She suspected he’d left, however, because she’d asked questions that made him uncomfortable. She had to be less forthright in the future.
A knock sounded at the door, interrupting her thoughts. Quiet. Soft. At first she was certain she’d imagined it. She sat up and listened. It came again a moment later, followed by Mary’s voice floating through the wood. “Mademoiselle?”
Danielle lit the candle on the bedside table, tossed aside the quilt, and hurried to the door. Mary stood in the corridor in her night rail, a dressing gown wrapped over her thin shoulders.
“Mary? Is everything all right?”
Mary nodded. “Yes. Yes. I just thought we might…” The girl looked a bit sheepish. She pressed one bare foot atop the other and squeezed her hands together tightly. “Talk for a bit.”
Danielle blinked. “Talk?”
“Yes.” Mary’s freckled face looked hopeful.
“Oh, well, of course,” Danielle replied, remembering her manners. The ones her mother had tried to instill in her before her whole world changed.
“Come in.” Danielle stepped back to allow the younger woman to enter.
“Gor,” Mary exclaimed as she made her way over to the window and sat in the cushioned chair nearby. “Ye have yer own chair and wardrobe. And a dressing table? And a desk!”
“Yes. Don’t you?”
Mary shook her head. “No. I room down the hall with Molly and all’s we got is two beds and a few pegs fer our gowns.”
“Oh,” Danielle replied, not certain what else to say.
“Housemaids don’t get their own fancy rooms with desk and chair,” Mary continued. “I guess it don’t matter none. What would me and Molly do with a fine desk like that? It’s not like we can write.” Mary snorted.
Danielle shut the door carefully and took a seat on the edge of the mattress facing Mary. “You can’t write?”
