“May I help you?” she said, still not turning to him.
He approached her, taking in the sight of her knee-high riding boots, strong legs and that perfect backside he could almost feel in his hand. He came up next to her as she groomed her horse, his body going rigid. She still wore the trail cloth around her nose and mouth, so he could not see her face. “My Lady,” he said. “I would like to know from where you came.”
“No,” she said without regard. Her voice was a song.
He took another step towards her as she rounded the horse’s haunch.
“Well, then I would like to know your name.”
She passed the brush over the horse’s rump then looked back over her shoulder. “No,” she said, her tone sparkling.
Another shiver went through his body. Those shimmering eyes seemed familiar, but without the rest of her face, he could not place her. She began to move around the horse again. He followed. “Then remove your scarf,” he said. “I would like to see if the bottom half of your face is as pretty as the top.”
“No,” she replied, still inching away from him.
“Jolie, do you know who I am?” he said, taking slow steps in her pursuit.
“Oui, you are the son of the Duke.”
“Then you are aware that when the son of a duke makes a formal request, you shall abide.”
She stopped to stare him down with large, innocent eyes. “But,Monsieur, I was not aware that your request had been formal.”
She turned away and continued grooming the horse. She was teasing him now. He liked this kind of foreplay, whatever it was, and he was sure it would end too soon. He took a more aggressive step toward her, invading her space. “Iformallyrequest that you take off your mask.”
She threw down the brush and dusted her hands against her legs and, squaring her shoulders, looked up at him. She reached out to walk her fingers up his chest and stood on her tip toes to bring her lips right up to his ear. “No,” she whispered.
He watched a moment, dumbfounded, not used to a woman so bold. Then he snatched her hand and held it tight to his chest. The beat of his own heart surprised him, just as his gesture seemed to surprise her. There was something in her eyes he couldn’t grasp: a memory, a feeling fighting to come through. But he shook it off and grinned. “You are insubordinate,” he said, voice low but playful. “Now remove that scarf or I shall do it for you.”
She cocked her head, a smile back in her eyes. He breathed her in, as delicious as any peach he’d ever tasted. He reached up to pull the scarf away, thinking only of how sweet her lips would be.
All of a sudden, she struck both hands against his chest and pushed him back. It was like he took a cannonball to the chest. He sucked in a breath as her leg slipped between his and caught the back of his knee. She pulled forward and before he could think another thought, he was flat on his back, staring up at the ceiling. He shook focus back into his head and saw her standing at his feet with her hands on her hips.
“Who are you?” he asked, stupid from the fall.
She dropped to all fours and crawled across him like a lynx. He felt her breasts press against his torso while she drilled into his eyes with her stare. She settled above him then reached up to remove her scarf. That’s when he saw, for the first time, the beauty beneath it. He knew this face from somewhere long ago, but his brain was too sluggish to make anyconnections. Her full, raspberry lips parted, and she leaned towards him. He thought for a second, she might kiss him. He arched in response, but she moved past his lips to his ear.
She whispered, her voice pure as dew, “I’m the one who gave you that scar.” Then without another beat, she traced the old scar at the corner of his lip with the moist tip of her tongue.
He was out of his mind, not understanding if the woman on top of him was looking for a lover or just looking for a fight. Then, just outside the stable, he heard his mother’s voice calling, “Alexandra? Where are you,chère?”
The woman popped up and dusted herself off, leaving nothing but cool air where her body had seconds ago been pressed against his. She jogged away and Philippe was left staring at the muzzle of her horse, who chewed a mouthful of straw and watched Philippe unsympathetically.
Regaining some control over his body, Philippe flipped over to watch her. Outside, he saw that she picked up speed and ran to his mother who embraced her. He could make out nothing beyond the happy chatter between the two women. It was Alex. Little Alex. His heart dropped into his stomach, as old, terrible feelings of guilt rushed to him. Alex and his mother linked arms and walked towards the palace.
He didn’t know why she had come back or how long she would stay, but as he breathed in her luscious scent still clinging to his skin, Philippe knew, unequivocally, that he was in trouble.
Chapter Two
The palace doors burst open with a warm energy Alex hadn’t felt in years. With Duchess Laure on her arm, Alex entered the sunlit grand foyer that she had torn through hundreds of times in her youth. The footmen bowed, while maids rushed to curtsy before her with wriggling excitement.
The greeting was unexpected and overwhelming for Alex, who had been living so far from high society. But it filled her heart to see the happy faces she had grown up with.
“We are all pleased to have you home,” the Duchess said.
Alex ran her fingers across the fine carving of an armoire and breathed in the scents from her childhood: potted lavender, polished wood, warm bread. Just then another maid hurried into the room and upon seeing Alex, dumped her tray of biscuits.
“Oh,mademoiselleyou are here!” she squealed as she hugged Alex around the neck, knocking Alex off balance. “It has been no fun here without you!”
