Page 50

He saw those long ballerina legs wrapped around his waist, Louise beneath him with all that trained strength locked around his hips, pulling him closer instead of letting him retreat. He could almost feel the pressure of her heels against his back, the impossible flexibility of her body yielding only where she chose, those gray eyes watching him while he discovered exactly what years of ballet had taught a woman to do with her thighs.

Christ.

Rodrick tore himself away. He was on his feet before Louise had finished blinking, several feet of air between them. His body answered with such force that he suspected his cock might formally challenge his brain to a duel.

"What happened to your No Touching rule?"

She shrugged. "Rules change."

How convenient. For her. He stared at her lips, trying to conquer his thoughts. He had considered this. Seduction had always been an option in his arsenal of control. But control of whom? Right now he had as much control as a coach driver careening downhill with no horses and a broken axle.

"So now you want an Englishman inside you?"

"I thought you were Norman."

"Only when treason is being discussed."

He turned toward the medical supplies. The soap presented no erotic complications whatsoever. Rodrick corked a bottle, replaced the cloth, arranged the remaining bandages inside the case with attention usually reserved for black powder.

"Distance is an excellent policy." He fit the bottle into its place. "I don't want you moping about because you've developed feelings for the big bad spy."

"Who says it is I who will be moping about?" she said, crossing her arms.

She had improved, he had to give her that.

"Your barbs are getting sharper, Lou. But they still lack finesse."

He moved to the desk. There were maps there. Maps possessed roads, rivers, elevations, and no mouths. Rodrick picked one up. He couldn't say whether it depicted France or the moon.

Her gaze branded the back of his neck. "You called me a foolish virgin."

"One of my more accurate observations."

"Then correct it."

"We are in a farmhouse. Marching with seven hundred men. Even you must agree that your choice of setting is lacking."

"Fine. If you won't help me, I will find someone who will."

His laughter came out brittle. She stood ten feet away, issuing threats when she possessed weapons capable of ending the argument in seconds. A hand against his chest. A lowered voice. One glimpse of pale skin above those damned breeches.

"Careful, Jean. Not all troopers would welcome a boy sniffing their breeches."

Louise glared. She was magnificent when angry. Color burned across her cheeks. Each breath lifted her breasts beneath the shirt, and her arms settled at her waist as though she were preparing to command artillery. Rodrick had never seen her give this version of herself to anyone else. He didn't want her to.

Then her eyes lit. Rodrick knew that look. Whatever came next would be both magnificent and his problem.

Louise lifted one arched brow. "Gaetan knows I'm not a boy."

The image struck him in the gut like a blunt blade—Gaetan, who never had to calculate whether he was being charming because he simply was. Gaetan, whose whole soul remained unspent. Gaetan, who was in the next room.

"And he will soon learn," she said, with the satisfaction of a woman who had found the right target and knew it, "how much of a woman I can be."

The door shut behind her.

A small ripping sound broke the silence.

Rodrick looked down at the two halves of France in his hands.