No Earls Allowed (The Survivors #2)(118)

“He did not support Napoleon?”

“I—” What was the correct answer? She did not want to be seen as a supporter of the dictator who had been England’s enemy. “No, he was conscripted.”

“I see. And did your father work for Napoleon against his will too?”

“He—” Collette drew in a sharp breath. “My father did not work for Napoleon, monsieur. He was a farmer.”

“Did you mention that before?”

“I thought I did.”

“I must have been confused.” He leaned close and she felt his warm breath on her cheek. “I will confess… May I confess something to you?”

Collette didn’t know what to reply. She wasn’t certain she could have spoken if she’d tried.

“When I look at you, my brain goes to mush. My thoughts are all muddled. Do you know how that feels?” His body pressed against hers, a warm, solid weight that terrified and excited her at the same time. “All I can think about when I am this close to you is my mouth on yours.” He reached out and touched a finger to her lips. He’d removed his gloves at some point, and the feel of his bare skin sent a zing of pleasure through her. “My hands on your skin.” He caressed her lips with his finger. “My body pressed to yours.”

Collette could not breathe. Her lungs burned and her heart beat painfully in her chest. As though she watched from far away, she stood immobile while Beaumont trailed his finger from her lips to her chin, catching it lightly between thumb and forefinger. Then he lowered his mouth to hers, brushing over her in a slow, tantalizing whisper of a kiss. Collette drew in a sharp breath, and Beaumont moved to the corner of her mouth. “I make you nervous, don’t I, mademoiselle?” He spoke in French now, though she barely realized it. “You are afraid I will kiss you, really kiss you. And you are also afraid I will not.”

Collette wanted to move her mouth to meet his and give in to him—his velvet voice, his teasing mouth, his intoxicating scent. But she could not afford to indulge in flirtations, especially not with men she could not trust. Her father’s life depended on her, and she would not gain any useful information on the terrace with Mr. Beaumont.

Collette closed her eyes and summoned all her strength. “I am afraid if you kiss me, you will receive a nasty surprise, monsieur.”

His lips paused in their exploration as he undoubtedly felt the pressure of her knee between his legs.

“Step back, or I will make certain amorous activities are the last thing on your mind for the next few days.”

Slowly, very slowly, Beaumont moved back. As soon as he was out of range of her knee, she lowered it and let out an audible breath.

“You might simply have said you had a headache.”

“I don’t have a headache,” she said, keeping her voice steady. “I am not attracted to you.”

The fact that she was able to spew such a blatant lie and keep a straight face was testament to how determined she was to free her father. The fact that she could resist Beaumont at all was proof of how dedicated she was to stealing those codes.

“I see.” He gave her a puzzled look. “You will forgive me if I’m at a loss. This has never happened to me before.”

She narrowed her eyes. “What do you mean?” Now that he was not standing so close and not looking quite so confident, she could almost speak to him as though he were a mortal man.

He shifted awkwardly and raked a hand through his hair. All of which served to make him seem even less like a god and more like a human.

“I mean, no woman has ever refused me before.”

“Never?”

“No.” He shoved his hands in his pockets.

“Not a single woman?”

“Not until now.” He looked increasingly uncomfortable and his voice was quiet and hesitant. Collette had the urge to apologize and to confess that she actually did find him incredibly attractive. But that was lunacy. She could not confess such a thing, even if such an admission would not beg for more information.

Collette moved toward the terrace doors. “I take no pleasure in rejecting you, sir. Thank you for the dance.” She pulled at the latch on the doors.

“I must escort you into supper.”

“That’s not necessary,” she said. “I can find my own way and sit with Lady Ravensgate.”

“But—”

She held up a hand. “Please. I think it would be best if you and I do not speak again. Ever.”

And she swept into the ballroom, feeling very much as she had when she’d been a child and had her favorite toy taken away.





Five


Rafe didn’t wait for Porter, the Master of the House at the Draven Club, to answer the door. He merely shoved it open and barreled into the wood-paneled vestibule, noting that candles in the large chandelier lit the room. Then Porter appeared, making his way down the winding staircase. He moved quickly for a man with only one leg, but Rafe signaled to him. “No hurry, Porter. I let myself in.”

He shrugged off his greatcoat and tossed it on the suit of armor on one side of the vestibule. There was a perfectly good coatrack beside the door, but Rafe always hung his greatcoat on the suit of armor. Porter had ceased bothering to remove it. Rafe saluted the shield opposite the door. It bore eighteen fleur-de-lis, symbolizing the eighteen men of Draven’s troop who had died fighting for England.