Awakened by a Kiss (8 page)

Catherine spied three men at the end of the table watching her. Two were smiling, almost grinning, while the third frowned.

“Do you know those men at the end of the table?” she asked.

Adrien’s gaze moved down the row of seated guests. Then he frowned. “Ignore them.”

“Who are they?”

Reaching for his goblet, he drained it. “My uncles. They are harmless.”

“I don’t want any scandal, Adrien. I’ve had more than my share.”

He studied her silently. “Oh?”

She arched her brows. “Surely, you’ve asked about me? Didn’t someone tell you about my late husband?”

“No. I made no inquiries. I don’t care for gossip. Nor do I want to learn about you from someone else. I want to learn about you, from you.”

Catherine was speechless. She didn’t know anyone who didn’t partake in gossip—men or women. Some more viciously than others. It was refreshing to find someone else who shared her disdain for it.

Music started up in the Grand Salon, the harpsichord and violins playing a
menuet
. Catherine tore her gaze from Adrien’s handsome face and noticed that already guests were moving to the next room. Adrien’s uncles were also leaving, a pretty dark-haired woman exiting with them. Briefly, the woman met Catherine’s gaze. A venomous look flashed in her hazel eyes so quickly, she wasn’t certain if she’d imagined it.

A banquet of roasted duck, partridge, and quails, fruits, salads, and pastries was spread out before her. Though most everyone had had their fill, none held any appeal for Catherine. Least of all her cold soup that she’d neglected to wave away.

She returned her attention to Adrien. He was watching her. All that masculine beauty focused solely on her. Her insides danced.

“I don’t wish to speak here,” she said. “I’ll come to your room tonight.”

“No. Wait out a few dances then retire to your rooms. I’ll come to you.”

“Very well. As long as you promise not to do anything to cause tongues to wag here.”

“Agreed. And you’ll agree to provide answers.”

She nodded. “I’ll have answers for you.” And a bargain to sweeten the deal and ensure his silence.

“Adrien,” Paul said as he approached with a smile. “You’ll soon bore holes in the Marquis de Verdier’s back with the look you’re giving him. Could it be it’s because he’s dancing with your lady?”

Adrien tightened his jaw. The moment Catherine entered the Grand Salon, she was besieged with offers to dance. This was her third dance already. Her radiant smile was telling. She was clearly enjoying the allemande, bewitching every one of her dance partners as they left looking smitten.

“She’s not my lady,” Adrien said, surprised by the twinge of regret.

“Why are you not dancing with her yourself?”

Why indeed? Why on earth had he agreed to keep his distance and not make their involvement more evident?
You know why
. It was something he’d seen in her eyes. A sorrow that stirred his compassion.

Instinct cautioned him against such sentiment, warning him not to be drawn in. Something told him that perhaps he should back off—that it might be best if he didn’t learn the reasons behind her actions five years ago after all.

But as he watched her turn and curtsy, the final notes fading away to end the dance, he silenced the niggling doubts.

He knew nothing could keep him from her room tonight.

Pacing in her rooms, Catherine stopped dead in her tracks when she heard the expected knock at the door.

Adrien.

The moment of truth had arrived.

She’d promised him answers. The question was: what would he think of her answers?

Nervously she smoothed her skirts and opened the door. Adrien was leaning against the doorframe with his forearm. As usual, his presence sent a thrill through her.

She stepped aside, allowing him to enter.

“Please sit.” She indicated the settee near the hearth in the antechamber.

He moved across the room, all muscle and masculine grace, and sat down, his rapt attention on her. Grappling with how to begin, Catherine clasped her hands, then released them and smoothed her skirts again. She’d practiced the words. But they were stuck on her tongue.

Adrien rose and approached her, his brow furrowed. Her nerves jangled; she braced herself, unsure what he was about to do or say.

He cupped her cheek. “Are you all right?” he asked.

It unbalanced her. She wasn’t expecting him to be concerned about her emotional state. Her father and husband never were. She’d learned to stand strong on her own long ago. To lean on no one.

Feeling vulnerable was unsettling in the extreme.

“You can trust me,” he told her.

Did she have a choice? She’d failed miserably to convince him he was mistaken. He could have her arrested at any time. The freckles on her breast would ultimately condemn her.

She’d have to find the courage to open herself up to him and pray for the best.

Adrien saw fear in her eyes. She was clearly skittish. If he didn’t proceed slowly, she’d likely bolt for the door.

He didn’t want her to be afraid. Oddly, he found himself longing for her trust as strongly as he longed for the truth.

Something in the corner of the room caught his eye. An artist’s easel and paintings propped against the wall. He moved toward them. On the easel was a lovely depiction of a valley at sunrise. It was serene. Lush. Beautiful.

“Did you do this?” he asked, marveling at the piece.

She moved to his side and blushed. “It isn’t finished. It isn’t very good . . .” she replied, quickly dismissing her work.

He leaned in closer to the painting and silently scrutinized it. “I think it’s wonderful.”

The initial look of surprise on her face was precious, as was the joy his praise gave her. It delighted him to see it more than he’d admit.

He motioned to the paintings on the floor leaning against the wall. “May I?”

She bit her lip, and after a moment’s hesitation, gave a nod.

He picked up the paintings one by one and studied them, genuinely impressed. Paintings of gardens, of children, and one of water nymphs were among the works.

“You’re very talented, Catherine,” he said with all sincerity.

She looked embarrassed by his compliment. “Thank you. That’s very kind of you to say, but . . . I’m rather an amateur . . .”

Her modesty was endearing. “Do you do portraits?” This was a first for him. He was alone with a beautiful, passionate female, his cock fully alert to her presence, and yet he was not acting on the powerful urgings she inspired.

“I’ve . . . never really tried . . . My late father and husband both thought painting was a frivolous expenditure of time, especially for a woman.”

“But you don’t. You love it,” he stated. “It’s evident in these paintings. In the painstaking details. Each stroke of your paintbrush brought you joy, no?”

A smile returned to her lovely visage. “Yes. I do love it,” she admitted softly.
Dieu
, this softer side of her was oh so appealing. The woman was beyond beguiling.

“Excellent. Then you’ll paint my portrait and one for each of my uncles,” he said, ignoring the warning in his head against lengthening his involvement with her.

Her eyes widened.

“I’ll, of course, pay for supplies,” he continued, enjoying the astonishment on her face, “and for your—”

“I can’t.”

“Oh? Why not?”

She turned and walked over to the settee. Her back to him, he saw the stiffness in her delicate shoulders. “I’m to be married soon to the Comte de Baillet.” She faced him. “He’ll be here by the end of the week.” Her statement added to the distance she’d just placed between them.

Adrien’s dislike for Baillet grew each time he heard the man’s name.

“I’m certain you think I’m rather shameless . . .” she said, her words trailing off.

She was still skirting around the issue, discussing matters other than the events that occurred five years ago.

Adrien closed the space between them and took her hand. “I don’t think that.” Lightly, he caressed her wrist with his thumb, relishing in the satiny feel of her jasmine-scented skin.

She didn’t pull her hand away and it pleased him. Her expression was open. Unguarded. And that pleased him as well.

“What happened today . . . between us . . . I never intended something like that to happen,” she said.

He didn’t want her voicing any regrets. “We’re attracted to each other,
ma belle
. Intensely so. There’s no shame in that.”

A small smile graced her lips. “You can be quite irresistible, but I’m certain you’ve heard that enough times.”

“I’ve also heard I’m mildly attractive,” he teased, pleased she didn’t seem to be remorseful.

She laughed, a soft, sweet sound. “If no one tries to keep you in check, dear Marquis de Beaulain, you’ll become unbearably conceited.”

“Well then.” He bowed over her hand. “Madame, I thank you for your efforts. I’d hate to become intolerable.” He kept the mood light though a new all-too-insistent question was now plaguing him, gnawing away at his brain.

Smiling, she shook her head. “You’re incorrigible. But definitely charming.”

“Then all hope for me is not lost.” He brought her hand up to his lips and kissed the sensitive spot on the inside of her wrist.

Her smile faded, and she pulled her hand away. Adrien fought back the urge to take it again.

“Do you love him?” He was stunned at himself. The question eating at him just tumbled out of his mouth. He hadn’t intended to ask. It shouldn’t matter a whit if she did.

“My betrothed?”

“Yes.” The last thing he wanted to hear from her were the same ill-placed words of adoration for Baillet his sister had.

To his relief, she shook her head. “No. Nor is he in love with me.”

“Why are you marrying him?”

“After my father’s death, Villecourt gained control of my inheritance.”

“And squandered it,” he surmised.

She looked down. “Yes. He had . . . extravagant ways. I find myself in dire straits. The château is in a state of ill repair. I’ve had to let most of the servants go.”

There was more about her marriage she wasn’t saying. She’d mentioned something about a scandal. But none of that was any of his concern. He wouldn’t inject himself into her troubles. It wasn’t why he was here.

Adrien slipped his arm around her waist and drew her to him, her soft form molding against him ever so delectably. Lust licked up his spine.

“Catherine, tell me what happened five years ago.”

Suddenly unable to look him in the eye, she dropped her gaze to his chest. She was vacillating. Concerned she’d renege on her promise, he pressed on, untying the ribbon between her breasts, making quick work of the fastenings on her bodice with his practiced fingers before panic flared in her eyes and her hand shot up, stilling his with a firm squeeze.

He leaned in, the scent of jasmine dazzling his senses. “It’s all right,” he said softly in her ear. “Trust me. Let’s put an end to the denials and lies. I only want the truth.” He pulled back to gaze at her face.

She wouldn’t look at him, her body rigid in his arms. Her hand still clutched his tightly.

“Let me,” he urged gently. “On my word, it will be all right.”

Keeping her gaze averted, she released her hold of his hand slowly.

Adrien opened her bodice and eased down her chemise, uncovering her skin an inch at a time until at last he located the three tiny freckles on the outside curve of her breast. There they were—those pretty freckles that had tantalized and tormented him in so many dreams. He caressed them with a finger.

Seeing them again triggered a rush of memories that weren’t only heated. There was something else about that night that made her unforgettable, the experience unique. More than the intensity of it. More than the discoveries he’d made the next morning.