Fates for Apate (5 page)

He took the final step towards her and cupped her face in his hands. "I don't like calling you Appleton. I know that you aren't happy with your husband and I wish that I could do something about that, but I cannot. And regardless of what you may have heard, I do not dabble in affairs. Flirtations, yes, but not affairs."

"You don't like it when I flirt with you," she whispered.

He leaned close to her ear and murmured, "I love it when you flirt with me. When you argue and hiss at me like a displeased kitten." He couldn't stop himself from a delicate kiss on the side of her throat. She shivered, but he wasn't sure if it was in response to him or the cold. "I should take you back inside."

"No, please don't." She took a step back, looking around, then took his hand and led him to one of the lesser doors that led back into the building. The portico served to protect them from the wind and any prying eyes.

He'd not had the best luck with women and knew that she would break his heart in a new way. But damn it all, he couldn’t bring himself to back away from her and stop it. "What do you want from me?" Even he could hear the rough break in his voice. Hopefully she would think it was just the cold affecting him.

"I want you to make me feel."

C
HAPTER
S
EVEN

George was worried at the needy tone to her voice. Before following him, she had advised herself to trust her instincts. That overthinking her interaction with him wouldn't work. But now she regretted being so impulsive. They were barely a breath apart, and at her bold statement his eyes had burned into hers with a wanting that stunned her. She still held his hand and he threaded their fingers together. As he leaned closer she pressed herself up against the door. She chided herself for her missishness. She had been kissed before. Many times. She was trained as well as any courtesan. But all of that seemed quite remote as his warm breath fanned her face and then finally, inevitably, his lips were upon hers.

"There are many different types of kisses,"
Madame Blythe said. They were standing in the madam's boudoir and observing some of her girls demonstrating their kissing skills. George had gone long past being embarrassed by such a display and was curious why they were discussing kissing again. Lips, tongues, what do to with your hands. Really, it wasn't that complicated. "
At some point in your life you may experience a kiss that you feel stops your heart. It may be quite unexpected, but it's best to always be prepared for it."

"What should I do then?"
George had asked, expecting the madam to give a romantic sigh and impart some nonsense about true love or destiny or some other idiotic notion.

"Run like hell,"
Madame Blythe said soberly.
"You've found the one man who can utterly destroy you without even meaning to."

Within moments of Mr. Rokiczana's lips on hers George knew she should run. The kiss started gently, just the lightest slide of lips together, warming up from the cold. Then he nibbled on her lower lip and she heard herself whimper. The heat of him was burning into her, and there was some other aspect that she couldn't name. It was as though everything within her cried out for him. Relished his slightest touch. Reveled in his barest attention. Yes, she should run. Far and fast. Then he ran his tongue over the seam of her lips and she opened for him. She threaded her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck and pressed her body to his. Nothing would be close enough. Even without clothing there would still be too much barrier between them. She wanted to be
with
him, be
of
him. None of the men Madame Blythe had her practice with had made her feel like this. Was he just a master of seduction? Did he make all of the ladies feel this way with his kisses? She didn't want to be made the fool. She pulled back.

"Mr. Rokiczana."

"Casimir," he murmured against her lips.

"Casimir?"

He tilted his head back and the smile he gave her was boyish in its enthusiasm. "Say it again."

"Casimir."

He kissed her throat. "Again."

"Casimir." Her voice was a shivering rush as he nipped her earlobe and then soothed it with his tongue. He wrapped one arm around her waist and pulled her flush against his body. She could feel his manhood and shifted her hips against him. His choked gasp and tightened hold enthralled her. Something in her wanted to claim him. Something primal hummed with possession. She wanted to be able to walk through that bevy of ladies and have them all know that he was
hers
. That they could look but not touch. Yes, she needed to run far, far away.

* * *

Casimir didn't want to let her go. Ever. She was heat and light. She was air. Hearing his name on her lips made him shudder with a desire he had never known. But she didn't belong to him. She belonged to another. As he pulled away and looked into her face, seeing his own need reflected in her eyes, he cursed Appleton in his mind. Why couldn't the lout have a convenient fall from a horse? For a brief moment he considered arranging just such an accident. But he was no murderer. He had killed before, yes, but not in premeditated cold blood. The mere thought of it made him take a staggering step back.

"We must stop," he said brokenly.

She nodded and looked down at their hands, still joined between them. It was as though he couldn't let her go.

"I wish," he paused, gripping her hands more tightly. "I wish you weren't married."

She looked at him, a sad smile on her face, and then gave a choking laugh. "Yes."

Her eyes glistened and he didn't like the thought of making her cry. "We can't be lovers, I wouldn't dishonor you in that way. But perhaps we could be friends?"

Her trembling smile brightened and then she stepped into his arms. His mind warned him that keeping her close was dangerous to his heart. But his body, his soul, rejoiced at having her so near. He felt again the intimacy and the affection from their waltz. As much as it hurt to hold her with the knowledge that he could never have her, he was sure that not touching her at all would hurt even more.

* * *

Nestled against him again, George tried to believe that the joy and relief she felt was in knowing she had finally secured a contact in the Prussian delegation. That he meant nothing more to her than a conduit of information that she could send back to Robert. But his heat seeped in to warm her in ways nothing ever had before. She was content. If she could stay here with him forever, she would be perfectly happy.

"I should walk you home." His voice was a murmur, but feeling his breath over her cheek made her shudder with desire again. He ran his hands up and down her arms. "You're cold, let me take you home."

Cold? She wasn't cold. But she would be once she was no longer in his arms. It was possible she would be cold for the rest of her life. As she had been before she met him.

C
HAPTER
E
IGHT

Casimir wasn't sure if he was delighted or crushed by how easily he and Gina Appleton became friends. She rescinded her request that they not dance. They chatted at every ball, either on the dance floor or at the refreshment table, usually both. He enjoyed the tart humor she revealed to him as they became acquainted. They chatted about the attendees at the ball, the happenings at the Congress, sometimes even stories of their childhoods. Her wry observations of people made him realize how clever she really was. His heart faltered each time she graced him with a genuine smile.

He tried to tell himself it was to the good that he was close with someone in the British delegation because she might be able to help him. But he knew his own record with relationships. Falling in love with a woman he couldn't have was just a new variety of disaster, but at least the endless balls were no longer boring. Torturous, yes. As weeks passed he became ever more enamored of her.

* * *

George ran her closed fan through her fingers. It wouldn't do to pounce on Casimir as soon as he arrived. She let him flirt with the bevy as he always did. She had no interest in standing amongst them waiting for his attentions. He would come to her, she had only to be patient. But she found that as time went on, patience in waiting for his attentions wasn't her greatest strength. She missed him on days that they didn't talk. When she was in a shop she found herself picking up items and wondering if he would like them. It was fortunate that he thought she was married to another because she yearned for him with a brutal intensity that she had never experienced. If he felt free to touch her, to kiss her, she would be lost. No matter how much she wanted his kisses, she couldn't stand the thought of losing herself. She had to focus on the mission. And stop being disappointed that he hadn't once taken advantage of the mistletoe that had been up all Christmas. And she definitely shouldn't give him the gift she had bought and wrapped and tucked away in her drawer. Nothing good could come of them growing any closer than they already were.

She felt a hand at her waist and then he was whispering in her ear. "Woolgathering again?"

She had to fight her inclination to lean into his warmth. "Just waiting for you to appease your adoring masses."

"Are you saying you don't adore me?"

She turned to meet his eyes and saw that he had a self-deprecating smile. Yes. Yes, she adored him. But she saw that his eyes were tired, his face pale. She couldn't help herself from raising a hand to his cheek. "What's wrong?"

He pulled her hand away, looking around the ballroom. "Could I speak with you for a moment? Privately?"

"Of course."

"Perhaps at the doorway where..."

Where they had kissed. She thought of it almost every night. "Yes, of course. I'll be there momentarily." 

She watched him cross the room, teasing friends, flirting with ladies. Everything he did seemed effortless, charming. She could admit, at least to herself, that she was more than half in love with him. Perhaps much more. When this assignment was over she would need to run very far away, indeed. But meanwhile, she drifted across the room towards the exit. She was curious what had made Casimir look so miserable.

When she reached the alcove of the portico where they had kissed, it was to find him leaning against the door and scrubbing at his face with his hands.

"Casimir, what is it? You're worrying me."

He pulled his hands from his face and, if possible, looked even more haggard than he had inside. "In a moment. First, this."

His hands settled on her hips and he gently tugged her forward. She could tell that if she resisted he would release her. She went to him willingly. Once she was pressed against him he raised one hand to cup her cheek. His hold was still so light, she knew he was waiting to see if she would pull away. She leaned forward to take his lips with her own. Her action unleashed him and his hold became firm, possessive. 

If their first kiss had been a romantic invitation, this one was barely restrained passion. His tongue swept through her mouth, tasting of wine. He nibbled and suckled on her lower lip as though she were the most delectable dish at a feast. Her blood began to smolder and she pressed against him, her fingers clutching at the silk of his shirt. With a soft growl he ran his hand up from her hip to her breast. When he squeezed the curve and ran his palm over her muslin covered nipple she gasped in response, heat pooling low in her belly. She thought she knew what sex was, but if she did then this was something else entirely. This was elemental need. This was more vital than thirst or hunger. She raised a leg to wrap around his and he shifted to pull her into the cradle of his spread limbs. His kisses strayed to her neck and she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, crushing her chest to his. The only words she could form in her mind were
yes
,
more
, and
please
, but she couldn't even vocalize them. His hands moved down to grip her bottom and pull her forcefully against his erection, his own hips rocking against hers. At that he tore his lips away from her skin, breathing hard, and embraced her in a hug rather than continuing his carnal pursuit. She rested her head on his shoulder as he murmured to her in a language she didn't understand. He seemed to realize his mistake and switched to English.

"I'm sorry."

"Never be sorry about this."

His tone turned wry. "Perhaps I should apologize to your husband instead."

She tipped her head back until she met his eyes. He was not only haggard but haunted now. "Never, ever apologize to that man who calls himself my husband."

He rested his forehead against hers. "It would be disingenuous anyway. I'm not sorry. I can't be. My only regret is that we can't be together."

Oh God, yes, she should have started running at that first kiss. Because now she wanted nothing more than to be with him.

His breathing finally calmed. "That wasn't why I brought you out here."

"Well, that's just terrible. You should have."

A smile warmed his features briefly but he couldn't seem to hold on to his good humor. "I need help with something. It might be dangerous, but I only want to work with someone I can trust. And I, well, I have the impression you have contacts in the government?"

All of George's senses went on alert. This could be everything she had worked for. Two years of training, two months on assignment. Now one of her sources wanted to share information with her. It could be nothing. It could be silly, or some weak excuse for them to spend time alone together. Or it could be something. Should she admit her connection to the Foreign Office in the hopes that it would encourage him to share his information? Or was this simply a trap to identify her?

Rather than respond she held her breath and waited for him to continue, letting him assume what he might from the fact that she didn’t deny it.