Tonight or Never (3 page)

Chloe had never seen precisely that expression on John before.

She stepped back from him and almost lost her balance on the stairs. His strong arm shot out to steady her. And bring her closer to him. He did not release her elbow.

"I'm waiting."

Chloe tossed her head back, breaking free of his hold. "Don't be a
snibble
-toad! It is none of your concern what I have done!"

Snibble
-toad
hardly registered because her
nonanswer
was answer enough for him. His emerald gaze met hers in silence for an eternity.

Good, let him think the worst
! This was an unexpected bonus for it fit in perfectly with her plans. She convinced herself that the slight sheen of moisture in his left eye was a trick of the light. Surely his feelings were not hurt in some way?

Nonsense!

Smiling softly, Chloe stood on tiptoe and patted his cheek.
This close she could discern the clean scent of his hair; it always reminded her of a field of clover.
"I had a wonderful example," she purposely goaded him in the softest of tones.

Against expectations, John flinched at her words and swiftly grabbed her wrist in a crushing hold, bringing her flat against him. This time she knew she saw real emotion in his eyes.

"What do you mean by that?" he hissed.

She threw her head back, bringing her lips close to his chin, so he could feel the warmth of her breath on him. "Even in the Colonies I heard about your women, John."

Her words surprised him. He hesitated briefly.
"So what?"

His long lashes fanned his cheeks, the rich black color a stunning contrast to the long golden hair framing his face. Then he raised those lashes, meeting her questioning look.

"I am sure nothing I have done has ever been a shock to you, Chloe-cat." The deep male voice literally purred a sexual challenge.

Chloe flushed. It was the first time John had ever toyed with her in such a blatantly seductive manner. She wondered if he was even aware he was doing it.

She had never imagined how… how
potent
he could be. No, that wasn't exactly true; she had imagined it. Who would have guessed that the reality far surpassed the fantasy? Chloe wasn't sure whether she should inhale or exhale.

She settled on a better technique.

"All of these lovers," she returned in a low, intimate voice, "they must bring you great satisfaction.
N'est-ce
pas
?"

He observed her in stony silence, a muscle working in his jaw.

In that moment Chloe knew she had discovered something. Something he kept well hidden. Instantly she became serious. "Why do you need all of these women, John?"

The question was a mistake. She knew it the second the words left her mouth.

John pulled away from her, moving down one step, his distance now not just physical.

Crossing his arms over his chest, he leaned against the wall. The grin that crossed his face was arrogant, rakish, and terribly annoying. "Well, I do
like
it, Chloe."

She had no doubt of that—he was a rake. Perhaps she was expecting too much from him in this regard? The man was notoriously oversexed.

"Why else would I do it?"

Why else indeed
? It had been a question that had plagued her for years. This time Chloe felt the sheen of moisture in her own eyes. His seemingly careless assessment of his sordid life upset her deeply. If she did not know him as well as she did, she would have believed that was all there was to the story.

However, Chloe knew better.

With a resolve she never knew she possessed, she said very calmly, "Yes—that is my point. I believe I will like it too."
Whereupon she smiled like a true Chloe-cat.

The smug look died on John's face. He abandoned his casual stance. "What are you saying?"

"I am saying, dear, imaginative rake, that I intend to be exactly… like… you." She picked up her skirt and breezed by him down the stairs. John's jaw dropped.

He still hadn't recovered when she paused to say over her shoulder, "I mean with men, of course."

Continuing down the stairs, she began counting to herself.
One.
Two.
Thr
—"

"You intend to
what
?"

A mischievous grin made her violet eyes sparkle as she ignored the bellow behind her and nonchalantly made her way to the central hall.

"What is all this yelling about?" Chloe's grandmother, the Countess de
Fonbeaulard
, rushed into the foyer from the drawing room.

John was not overly surprised to see his uncle, Maurice
Chavaneau
, the Marquis of
Cotingham
, at her side. The man had been slavishly in love with the countess for thirty years and had even left his own French estates to follow the woman to
England when she had become Chloe's legal guardian.

Chloe's father had been an Englishman, like John. In his will he had stipulated that Chloe must be raised on English soil.
His
English soil, to be precise.
So the countess, who loved her granddaughter far more than her beloved chateau, had left
France, although she never let anyone forget the grand sacrifice she had made, nor forgiven "that
Engleeeshman
," Chloe's father. In retaliation, when she had moved with the six-year-old Chloe into the father's Georgian estate, she promptly renamed it
Chacun
à
Son
Goût
—
Each
to his own taste
.

The new name of the house reflected the countess's personal philosophy on life. She was a flamboyant, interesting woman, who maintained her enormous popularity with the males of her set. In her youth, the widow's reputation in the boudoir fell just short of John's.

Nowadays, her dazzling personality and great beauty still were admired and respected by all her contemporaries. Indeed, the marquis had been slavishly in love with her for decades. It was rumored he asked her to marry him once a week.
On Fridays.
At teatime.

Maurice
Chavaneau
, John's only living relative, was also a French marquis and preferred to be called such. John himself did not have French blood, although he could lay claim to Norse, Celtic, and Saxon blood.

The marquis was John's mother's half brother, having inherited his English title from that side of the family. And so, too, John was his only living relative. In other words, John was his heir.

It was not such a comforting thing to have one such as John as one's heir even if one was very Gallic in temperament and had a tendency to shrug off the foibles of youth. After all, John was a complete wastrel, and had never pretended or aspired to be anything else.

Still, his uncle, a kindhearted man, had great affection for the younger lord.
Even if he did despair of him ever producing an heir to carry on the line.

At this point, the marquis thought even an illegitimate heir would be welcome, but John had been very careful in that regard.
And apparently very knowledgeable too.
No Sexton bastards had ever appeared on his lordship's doorstep.

"Ah! It is John—come to see our Chloe." Countess de
Fonbeaulard
smiled fondly at the handsome lord.

"Oh ho!
I knew he would not stay away long!" The marquis spoke English with a thick French accent.

"Is she not beautiful, John? Almost I did not recognize her!" Maurice winked at the countess. "All the
Fonbeaulard
women are beautiful."

The countess tapped his arm with her fan. "Really, Maurice, you are a consummate flatterer—but I agree with you; Chloe has come
into her own
."

"Thank you,
Grandmere
," Chloe said sweetly.
"You too, Maurice."
Chloe joined them at the bottom of the stairs and gazed innocently up at Lord Sexton, who was still standing in the middle of the stairs, nostrils flaring.

"I think soon we shall have the coming-out party for you, my little angel."

Little angel
?
John gave the countess an incredulous look.

"We have already put it off far too long."
Grandmere
raised a scented handkerchief to her eyes, dabbing them. "It will not be long before she leaves us, Maurice. How shall I bear it?"

Grandmere
was ever the dramatic one. Chloe tried not to laugh as, predictably, the marquis put his arm around her grandmother, patting her back consolingly. She knew Maurice was about to impart the Gallic wisdom that always accompanied these little nuances of life.

Right on cue the marquis shrugged his shoulders in a very French gesture. "It is the way of things,
mon
amour
. We cannot go against nature."

Chloe's lips twitched with suppressed amusement. At that moment her eyes met John's. Despite his vexation at her, there was an answering glint of humor in his expression. The two of them had been watching the same scenario in various forms for most of their lives.

As usual,
Grandmere
recovered remarkably fast, all traces of tears somehow vanishing immediately. The countess took the phrase
c'est
la vie
as a personal motto.

"Yes, why be upset on this glorious day when we should be dining?" Turning, she took the marquis's arm. "Come along, John, we have had a place set at the table for you."

Desultorily, John ambled down the stairs. "How did you know I was coming?"

Maurice raised an eyebrow at him.
"Ho
ho
!"

John glared at him.

The marquis wasn't fooled. Singing a silly country tune in French under his breath, he led the countess into the dining room.

A smattering of the lyrics reached John. Some nonsense about a mouse that ate a cat…

"Shall we go, John?" Chloe said amiably.

The viscount wasn't fooled by her act for a minute. The minx had the audacity to bat her eyelashes at him.

He took a deep breath and exhaled it. "We are not through with this, you and I."

"Oh, I should hope not! Why, I have only just begun," Chloe murmured mysteriously as she took his arm.

"
Mmm
.
I was afraid of that."

Twice he tried to trip her as he led her into the dining room.

When they entered the dining room, the man known simply as
Deiter
was already seated at the table.

This was no great surprise.

Despite the strange man's unfortunate tendency to fall asleep at the oddest times, he never missed a meal.

Simply put,
Deiter
was family, although no one was quite sure exactly whose family. He had been with them for so
long,
it was naturally assumed he belonged on
someone's
side.

Deiter
greeted Lord Sexton with his customary grunt. It was one of two responses the man possessed, the other being a piercing stare.

Both expressions, John had to admit, accessorized the man's constant wardrobe of black to perfection. He nodded to the squat German as he took his seat across from Chloe.

Schnapps, an exceedingly ugly pug dog—
who
was never far from
Deiter's
lap—provided the piercing stare. The one tooth the dog possessed stuck out of its mouth at an odd angle, lending a maniacal impact to the sentiment.

Between the two of them, we are sure to get the entire range of emotion
. An amused dimple curved John's cheek.

John rather liked the presence of
Deiter
.

Not because he was fond of the man himself—one would have trouble admitting to a fondness for
Deiter
—it was rather because
Deiter
represented to John everything unique that he had come to associate with
Chacun
à
Son
Goût
.

He had always had a special attachment to this house. It was one of the few places where he felt comfortable down to his toes. That the countess was a consummate hostess was an indisputable part of the reason.

But it was more.

There was for John a sense of happiness about this house.
A sense of life and laughter that he had rarely seen elsewhere.