Tonight or Never (32 page)

He sights fell to her lips. Those full, soft lips that he so—

What was going on inside her?

He watched her silently.

She was holding something back from him.

John wasn't sure when the idea had first entered his head, but since it
had,
he couldn't seem to get rid of it. It had been bothering him—a nagging, below-the-surface irritation that wouldn't go away.

In fact, it was getting louder and louder.

Gently, so as not to wake her, he brushed his mouth across those sweet, lush lips.
Lips that knew how to deliver heaven.

Then he eased out of bed, careful not to disturb her sleep.

Donning his green robe, he padded barefoot across the room. Silently, he opened the French doors to the balcony and walked outside.

The sun was just coming up on the eastern horizon. Its rays spread across the orchards and gardens of
Chacun
a Son
Goût
, bathing the surrounding treetops and the forests beyond in soft gold light. Everything was so still and peaceful.

Waiting to awaken.

A shiver went down his spine.

He felt so much a part of everything around him that he wondered if he too…

He shook off the odd perception, watching a small rabbit hop across the lawn, its reddish ears twitching.

A Chloe-rabbit.

He smiled tenderly, his thoughts turning inward once more.

They had come out on this balcony that one night. He had set her on this ledge and made love to her. The moonlight had bathed her in silver just as the golden sunlight bathed him now.

And he had realized how much he wanted this life, this estate, this—

Contemplatively, he ran his finger along the edge of the stone wall where she had sat looking down at him, watching him in that Chloe-cat way of hers. He imagined he could still feel her heat infusing the cold stone even now.

What was she holding back from him?

He didn't know, but whatever it was, Lord John Sexton decided he wanted it.

"I am disappointed in you."

Seven handsome
Cyndreac
heads bowed in shame.

"But we have tried everything, Marquis
Chavaneau
!" As usual,
Adrien
spoke for the group. "Nothing seems to be working."

"
Oui
!"
Jean-Jacques stepped in, coming to their collective defense. "She is not interested in an escapade with us."

Maurice threw his arms up in the air, looking at the ceiling for divine help. "Of course she is not interested! The idea was to make John
think
she is interested! And you call yourselves Frenchmen!"

The seven curly heads dropped down again.

"What else can we do?" Jean-Claude asked the older and wiser man. It was rumored that the marquis was quite knowledgeable in the ways of
amour
.

Maurice sighed. "You must make John jealous! Arrange for him to catch you with his wife in a compromising situation!"

"That would not be right to Chloe," Jean-Jules said solemnly. "What if he blames her?"

The marquis began shaking his head and muttering in French under his breath. "The youth of today know nothing! What would your father think of you, hmm? Not to be able to make one Englishman jealous over his woman!"

The seven heads sank lower.

"Perhaps we could take her into the maze?" Jean-Claude ventured.

"Yes! And then we could remove our shirts as if—"

"
Mon
Dieu
!
All of you?
He'll take out a pistol and murder the lot of you on the spot!"

The
Cyndreacs
turned deathly pale. They all swallowed at once.

It was all Maurice could do not to laugh out loud. The frisky pups were about to get their tails clipped and they didn't even know it.

Maurice shook his head back and forth, sorrowfully. "
Non
, non
, I see now it will not work—best we forget this idea for now."

They sat straight up in their chairs. "But we wish to help you!"

"Yes, you were great friends with our papa."

"The countess has always been very kind to us."

"We will think of a way to entice Chloe—"

Maurice put up his hands to stop the sincere outpouring. "I see there is much you need to learn, my boys, on the mysterious subject of romance."

"We live for romance!" they all shouted.

"Good. That is good. A Frenchman should live for romance. However… there are some nuances you need to learn. Ordinarily your father would have taught you; unfortunately that cannot happen." Maurice let that thought sink in.

Adrien
rubbed his ear. "What you say is true; we could use some guidance."

Maurice nodded.

"Marquis, in light of the relationship our families have always enjoyed… would you be willing to teach us?"

"
Moi
?"
Maurice asked, feigning surprise.

"
Oui
, you are very knowledgeable, and Papa always trusted you."

"Hmm."
Maurice pretended he was thinking it over. The brothers leaned closer to him, eagerly awaiting his answer, their faces alight with hope.

"Yes, I believe I will."

Identical grins lit up their faces.

"With some conditions, of course," Maurice added shrewdly.

"Conditions?
What conditions, Marquis?" Jean-Paul gave him a worried look.

"Tonight, the countess is staging an elaborate 'end of party' ball in the hopes that the ton will get the message that the house party is over and move on. I will be leaving sometime at the end of the ball to return to my estate in
Somerset."

Adrien
was puzzled. "Does the countess know this?"

"Not yet," Maurice replied mysteriously. "That is not your concern, however. If you wish my guidance then you must be willing to listen to me as you would have your father—for I will accept no less."

They were all silent at that pronouncement.

"You may enjoy the ball, naturally, but you will follow me to Somerset directly after. There you will be instructed in proper deportment for men such as yourselves."

That did not sit so well with the young counts. They were used to their freedom. Indeed, they had run with it.

"How do you ever expect to catch a worthy bride if you continue this way? What have you to offer?"

They hadn't thought of that.

"We—we have no estate; everything has been taken from us,"
Adrien
said sadly.

"I will take you under my wing—but only under those conditions." He was telling them that the
Chavaneau
name would be behind them
if
they agreed to place themselves under his watchful eye.

The brothers hesitated under the weight of the terrible decision.

Maurice took out his pocket watch and opened it, implying he was much too busy to wait very long. "Do you agree?"

The
Cyndreacs
looked from one to the other.

"Would we have to give up fighting among ourselves?"

"Yes."

They sighed.

"Your papa would want you to do this," Maurice said softly.

"Very well,"
Adrien
answered for them. "We will agree."

"I have the word of all
Cyndreacs
?"

"Yes," they answered dully, not at all sure about this.

"
Bien
.
Now you will go and get ready for the ball, and I expect you to behave yourselves tonight."

"
Oui
, Marquis
Chavaneau
," they responded in unison.

"Well, what are you waiting for? Go!" He shooed them out.

Chairs scraped the floor as they pushed themselves off and rushed to the door to leave.

Maurice smiled, shaking his head. They were engaging, but they needed guidance.
Now for his countess…

He began to hum his favorite song about a mouse that swallowed a cat.

Chapter Fourteen

Dancing with the Truth

"You look beautiful, Chloe."

The ball was well under way and every one of their guests, both English and French, was enjoying himself at the largesse of the Sextons.

John swung his wife around the ballroom floor in an English country dance.

His unconventional wife had chosen to appear at the ball in emerald green instead of the omnipresent white most women seemed to favor these days. The deep tone was a perfect foil for her red hair and complexion. She looked exquisite.

In John's opinion, Chloe was a true beauty—within and without. Unconsciously, he hugged her closer to him as they twirled around the dance floor.

"Thank you, John. You look very handsome tonight." She smiled graciously up at him. "But I think you always look handsome."

So did most of the women there, for they hadn't once taken their eyes off her stunning husband.

John was dressed in buff-colored breeches with a black waistcoat, jacket, and boots to match. The white silk shirt he wore stood out in stark contrast to the simple yet effective color scheme. His gilded, shoulder-length hair hung loose about his shoulders, gleaming under the light of hundreds of candles.

John noted the way Chloe was observing him.
Like he was a box of her favorite truffles.
He chuckled. In some regards, she was not adept at hiding what she was thinking.
In others…

The nagging thought resurfaced again. What was she holding back from him?

He intended to get to the bottom of that.
Tonight
.

"I'd like to take you upstairs right now," he murmured, half to himself.

Chloe was scandalized. They were the hosts; they couldn't leave. "John, we can't!"

"Hmm?"
He gave her a confused look, not realizing he had spoken out loud.

Chloe grinned. Well, what could she expect from the Lord of Sex? It seemed to be a subject never far from his mind. Or other places, she thought with a snort as he adeptly led her into the dance.

The octagonal ballroom at
Chacun
à
Son
Goût
was eighty feet in length and was lit by no less than six magnificent chandeliers. Due to its size and grandeur, the room wasn't used very often. Tonight, however, was a special occasion.

John eyed the full-to-overflowing room with resignation. So far no one was taking the hint. Not one person had arranged for his carriage the next day. Apparently everyone was having too good a time to leave.

John's nostrils flared in annoyance. "How do I get rid of them, Chloe?"

She laughed gaily at the frustrated expression on his face. For a man who, until recently, lived the carefree life of a rake, he was certainly having his share of situations to deal with.

Chloe pretended to give the matter a great deal of thought. "That is a difficult dilemma, my lord."

John quirked an eyebrow at her.
"Surely you can think of something, Chloe-cat. As I recall, you were always good at schemes."

Chloe started. What did he mean by that? She peeked up at him from under her lashes.

She let out a sigh of relief. He seemed to be speaking in general terms.

"Well…" she wrinkled her nose
. "
You could always hint at the outbreak of fever at the neighboring estate."

John gave her a concerned look. "Is there?"

"No, but you could
hint
there is." Two mischievous dimples scored her cheeks.

"Chloe, you are devious." An appreciative smile etched his handsome face; he winked down at her. "I admire that."

She flashed him a gamine grin. "Watch how fast they clear out, my lord."

John chuckled. "I believe I shall begin spreading the rumor after supper. The staff has gone to a great deal of trouble preparing everything—no
sense in letting their efforts go
for naught."

"Oh, I agree, my lord. I confess I have been looking forward to tonight, and why should we spoil our evening?" She smiled conspiratorially at him.