When Tempting a Rogue (19 page)

He kissed her forehead and traced gentle circles on the small of her spine. She could hear the beating of his heart as she placed her head on his warm, slightly damp chest. In that one perfect moment, hearing his heart mimic the beating of her own, it was as though everything made sense. Everything was where it belonged.

And so was she.

Chapter 11

H
e’d been awake for at least half an hour, watching Vienne as she slept. She looked so peaceful—like an angel at rest—he couldn’t bring himself to wake her, even though the longer she stayed, the more scandal they courted.

What was this feeling fluttering in his chest? This wasn’t how he’d felt about her the first time. Back then everything seemed so dramatic and earth shattering. Now there was just a happy sort of peace filling him up inside. Trystan didn’t need to think too hard upon it; he recognized the emotion for what it was—all he had to do was open himself to the inevitability.

He was in love with Vienne La Rieux.

It was entirely possible that he’d never fallen out of love with her, despite all her efforts to encourage just that. It would not be easy to convince her to do otherwise now either. She would resist him with as much fervor as she could, simply to protect herself. He would be able to gauge the depths of her emotions by how frightened she was. It wouldn’t happen right away. In a few days, once she began to realize what she had done, and those feelings began to take hold, she’d fight him.

Only this time he was ready for the battle. He wouldn’t be cast aside like a stupid boy who didn’t know a frightened woman when he saw one. This time he would do everything in his power to make her realize she was not alone.

He realized now that this had been the plan all along. He told himself he wanted to be her equal and have her acknowledge that, and this was still true. But what he truly wanted was for her to realize they were good for one another—perhaps even perfect. He wanted her to allow him to help clean out that internal cupboard of hers and toss out the ancient skeletons she hid there.

What had driven this home to him? When he saw her fall from that ladder and realized he would rather take an injury than see it happen to her. If he could take away all her pain, both physical and emotional, he would do it. Even if it meant he would have to experience it all himself.

His mother insisted that he find himself a wife, and he had found her. All that stood in his way was the chosen bride. She would not surrender without a fight, he thought, a smile curving his lips. It was good, then, that he was more than up for the challenge.

Vienne’s auburn lashes fluttered and opened. Her gaze was unfocused as it met his and she blinked before rubbing the sleep from her eyes with her knuckles. When she looked at him again, her vision was clear.

“Good morning,” he said.

She frowned. “What time is it?”

“Vienne.” He placed just enough amused censure in his tone to make her blush. He loved that he, of all people, could bring a flush to the usually so cool and composed Madame La Rieux.

Sheepishly, she smiled and stretched. The sheets tried valiantly to conceal her nakedness to no avail. Trystan’s morning was made—with a peek of pale coral nipple.

“Bon matin,”
she said, squirming closer so she could wrap one long silken leg over his. “Did you sleep well?”

Trystan grinned. “Oddly enough, yes. I would have thought having such a delectable woman beside me would prove a distraction, but it seems that you are better than a sleeping powder.”

“If only I could manage to bottle and sell it, I would be rich beyond words.”

He put his arm around her and pulled her tight against his chest. Her breasts were warm against him. “I do not think I would want to share your powers with the rest of the world.”

She eyed him for a moment, and the teasing light in her gaze faded into something that reminded him of wonder. “You really wouldn’t, would you? After everything I’ve done, you would want me all to yourself?”

There was no point in denying it, even though he knew admitting such would probably frighten her. He lifted a lock of her hair from the pillow and stroked the shiny, copper length. “I would, yes. Does that bother you?”

Vienne propped her head up in her hand. She couldn’t be too upset by the admission because her free hand stroked the edges of his ribs, and she didn’t try to shield her nudity from his gaze. “A little,” she confessed. “I am not accustomed to men wanting me all to themselves.”

The reminder that she’d had other lovers shouldn’t have cut as deep as it did. He’d always known she was experienced, though far from what he would consider promiscuous. It wasn’t the fact that there had been other men; it was the idea that he might not measure up under comparison.

“You are jealous.” Her tone was lightly teasing, but there was an edge to it as well, as though she expected this might grow into an argument.

Trystan smiled, pushing the negative emotion aside. It didn’t matter if he was the best lover she ever had, so long as he was the last. “So accuses the woman who bartered her time and friendship to prevent another woman from spending the evening with me.”

She pinched his arm. “It isn’t polite to throw a lady’s words back at her.”

He stroked a hand up the back of her thigh. “I suppose it isn’t polite to do this either.” As he spoke, he gently eased a finger inside her. She was warm and slick, and clenched sweetly at the intrusion.

Vienne gasped. “No, it certainly is not.”

Trystan slowly withdrew his finger and then slid it inside her again. “How fortunate for both of us, then, that I am such a rude man.”

She chuckled. “Indeed.”

This time when he removed his finger, he replaced it with his erection. They made love on their sides, facing one another. To watch her face as passion took over was amazing—seeing how she flushed as her eyelids became heavy and lips parted with every soft breath.

He wanted to do this for the rest of his life. With
her
.

Afterward, he held her against his chest and kissed her forehead. She was a disheveled mess as opposed to her normal perfectly turned-out self, and she was gorgeous.

“Trystan?” she murmured against his chest.

“Mm-hm?”

“What time is it?”

Laughing, he checked the small clock on his bedside table. He winced. “It’s a quarter of ten.”

She bolted upright. “What? Oh,
mon Dieu
!” Then she went off in a torrent of such fast and furious French, he could only make out the odd word. She was not pleased, as was evident when she tossed back the blankets and stomped around the room snatching up her clothing.

“Vienne.” She ignored him. “Vienne!”

“What?” She whirled on him, hair streaming around her shoulders, clothes clasped to her front. “There’s no way I can sneak out of here quietly, Trystan. Someone will see me leaving this place wearing evening clothes—and the gossip will be so very, very annoying.”

Most women he knew would find the idea of people talking about her personal life a catastrophe—ruination. Vienne found it annoying. Like a fly buzzing about her head.

“I sent Havers ’round to Saint’s Row earlier with a letter for your maid requesting she send a change of clothing for you in a discreet bag. You can change into day wear, fix your hair, and leave here this morning looking as though you arrived for a breakfast meeting.”

She stared at him. “Are you serious?”

He nodded. “I am. He should be here any moment.”

She dropped the clothes and came back to the bed gloriously naked. “You are very useful man, Trystan Kane.”

He smiled. “I put a great deal of effort into being just that.” He wasn’t the least bit offended that she didn’t want people to know they’d spent the night together—he didn’t either; it was no one’s damned business.

True to his prediction, Havers knocked on the door a few moments later, just before breakfast was brought up. Meanwhile, Vienne was safely wrapped up in his spare dressing gown while he wore the other.

They shared a leisurely breakfast, something neither of them often did. Usually he read the paper and she went over plans for the day; and they tended to speak of business concerns, but not this morning. Today, they talked about frivolous things, and some personal things.

“Your brother the duke will try to run me out of town, if he finds out about this.” She gestured to the bed.

Trystan helped himself to another slice of bacon. “Don’t worry about him. Grey will do well to keep his nose out of my business.”

“You are very fortunate to have family who love you so much.”

He snorted. “I cannot say I agree with that sentiment, but I thank you for it. What about your family? You rarely speak of them.”

She shrugged—the French could convey so much with that very simple action. “There is not much to say. They are in France and I am here.”

She closed herself off in such a way that he knew she did not want to talk about her family, or her past. He knew, then, that family played a part in whatever had happened to make her afraid of forming attachments.

Whatever Grey and Archer’s faults, he could not imagine what would have to happen for him to leave them behind and never speak to, or of, them ever again.

“Scotland Yard wants to meet with us later this afternoon to talk about the incidents at the site. Do you feel up to that?”

She arched a brow at him over her coffee cup. “Yes. You did not exhaust me so thoroughly that I feel the need to recuperate for the rest of the day.”

“Ouch. You wound me.”

Vienne grinned and tossed a croissant at his head. “Not bloody likely, Englishman.”

He laughed at the way she said “bloody”—
bluh-DEE
.

After breakfast they bathed together, which led to further delay. Then he sat and watched her fix her hair before playing lady’s maid and helping her into her teal day gown. It felt very domestic, very comfortable and very
right
.

“Will I see you at the site later?” he asked, trying not to sound overly eager.

“Yes. I have luncheon with Sadie, but I will be there. You know, we really do need to decide on a name for it. I’m tired of calling it ‘the site’ or ‘the emporium.’ It should have a name of its own.”

“We could call it Kane’s,” he suggested with a smile.

She rolled her eyes before patting him gently on the cheek. “No.” She paused. “Although perhaps both our vanities might be appeased by something such as Trystienne’s?”

He thought about it. Combining their names seemed almost silly, but he had to admit he liked the sound of it. The two of them, together forever—at least as a shopping destination. “I think it just might do,” he said.

She smiled happily, as though she had won a major victory. He had to chuckle at just how much she loved to win.

“How could I not like it when my name comes first?”

Her smile faltered just a little bit, but she took his teasing in stride. And then she kissed him good-bye, and he felt he couldn’t wait for nightfall, thought of spending the evening with her and . . . all the evenings after, if she would let him. But he couldn’t push; that would be the quickest way to drive her away.

He had driven her away last time. He would not lose her again.

V
ienne was still at her desk tackling the day’s correspondence when Sadie arrived. Her friend sailed into the room in a bright violet day gown trimmed with chartreuse and a large, wide-brimmed hat with feathers dyed to match. Only Sadie could get away with such an ensemble and make it look like the height of fashion.

Setting aside her pen, Vienne pushed away from her desk and stood, smiling at the sight of her friend.

Sadie, however, took one look at her and stopped dead in her tracks on the richly patterned carpet. “Jesus, Mary and Joseph,” she said in astonishment. “You slept with him.”

Heat crawled up Vienne’s cheeks. She felt it seep under her eyebrows. “Who?” Questions were always the best way to avoid having to answer them oneself. She skirted around Sadie to close the door to her office, lest eager ears overhear. Her friend followed her movement.

“You know very well who. Trystan Kane, the man whose heart even you say you smashed.”

This certainly wasn’t what she had expected from Sadie. Perhaps a little ribbing, or even full-on teasing, but she hadn’t thought her past actions would be thrown into her face. “That was a long time ago.”

“You haven’t changed.”

Not by much, no. “Trystan has. He doesn’t have those same romantic notions about us anymore.”

“Are you sure about that? Did you by any chance think of asking him before you jumped into his bed? What did you do, arrive at the hotel while he was having dinner with Lady Gosling?”

The fire in her cheeks roared to life again. She didn’t have to say anything; Sadie’s eyes widened. “You fixed it so they didn’t have an appointment at all, didn’t you? Arranged it so you could have him all to yourself . . . and you don’t think he might get all kinds of ‘romantic notions’ in his head because of it? For the love of all that’s holy, Vienne. What were you thinking?”

“I wasn’t!” she shot back. “I just knew I couldn’t let her or anyone else have him. I couldn’t bear it.” She slumped onto the sofa and pressed a palm to her forehead. “It never occurred to me that he might take it as some sort of declaration.”