style="font-size:15px;"> She became still. “Yes, I changed it for you.”
“I am glad.” He said, “I believe I am well enough to go downstairs, if you do not mind. Walking would be beneficial.”
She started. “Of course I don’t mind.” But she wondered if he would be able to make it down the stairs, which were rather steep and narrow.
“These four walls might madden me,” he added, buttoning up the rest of his shirt.
She watched his long, blunt fingers sliding the buttons into the buttonholes. Last night, his hands had been on the arms of his chair as she had rubbed his neck. Eventually, she had seen his knuckles turn white. She still could not believe her audacity—or how touching him had affected her.
He sat and began to pull his stockings on.
She wanted to ask him about his family, but she said, “Can I be of help?”
“Haven’t you helped enough already?” He seemed wry.
He knew she was as nervous and anxious as a debutante, she thought, flushing. She watched him pull both boots on. “Where does your family live?”
He stood up. “My family is from le Loire. My father’s shop was in Nantes.” He smiled, extending his arm. “Will you walk with me, Julianne? I can think of nothing I wish to do more.”
Julianne took his arm. “You are so very gallant. Of course I will walk with you. I just hope we are not rushing your recovery.”
“I enjoy your concern.” His gaze slid over her features, lingering on her mouth.
She forgot to be worried about his welfare. He was thinking about kissing her.
“I would be rather dismayed,” he added softly, “if you were not concerned about me.”
Her smile failed her. He gestured and they traversed the corridor in a new silence. She felt his thoughts racing. She wished she knew exactly what he was thinking, certain he was thinking about her.
Suddenly she realized his breathing was becoming labored. “Monsieur?”
He paused, leaning against the wall. “I am fine.”
She gripped his arm more tightly, to steady him, and his biceps pressed against her breast. Their gazes locked.
Her heart slammed.
And then he sagged, as if his knees had buckled. Julianne leapt forward, wrapping both of her arms around his waist, afraid he would fall entirely over and down the stairs. She embraced him, her face pressed against his chest.
“You are far too weak for this,” she accused breathlessly. She could hear his heart pounding beneath her ear.
He was silent, breathing hard, and she felt his frustration change. He grasped her waist loosely, his chin pressing against her temple, and she felt his breath against her cheek.
They were in one another’s arms.
Breathing became impossible. Her heart thundered. And his entire body began stiffening against hers.
Julianne went still. She looked up; his eyes were heated now.
“Julianne,” he said. “You are far too tempting like this.”
His tone had been rough. She wet her lips. “Monsieur.” Did she dare confess that she was as tempted by him?
“Charles,” he said softly, tightening his embrace. “You are so beautiful… You are so kind.”
She could barely think. Most of her body remained pressed against his. Her breasts were crushed by his chest. Her skirts covered his legs. She felt his knees against her thighs. He was stirring against her, a sensation she had never before experienced. She wanted to tell him that she would not mind, if he thought to kiss her. She wanted him to kiss her—she wanted, desperately, to kiss him back.
Suddenly he shifted and she was the one with her back against the wall. His gaze moved to her mouth but he released her, stepping backward. “I do not want to take advantage of you.”
She wasn’t sure she had ever been so disappointed. “You cannot take advantage of me.”
One brow cocked upward, skeptically. “You are a woman without experience.”
“I have had a great many experiences,” she tried.
“I am not referring to assemblies and debates, Julianne.” His gaze was searching.
She did not know what to say. “I have been courted. Tom Treyton is smitten with me.”
He stared. “Let us go downstairs. I am determined, now.”
Dismay consumed her. Why hadn’t he kissed her? And didn’t he care about Tom? It was a moment before she could speak. “Are you certain? You are obviously weaker than either of us realized.”
“I am certain,” he said softly, “that I must regain my strength, which I will not be able to do lying in bed with your tending to my every whim.” He suddenly pulled away from her, seized the banister and started downstairs, giving her no choice but to follow.
In the hall below, he paused, lightly holding on to the banister, glancing carefully around.
For one moment, Julianne almost had the feeling that he was memorizing the details of her home. “Perhaps we should sit before the hearth,” she said, indicating the two burgundy chairs there.
“Is that the parlor?” he asked, glancing at a pair of closed doors.
“That is the library. The parlor is the room closest to the front door.”
He stared past the library doors, which were closed.
“That is the dining room.” She answered his unspoken question. He was pale. He should not have come downstairs yet.
He faced her. “Where are your mother and sister?”
Did he want to know if they were alone? “Amelia took Momma outside for her daily ambulatory. They will be back shortly, as Momma cannot go far.”
“I was hoping for a tour of the premises.” He finally smiled at her, but it did not reach his eyes, and she found that odd, until she realized that he was unusually pale. Perspiration was beaded upon his brow.
“You cannot go far, either. Your tour will have to wait.”
His brow lifted at her tone.
“We are going back upstairs,” she said, meaning it. “You are not the only one capable of giving orders. You are still ill!”
He looked at her. Some amusement began to shimmer in his eyes. “You are so worried about me. I will miss your anxious concern when I leave.”
She started. She had almost forgotten that, one day, he would return to France. But surely
