wolves? I would have thought...’ Archer began.
Haviland stood, grabbing a spare rag to take with him. He didn’t particularly want to hear what Archer thought. He wasn’t up to listening to Nolan and Archer debate wolves, horses and humans. He wanted to retreat, nurse his cheek and think in the privacy of his room where his friends couldn’t voice their well-meant opinions.
Alyssandra Leodegrance had him spinning. She was beautiful and intriguing. It was the latter that concerned him most. What drew him to her? Where did the intrigue come from? Some women could naturally affect an air of mystery. Was she one of them or was there truly a mystery about her?
Haviland lay on his bed, eyes closed, his thoughts turning inward. He suspected the mystery had to do with what she wanted with him. She wanted him and yet she didn’t. It was as if she was afraid to get too close. Her actions where he was concerned were things of contradictions. She’d signalled him to approach at the musicale, she’d gone into the garden with him knowing who he was. She’d kissed him knowing that, too, and yet she was reluctant to accept his offer for pleasure in full.
Today had followed much the same pattern. She’d spent the afternoon with him and then pushed him away when they had to confront the consequences of their brief indulgence.
He knew what Brennan would say. She’s using you for sex, reeling you in nice and slow until you’re mad for her and nothing more. That’s every man’s dream. Embrace it. It wasn’t quite his dream, particularly. His dream was freedom. His dream was choosing his own destiny. A thought came to him. Haviland’s eyes opened slowly, as if opening them too quickly would cause the idea to evaporate. Suddenly, he knew why she intrigued him. She’d not been selected for him by someone else. He’d chosen her. She was his choice alone.
* * *
Julian Anjou chose to remain near the long windows in the main foyer of the Leodegrance hôtel while he waited for Alyssandra to return. He schooled his anger, focusing instead on the green expanse of the back garden. Perhaps a nobler man would contain his emotions better, but he was not that man. He was a man who had pulled himself up the social ladder rung by painstaking rung with the talent of his sword. He might look like a gentleman on the outside after years of cultivation, but inside he was a scrapper from the streets and a desperate one at that.
So close and yet so far as the expression went. He had free access to the elegant, generations-old hôtel of the noble Leodegrances, he worked side by side with the vicomte himself. His own mother had been a washerwoman. She would have been beside herself with her son’s success. But it was not enough for him. He understood how fragile his elevated status was, how precarious. He was not permanently bound to Antoine Leodegrance in any way and yet all his own status rested on Antoine’s. Should the salle fail, should Antoine be exposed, Antoine would survive it in some fashion, reduced though it might be. But he would not. No one would care where he landed. Fencing instructors without references were cheaply come by.
Behind him he could hear the front door open and Alyssandra’s voice as she passed her pelisse to a waiting footman. He turned from the window and watched her face pale when she saw him, but she did not try to evade him or his reason for being there.
‘He will be gone in six weeks, what harm can come of it? I’ll never see him again,’ she said baldly, her dark eyes meeting his in challenge. She joined him at the window, unafraid. She was far too bold. If he was Antoine, he would have taken a strap to her and demanded obedience. This latest adventure of hers could ruin them all and for what? For a roll in the grass with an Englishman? For momentary pleasure? There were far safer ways to achieve those ends.
Julian exhaled, letting his mind clear. Anger would not endear him to her and that’s what he needed— endearment, and if not that, at least tolerance. ‘When I suggested we use feminine wiles to keep him from asking questions, I was not suggesting we use yours.’
Images from the park began to stir in his mind where he’d trapped them. He’d rather not think of her as he’d seen her this afternoon, her hair loose, her face flushed, her eyes closed, savouring her pleasure, the Englishman pressed against her. And that sound she’d made, that mewl of unmistakable delight. He wanted to be the one who offered her those pleasures. He could, too. If it was pleasure she was after, he had more than one talent to his repertoire. It might be time to remind her, get her to reconsider what he’d once offered her.
‘I’m surprised you’re here.’ Alyssandra ignored his remark. Her tone was cool, but not entirely. There was concern beneath it. ‘I didn’t think you’d really tell Antoine.’
‘And hurt him like that?’ he queried. Alyssandra was a loyal creature. It would be worthwhile to stir that particular pot with a little guilt. ‘Do you know what that would do to him?’ Julian replied. ‘He will not hear it from me that his sister was playing the harlot in the park.’
‘Of course not.’ Her words were filled with acid. ‘It hardly suits your purposes.’ She made to move past him, but Julian wasn’t done. His hand shot out and gripped her arm. She was not going to walk away from him as if he were a servant, as if he didn’t wager his fate every day on the twins Leodegrance. He deserved her respect.
‘What are you running from? Are you afraid of what I’m going to say? Are you afraid I’m right? Only a coward would walk away and leave things unsettled.’ Julian knew just where to poke her. She was a temperamental one, any dare would spark her tenacity. She wouldn’t walk out of a room where her courage was in doubt.
She wrenched her arm free. It was the only defiance she could afford and he knew it. ‘There is nothing you can say that would frighten me.’
‘I hope so.’ Julian softened his tone. He didn’t want her angry, he wanted her confused, wanted her to doubt her attraction to the Englishman. ‘It’s not my intention to hurt you, Alyssandra. We are family, the three of us, we’re all each other has. We all guard the same secret for the same reasons. The truth is, the Englishman is just using you. I’m not telling you anything you don’t already suspect. He wants to get to your brother and you’re his best chance.’ He reached for her chin, trapping it between his thumb and forefinger, forcing her to meet his eyes. ‘In your heart, you know this is true. He tried to follow you out of the salon today, thinking to speak to your brother. He was waiting in the alley for your brother today, not you. You were a surprise.’
‘How did you know he was out there?’ Alyssandra jerked her chin away, the answer coming to her before he could supply one. ‘You followed me.’ Her eyes flashed with accusation.
‘I followed him,’ Julian corrected. ‘He left his lesson early, walked out on me, in fact. I suspected what he was up to and I was worried.’ They were standing toe to toe now. The world had narrowed to just the two of them. He was conscious of the rise and fall of her breasts, of the scent of her. He had not been this close to her in ages. It was arousing even to fight with her. But he had to be careful. He didn’t want to engender danger or she would never come to him.
‘And you kept following us. You spied on us the entire afternoon! It’s the only way you could have known where we were at.’
She was making him look obsessed. That was not the image he was going for. ‘I was protecting you,’ Julian answered swiftly. He dropped his gaze to the floor as if to appear humble, perhaps momentarily vulnerable before he dissembled. ‘Your brother is not the only one who cares for you.’ It had the desired effect. She closed her eyes and gave a tired sigh.
‘Julian, we’ve been through this—’ she began.
He held up a hand to stall her words.
