drunk and Archer would ask too many questions.
It wasn’t that he was afraid of them or of Antoine Leodegrance. He simply didn’t want to share. He wanted to keep Alyssandra to himself. She shifted in her sleep and murmured something softly incoherent. He looked down where her head rested against his shoulder. She was beautiful even in her sleep, with all that hair falling over her shoulder in a silky curtain of caramel, the sweep of dark lashes against her cheek.
He was already planning when he could see her again and how. After tonight, he knew that once would not be enough. That was the complicated part. There were the logistics, but there were also the ethics. How long could he go on seeing Leodegrance’s sister without telling him? She was of an age to make her own decisions, but Haviland felt something of the cuckolder to face Leodegrance across the fencing piste while pursuing the man’s sister behind his back, regardless of her age. Although it might be best if Leodegrance remained oblivious. The man would want to know his intentions and those were hardly classified as honourable.
Despite the concerns, Haviland knew it wouldn’t stop him. Tonight had been heady stuff indeed. It had been hard to tell who was seducing whom. They’d been partners in pleasure. The result had been explosive and satisfying. The result had also been dangerous—it had created an intimacy, that if pursued, would eventually make demands of its own. There were already signs of it. When I kiss you, you look like a man who could be happy.
She saw too much and he could not give her that part of himself. She wanted to know him, but therein lay the rub. If she knew him, she wouldn’t want him. How could he tell her he was expected to return home and marry Lady Christina Everly? Not only was he expected to marry, but it was a match he’d known about since he was eight years old. He could not plead ignorance.
But neither could Alyssandra, on different grounds. She was no blushing English virgin expecting marriage. She’d come to him for pleasure, not a proposal. She’d come to him tonight knowing full well what could happen and she’d certainly initiated a fair share of it. One night did not qualify as an affaire. However, the longer this went on, expectations would form, a consequence of intimacy that went beyond physical pleasure. It occurred to him that just as he’d never indulged in a purely self-motivated pursuit of a woman, neither had he indulged in a free-standing affaire. It was different than dealing with mistresses where the terms and expectations were less emotional and far more defined. The carriage pulled to a halt and Haviland gave Alyssandra a gentle shake. ‘We’re here.’
She lifted her head and gave him a drowsy smile that had him wishing the driver could take another turn around the city, but the sky was already considerably brighter than when they’d left his rooms. He jumped down and helped her out, insisting on watching her all the way to the door when she refused to let him walk her any farther. He doubted Antoine Leodegrance was awake this time of day, but the servants would be up and servants would talk.
‘Goodnight, or should I say good morning?’ She gave him one last smile and turned to go before it became too difficult. He wanted nothing more than to haul her back to his rooms and lock the day out. Haviland caught her arm before she could slip away. There was at least one detail they could settle that would make the rest of the day tolerable. ‘I have to be at the salle this afternoon, but this evening, where can I find you?’
She gave him a coy smile. ‘I’ll send you a note.’
Haviland arched a brow. ‘It’s to be a puzzle, then?’
Alyssandra stepped away, dancing backwards with a little trill of laughter. ‘I have it on good authority you like a woman of mystery. À ce soir, Haviland.’
Haviland folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the carriage, watching her until she disappeared. Even the Leodegrance home was private in the extreme. A high stone wall set it apart from the street, making the house accessible only through the arch that led into the inner courtyard. Certain she was safely inside, Haviland climbed back into the carriage for the lonely drive home.
Only he wasn’t alone. She had not left him entirely. The carriage smelled faintly of her soap—lavender and lemongrass—as did his coat where she’d rested against him. The seat was still warm from her body, he was still warm. It was something of a novelty to realise he wanted her again, or was it that he wanted her still? After a night of rather thorough lovemaking, he would have thought he was ready for a respite, not just for a chance to recover, but to reclaim his space. He’d always been happy after a night with a woman’s charms to be back in his space, to have his privacy. He enjoyed women, but he didn’t need them clinging to him every second of the day. He liked an independent woman. But this morning he’d not been ready to let Alyssandra go.
* * *
Back at the rooms, Brennan had returned, looking entirely unkempt. Most of his clothes were draped over a chair instead of on his person, a sure sign he’d had to make a quick exit from somewhere. Apparently, he wasn’t in any great danger, though, because he’d stopped for breakfast. French rolls, cheese and a block of rich creamy butter were laid out on the dining table.
‘Just getting in?’ Brennan said around a mouthful of bread. He motioned to an empty chair. ‘I’ll have Guillaume bring coffee.’
Haviland gave a tired smile, the night catching up with him at last. ‘Thank you, but I think I’ll go to bed.’
Brennan winked. ‘I’ve already been there tonight, twice in fact.’
‘You can tell me about it later.’ Haviland tried to laugh, but it came out as a yawn. He didn’t know how Brennan did it; up all night, every night, and always cheerful as if his personal life didn’t teeter on the edge of disaster.
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