The Caged Countess. Joanna Fulford

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The Caged Countess - Joanna Fulford Mills & Boon Historical

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close behind them Claudine let out the breath she had been holding and collapsed on to the pillows, trembling with relief. Duval smiled.

      ‘Well done.’

      ‘It is Madame who deserves our thanks,’ she replied.

      ‘She was wonderful. The police will have to look elsewhere for their spy.’ He paused. ‘Your performance too was … most creditable.’

      ‘I can act a part when I have to.’

      ‘A part you play to perfection if I may say so.’

      Indignation flared. ‘Yes, a part I play, and not at all what you think.’

      Seeing the expression of amused scepticism that greeted these words, she squirmed inwardly. She was naked and in bed with a stranger in a brothel. Not what he thought? Dear heaven! He was only too justified in thinking it. Mortified now, she hurried on.

      ‘This was a necessary ruse. If there had been any other way I would have taken it.’

      ‘Of course.’ The tone was gently mocking like his smile.

      Claudine gathered together the last shreds of her dignity. ‘I came here to meet Alain and to obtain the information he carried. The choice of venue was not mine. I would never have come here willingly any more than I would willingly have climbed into bed with you.’

      She was unable to conceal the self-disgust she felt. However, Duval put a very different interpretation on her expression just then, and amusement ebbed. Despite his doubts she had indeed played her part well, but then the darkness hid all defects and she had been acting to save her life. The truth was that she found the thought of sexual congress with him to be abhorrent. The knowledge caused a sensation that was very like pain. He had thought himself past all this and it disturbed him to discover how far he was wrong. This woman had awoken something in him that he had believed dead. For a little while, in the forgiving darkness, he had thought she wanted him too. Now he felt angry with himself. His was no longer a face to attract the fair sex. That he had imagined such a woman might desire him was so pathetic it was laughable.

      ‘You need have no fear that I would force myself on you, chérie,’ he replied. ‘I prefer my women willing.’

      The tone was perfectly even but she sensed the anger beneath. It served only to increase her shame. Mingled with it was an emotion that was disturbingly like regret.

      Duval turned away and swung his legs over the side of the bed. When he had fastened his breeches he glanced over his shoulder.

      ‘Get dressed. We’re leaving as soon as the coast is clear.’

      Claudine located her chemise and drew it on hurriedly. ‘I told you, I can take care of myself.’

      She slid out of bed and reached for the pile of discarded clothing, supremely aware of the virile figure just feet away.

      ‘I gave my word to Alain and I mean to keep it,’ he replied.

      ‘You have already kept your word.’ She found her stays. ‘I am grateful, truly. But this is where we part company.’

      ‘We part company when I have delivered you safe on English soil. Now turn around.’

      ‘Why?’

      ‘So I can lace you up, why else?’ he growled. ‘Must you argue about everything?’

      Claudine glared at him but, realising it would be impossible to manage alone, obeyed. ‘I do not argue about everything.’

      His hands moved deftly to the task. ‘No?’

      ‘No. I was just telling you …’ She broke off with a startled gasp as the lacing was drawn tight.

      ‘I know full well what you were telling me and you can save your breath.’

      ‘I won’t have any breath at this rate.’

      The laces slackened a little. ‘Better?’ Seeing her nod he fastened the stays and then stepped away to resume dressing. ‘I don’t intend to lose another English operative to Fouché’s men.’

      She donned her petticoat and reached for her gown. ‘Why burden yourself with me since I cannot please you in any way?’

      ‘You pleasing me or not is irrelevant.’

      She sighed. ‘Look, I know you mean well …’

      ‘I mean to get you back to England.’

      ‘You can’t; not without my co-operation.’

      ‘Your co-operation would be useful, but it isn’t essential.’

      Claudine stared at him. ‘I’m not sure I care for the implications of that.’

      ‘You’re right; you wouldn’t care for them at all.’

      The words were casually spoken but something in his expression gave her pause. She had no idea what he was capable of and somehow didn’t care to test the matter. He saw her uncertainty and nodded.

      ‘You’ll come with me, Claudine.’

      Unsettled by that steady gaze she looked away and glanced round for her hairpins. They were strewn across the floor, scattered in the haste of undressing. She knelt and began to retrieve the nearest ones. Although fully dressed now he made no attempt to help. Claudine, quietly fuming, continued the search, only too aware of the booted feet in her line of vision and the powerful figure above whose gaze seemed to burn into her back. The symbolism of their current positions didn’t escape her. She was equally sure it hadn’t escaped him either. Gritting her teeth she concentrated on her task. Eventually, when she had located enough pins, she got to her feet and moved away to the small mirror above the washstand.

      For a moment or two she was startled by the face reflected there; by the rosy flush along her skin and the new sparkle in her eyes. Her lips were redder too and slightly swollen now. She could still feel Duval’s mouth on hers, the touch of his hands on her naked flesh. Those five minutes in his arms had left her with an aching need, with feelings she could not afford and dared not pursue.

      Confused now, and annoyed with herself as well, she turned her attention to the task in hand. However, without a brush or a comb the options were limited. Moreover, she could still feel the weight of Duval’s gaze, intimate and unsettling. Hurriedly she drew her hair back and twisting it into a knot on the crown of her head, secured it there. The mirror revealed errant wisps curling around her neck and face. It was far from perfect but it would have to do.

      Duval held out her cloak. He settled it over her shoulders and fastened it with unhurried deliberation. The gesture was both practical and quietly assertive. It was also unnerving, like his closeness now and the warmth of his fingers brushing against her skin.

      He surveyed his handiwork and stepped back, meeting her gaze. ‘Come.’

       Chapter Three

      Having ascertained that the coast was clear Duval led her downstairs and through the house to the back door. Madame Renaud

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