too. She remembered waking on the cottage floor to find his hand cradling her breast. The thought made her grow hot, but not with embarrassment. She began to recognise her own yearning for a man’s touch. She watched in growing alarm as he sat down to pull off his boots.
She said quickly, ‘I know how men use soft words and pretty gestures to seduce a woman, but I am not so easily caught, monsieur.’
‘Confound it, woman, I am not using any soft words,’ he snapped, but Cassie was so on edge she paid no heed.
‘I know ’tis all a sham,’ she continued, in an attempt to quell the flicker of desire that was uncurling inside her. ‘A man must have his way and the result for the woman is always disappointing.’
‘Disappointing, milady?’
With a growl he rose from the chair and came purposefully towards her. It took all Cassie’s willpower not to back away from him. She tensed as he put out his hand and took her chin between his thumb and forefinger.
‘Mayhap you have only had English lovers so far.’
She pulled her chin from his grasp. Her heart was hammering and panic was not far away, because she knew she was ready to fall into his arms at any moment. She started to gabble, trying to convince herself that such an action would be foolish in the extreme.
‘Lovers? The word is too easily used, monsieur. Love rarely comes into it, in my experience. The coupling that ensues is for the man to enjoy and the woman to endure.’
His eyes narrowed and for one fearful moment she thought he might see that as a challenge, but after a brief hesitation he turned away.
‘You might be the famous Pompadour herself and I could not make love to you tonight. I am too tired to argue the point with you now, madame. Sleep where you will, but I am going to bed.’
To Cassie’s dismay he threw himself on to the covers. He could not sleep there! She must reason with him, persuade him to move.
‘I am glad you will not try to woo me with soft words,’ she told him. ‘It will not work with me. Let me remind you I have had a husband.’
‘But not a very good one,’ he muttered, putting his hands behind his head and closing his eyes.
‘Gerald was a very accomplished lover,’ she told him indignantly.
She turned away to place her folded shawl on the trunk. Would he notice she had used the past tense? Suddenly she did not want to lie any more and she exhaled, like a soft sigh.
‘At least, he had any number of mistresses and he told me they were all satisfied with his performance. I confess I never found it very enjoyable, even when I thought I was wildly in love with him.’ She clasped her hands together and stared down at the shawl, as if gaining courage from its cheerful, sunny colours. ‘But perhaps it is wrong of me to say that, now he is no longer alive. You see, monsieur, I did not abandon my husband. I remained at Verdun, at his side, and would be there still, if he had not been killed. I made up my mind that I would not leave him, even though the provocation was very great indeed.’
There. She closed her eyes, feeling a sense of relief that she had at last confessed it. She was a widow and her husband had been unfaithful. Let him sneer at her if he wished.
A gentle snore was the only answer. Cassie turned to see that Raoul was fast asleep. Even a rough shake on the shoulder failed to rouse him. How dare he fall asleep while she was pouring out her heart! She looked at the sleeping figure. At least he was not taking up the whole bed. She blew out most of the candles and sat down on the edge of the bed, her indignation dying away as she regarded him. She reached out and gently brushed a stray lock of dark hair from his brow. He had worked tirelessly today, using all his strength and his skill to help the villagers. He deserved his rest.
Raoul surfaced from a deep sleep and lay still, eyes closed. He felt supremely comfortable, a soft mattress beneath him and a feather pillow under his head. He was still wearing his shirt and breeches but someone had put a blanket over him.
Someone.
Lady Cassandra.
He turned his head, expecting to see her dark curls spread over the pillow next to his, instead he found himself staring at a wall of white.
‘What the—?’ He sat up, frowning at the line of bolsters and pillows that stretched down the middle of the bed. On the far side of this downy barrier was Cassandra, wrapped snugly in a coverlet. He felt a momentary disappointment when he saw that her hair had been tamed into a thick plait.
She stirred, disturbed by his movements.
‘It is called bundling,’ she said sleepily.
‘I beg your pardon?’
She yawned. ‘The feather barricade between us. It is a device that I understand is often used in village courtships in England, so a man and woman could spend time together and find out if they truly liked each other without...committing themselves.’
‘I do not think it would prove much of a deterrent, if the couple were willing.’
She was awake now and eyeing him warily.
‘Well, in this case one of the couple was not willing,’ she told him, throwing back her cover and slipping off the bed.
He saw she was still wearing her stays on top of a chemise that stopped some way above her very shapely ankles.
‘I would consider that contraption of whalebone and strong linen to be a more effective deterrent than a few bolsters, milady.’
‘If you were a gentleman you would not be looking at me.’ She added scornfully, ‘But what else should I expect from a foreigner?’
Raoul picked up one of the bolsters and put it behind him, so he could lean back and watch Cassandra as she walked across to the washstand. He was well rested now and fully appreciative of the picture she presented.
‘So it is only foreigners who look at pretty women? Mon Dieu, Englishmen are not only dull, they must have ice in their veins.’
She turned, clutching the towel before her.
‘Of course they do not. They—’ She stamped her foot. ‘Ooh, you delight in teasing me!’
He grinned. ‘I cannot resist, you bite so easily. By the way, how did you sleep in that corset? It must have been very uncomfortable.’
‘I loosened the laces, naturally. And before you say anything more I do not need your help to tighten them again!’
He laughed and climbed out of bed.
‘No, of course not, milady. I shall tease you no more. We must break our fast and move on. What is the time?’ He looked out of the window. ‘Tiens, it must be noon at least.’
‘It was almost dawn before we went to bed,’ said Cassie. ‘I asked Madame Deschamps not to disturb us.’
She
