Page 58 of The Smuggler’s Escape

Mme. Lisette greeted the ladies with delighted smiles, ushering them into her parlor to wallow in swaths of fabric and lace. Even Lucretia had been given permission by Uncle Matthew to order a gown to wear at Noelle’s wedding.

Peste! Lucretia would be scolded for that, too, when the wedding didn’t take place. Why was it, Noelle lamented, that when trying to save herself, she must upset so many others?

She caught Lady Darsington’s hatred-filled eyes on her again. What in God’s name had she done to upset her? She hadn’t forced Dorothea to support her scandalous statement about prostitutes! Meanwhile, poor Dorothea, beautiful and utterly mulish, stood with arms folded and lips compressed.

Noelle threw herself into discussing silk and spotted muslin, satin, Italian gauze, and crape, while imbibing some very fine and almost certainly smuggled French wine, and leaving every decision in Lady Boltwood’s capable hands. She tried on two partly-constructed evening gowns meant for another client. “I will alter them for mademoiselle,” Madame said. “The other lady, she can wait.”

Madame found a pretext to draw Noelle alone into a tiny, opulent boudoir at the back. “Lord Boltwood asked me to prepare une petite surprise for you,” she said.

Noelle’s heartbeat quickened. What now?

Fortunately, the highly improper nightdress and flimsy wrapper Madame displayed to her could be expected to elicit a shocked response from an innocent maiden, so Madame took her squeaked exclamation for very proper embarrassment. “It is naughty of Lord Boltwood, non?”

“That nightdress is all but transparent!” How dared he? Her traitorous heart fluttered with both anticipation and dismay.

“He is a so attractive man, and not boring English in his tastes. He means to make you a happy woman in bed.”

No, all he cared about was his own pleasure. She didn’t know how she would bear it, but soon it would be over, and he would marry Miss Darsington. Noelle’s heart wrung, but at least she didn’t hate Dorothea. In fact, she was grateful to her, and admired her for sticking up to her horrid mother. She would make Richard a worthy wife.

While Lady Boltwood was occupied with ordering a few garments for herself, Noelle drank another glass of French wine to fortify herself for Richard’s inevitable reappearance.

By the time he walked in, confident and carefree, the wine had quieted her nerves. In fact, she felt quite restored. More restored than ideal, perhaps, but she was going to need it.

“Come, my eternal delight, it’s time to go.” Richard vouchsafed no more than a passing nod to the others.

Well, except for a bright-eyed glance at Madame Lisette, who colored faintly. “Monsieur will be entirely satisfied.”

Richard bowed gravely, but the corner of his mouth flickered. “I’m sure I shall.” He helped Noelle into her cloak. “This way.” His possessive hand guided her toward Madame’s little back chamber.

Noelle hissed, “Madame already showed me!”

“Did she also show you the shortcut to the next street?” He shepherded her past Madame’s boudoir and into a small, walled yard.

The instant they were out the door, Noelle spat at him, “Cochon! How dared you order those revolting garments?”

Richard chuckled. “So I could have the great pleasure of removing them, my love.” He flipped her cloak open and ran his dark, knowing eyes leisurely over her, dwelling on her breasts and moving languidly lower.

A lightning bolt of desire shot through Noelle. She dug into her befuddled mind and dragged out the proper response: No.

She yanked her cloak from his fingers and backed away, clutching the cloak tightly around her. “Stop looking at me like that.”

He came closer and drawled, “You have given me permission to look at you in whichever way I choose.” His knowing smile infuriated her.

And lit helpless fires within her. She backed toward the street.

In an instant she was up against the cold brick wall, her cloak ripped open, with Richard’s hot body pressed against her. One big hand squeezed possessively at her waist. The other slid under her fichu. “And to touch you whenever and wherever I please.”

His fingers dipped into the crevice between her breasts. Little flames flickered across her belly. Too much wine had been a bad idea after all. A delicious lassitude spread through her limbs. She closed her eyes and rested her head against the wall, crushing the brim of her hat.

She stiffened, straightening her head. How did not being anxious help if it turned her into a wanton?

“Let’s get rid of the damned thing.” Richard blew in her ear as he untied the ribbons. He removed her hat and let it fall, trailing kisses on her ear, her cheek, her jaw, pressing his lips to her throat. She moaned, and her hands of their own volition reached to cup his face, to turn him to her own seeking lips and tongue.

She gave herself up to the pleasure of his kiss. Just this once, she thought through the haze of wine and desire. I need it, just once.

His thumb rubbed across her nipple through the fabric of her bodice. She whimpered and fell deeper, curling her arms around his neck and opening to his tongue, shifting her hips restlessly against his.

“Mmm,” Richard said through the kiss. His hand left her waist to trace the contour of her hip and thigh. He drew lazy circles through the fabric of her gown. Her fichu went the way of her hat. A big, warm hand slid into her bodice and lifted her tingling breast free.