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The marquis pulled her left on the first floor. Honoria glanced up the stairs, but the second floor was dark, probably servants’ quarters. The building was small, so there would not be room for much staff, but the marquis had said he only used these apartments when the theater let out late. He probably never had need of much staff.
His infrequent use also explained why everything looked all but new. Tragic that such a charming space should be wasted on someone with no appreciation for it.
“Here we are.” He opened the first door off the landing and pulled her into a gray room. Releasing her arm, he parted the curtains. These faced the little garden whose trees hid the windows from an outsider’s view. Across from these windows was another set of draperies, probably overlooking the street. Wisely, he did not so much as ruffle those.
But now that light penetrated the room, she saw they were in an enormous bedchamber. It must have run the length of the entire first floor. Besides the mammoth bed in the center, the chamber also boasted a sitting area, several wardrobes, a Louis XIV desk, and an area that had been screened off, and which she assumed was most likely used for bathing. Now that they were no longer running, she shivered, and she hoped his next act would be to light one of the two wide fireplaces. Instead, he went to a cabinet in the wall, opened it, withdrew two glasses, and then—after some consideration—a bottle of wine.
He uncorked it and set it on a nearby table. “It should breathe for a moment,” he said, indicating the bottle.
“I do not want wine,” she said.
“No coffee. No wine. You English truly are barbarians.”
She crossed her arms. “Why do you deliberately misunderstand me?”
He lifted one of the glasses and examined it. “Why do women always assume any misunderstanding is the fault of the man? You do not want wine.” He opened the cabinet and replaced one wineglass. “There. No misunderstanding.”
“I want to leave. Whether you give me wine or not, I am still a prisoner.”
“Would you rather I chain you to the bed? Would that help you feel more understood?”
He splashed wine in the bottom of his glass, swirled it, then tasted. “This is very good. Are you certain you do not want any before I lock you in fetters?”
“I want to return to the safe house.”
“I give you credit for consistency in your demands, but I regret that I cannot allow you to leave just yet.”
“You mean youwillnot allow me to leave.”
Another shrug. “That too. Consider it this way. I am saving your life. If you left now, you would never make it back to the Rue du Jour before the curfew. And if you are out after that, even your beauty will not save you.”
“I told you—”
“Yes, I know. You hide it as best you can, but I am looking at you now. Your hair is down, your cheeks are rosy from exertion, and you tore your fichu when you tried to kill me with the padlock. Let us just say that you are fortunate I am a gentleman.”
Honoria had felt her hair come loose from its pins, but she hadn’t realized she’d torn the fichu that covered her chest and ensured modesty. She put a hand over her heart.
“You needn’t cover yourself for my sake. I won’t ravish you.” He grinned. “Unless you ask sweetly.”
“I’d rather die first. If you so much as touch me—”
He waved a hand lazily. “You will do all manner of unmentionable things to my person. I understand.” His brow arched, and Honoria had to admit, he looked rather handsome—in a roguish sort of manner—when he did that. “Are you afraid you might actually enjoy my touch?”
“I am afraid your touch, like your face, might make me physically ill.”
“That bad?” He sipped his wine again. “Then I had better not delay my bath. Can you be trusted or must I make good on my threat?” His gaze slid to the bed, and she realized he meant securing her to it. Good God, did he actually have chains in his room? She would not put it past him.
“You needn’t chain me. I will not try to run away.” She hoped her expression looked convincing.
The side of his mouth quirked. “You, mademoiselle, are not meant for the theater. Which means I have no choice if I do not want to step foot in the bath and then be forced to chase you. The Boulevard du Temple has seen many sights, but I prefer my naked ass not be one of them.”
He crossed the room and opened a wardrobe. From her vantage point, Honoria could see it contained several items of clothing. Surely he did not have rope in his bedchamber wardrobe? She would not wait to find out.
Whirling on her heel, she ran for the door and unlatched it. A moment later she was at the top of the stairs. She paused to lift her skirts, and an arm came around her waist, dragging her back.
***
SHE WAS QUICK, BUThe’d spent years chasing Marie-Thérèse. Laurent was quicker. He dragged her, kicking and screaming, back into the bedchamber, and gathered up the chain with the two cuffs from the floor where he’d dropped it when she’d run. The Englishwoman had almost as much strength as she did beauty, and he might not have won the day if she hadn’t ceased biting and scratching when she saw the bindings.
