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Eight
Honoria had just finishedtying her cravat—or at least attempting as much—when the marquis tapped on the bedchamber door. She’d sent him away while she dressed, and a quick look at the clock on the mantel told her it had taken her longer than she’d anticipated. The loose fetter hanging from her wrist inhibited her movements, and she’d had to work at fitting it through the sleeves of the coat.
“Mademoiselle, may I come in?” he asked from the other side of the door.
So polite, even when he suggested they become lovers. It had sounded more like a business negotiation than a request born of passion.
But there was passion in him too. She’d seen the way he’d looked at her, and it was a look she knew well. It would have made her uncomfortable if there hadn’t been something else behind it—something akin to reverence or at least courtesy. This was no man who would take her against her wishes or seduce her with lies and false words. She respected the marquis for that much at least. She could not have tolerated him if he’d been like so many of the other men she’d known.
“Yes, I am ready,” she called. When he entered, she turned for his inspection. “I am sorry it took me so long. I had trouble pinning the trousers so I would not trip over them. I left them as long as I could to hide my boots.”
His gaze dipped as he performed a leisurely perusal of her clothing. By the time he was finished, her cheeks felt hot.
“Turn around,” he said.
She blew out a breath of air. “I will not.”
“Did you look at yourself from the back in the mirror?” He gestured to the cheval mirror in the corner.
“No,” she admitted.
“Well then.” He made a spinning motion with one finger. The gesture annoyed her, but she complied.
She paused with her back to him for exactly two heartbeats, enough time to hear him make a small sound of apparent distress. “What is it?” she asked when she’d spun back around.
“That coat is not quite wide enough to cover your...”
She narrowed her eyes.
“Curves,” he said with a smile.
“You haven’t a less tailored one. It took me at least a quarter hour to bind—”
Her face was so warm she imagined it bright red. She’d almost discussed binding her breasts with him.
Of course, he’d been able to deduce her next few words, and his gaze went straight to her chest. “You succeeded there. We shall just have to hope no one looks too closely at your bottom or your face.” He crossed to her and reached for her, but she swatted his hand away.
“What are you doing?”
He held his hands up as though in surrender. “Your hair is far too thick and lovely to be worn in a queue down your back. I only intended to tuck the end inside the coat.”
Now she felt like a fool. She reached up to tuck it herself, but the tight fit of the coat and her bindings made the task all but impossible.
“Allow me?” he asked.
“Fine.” She gave him her back and hoped he was not looking at her bottom. She’d expected him to grasp the tail of hair and shove it into the coat, but instead he lifted it so gently she shivered. His hand slid down the length of it, then turned as he wrapped it around and around. Finally, he reached her nape, and his knuckles brushed the bare back of her neck. Honoria could not stop her eyes from closing. She could well imagine him tugging her head back and taking her mouth with his.
But such thoughts would not serve either of them. She had no intention of allowing this man to bed her. She didn’t even know him, and what she did know of him consisted of arrogance mixed with insanity with a dash of recklessness. If they were lucky, they would free the prince and princess and then go their separate ways. If they were unlucky...Well, that eventuality did not merit more thought at the moment.
The marquis’s hand pulled the collar of the coat away from her neck, and she felt her hair drop into the opening. “There,” he said. He held out a tricolor cockade that matched the one he wore on his coat. Honoria took it, noting he’d managed to pull his hair into a short queue that would probably be hidden under the wide-brimmed hat he’d carried into the room. She would wear the Phrygian cap so popular among the revolutionaries, and she took the large cockade and pinned it to the cap rather than her coat, where she did not want to attract additional attention.
“What about blunt?” she asked, turning to look in the mirror as she placed the red cap on her head.
