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She’d kissed men before, had them thrust their tongues, unwanted, into her mouth. But Montagne merely followed her lead. He’d deepened the kiss, but took it no further, barely moving his lips under hers, kissing her back as she kissed him. His other hand came up and cupped her cheek, his thumb caressing the skin with a reverence she had never known. Meanwhile the hand in her hair clenched and unclenched, stroking the hair and winding it so he held her prisoner. And then his hand would unclench, and she would be free again.
Except she did not want to be free. She wanted to kiss him. She wanted her mouth on his forever. She needed it.
Her hand slid up his shirt, touched the cravat that hung loosely around his neck, and skated over his shoulders.
He hissed in a breath and pulled back.
She’d hurt him. “I’m sorry!”
“Not as sorry as I am for the disruption. Please.” He reached for her again, but the moment was broken. Physically she felt pulled toward him, but she had to resist. If they continued this way, the inevitable result would be a quick tumble on the dirty cellar floor. That was not at all what she wanted. She had to remember that one compliment did not make the man any less of a rake or a liar. Every man could tell sweet falsehoods.
“Is it your shoulder?” she asked, pulling back and out of his reach. “You landed quite hard when you jumped from the carriage.”
“They’re both sore, but I’ll live. I could use help putting my coat back on. It’s cold down here.”
“Of course. But first you must allow me to inspect your injury. I saw blood on your shirt.”
He looked down, as though surprised. “I can’t see anything in here. Too dark. I am perfectly well.”
But despite his protests, it was not so dark that she couldn’t see a crimson stain of blood on a white shirt. “Still, I will see for myself.”
With a sigh, he unwound the cravat and unfastened the buttons of his shirt. But when he tried to pull it over his head, he grunted with pain. Honoria rose on her knees and assisted him. As she’d suspected, he had been cut. The back of the shirt was torn and stuck to his flesh with dried blood.
“I imagine it is beginning to bruise already,” she said when she moved to look at his face. “Let me see the back.”
He turned, and she examined a cut on his upper back. “It’s just a scrape. We should clean it when we reach the safe house.”
“Fine. Are you quite finished? It’s as cold as Russia in here.”
She helped him don the shirt again and then the coat, which was also torn from the fall. He sat with his back against a cask, arms crossed and hands tucked under for warmth. Honoria did the same, but she was soon shivering with cold. Now that they had stopped running and were sitting on the damp floor of the cellar, she felt the chill.
“You should take my coat,” Montagne said.
“I couldn’t. Besides, you just put it on again.”
“I must give it to you. Chivalry has been pounded into me since birth.”
Awkwardly, he stripped it off and wrapped it around her shoulders. The warmth from his body seeped into her as did the scent of oranges and sandalwood she had come to associate with him.
“Certainly, you do not owe me, a mere commoner, any courtesies.” She’d meant it as a way to lighten the mood, but he did not smile.
“I owe it to you because you are a friend, commoner or not.”
Honoria could make no reply to that. A man had never called herfriendbefore. Did he say it to gain her cooperation or did he mean it? They sat in silence, listening to the light footfalls above.
“Then it does not matter to you that I am a commoner.”
“Would it surprise you if I said no?”
“Yes.”
He chuckled. “At one time you would have been correct. It would have mattered to me a great deal whether you’d been born noble or common. I can trace my lineage back to Charlemagne. Pride for my ancestors was pounded into me as well. And I am sure it will not surprise you to learn that I was very proud.”
“I might have seen some of that pride in your behavior when you first came to the Rue du Jour.”
“It is a hard thing to be rid of and I am not wholly sure I should rid myself of it completely, even if we are living in this new country where everyone is equal.”
“It is a sentiment many nobles hold dear.”
