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But those halcyon days seemed a lifetime ago.
Marie-Thérèse was still alive. That was what mattered. He would keep his promise to her and to her parents.
He’d closed his eyes briefly in relief and that was when he noticed the heat and the softness. When he’d looked down, he’d found his arms around Honoria. He must have been holding her, pushed up against the wall and out of sight, for several moments, because she was studying him as though she were starving and he the first course of the meal.
He liked the way she looked at him, the way she wet her lips as though she hungered for the taste of him. He’d been hungry for her since the first time he’d seen her.
Then their gazes collided, and he was sinking in the dark pools of her violet eyes. He couldn’t resist touching her skin, reveling in the feel of the satiny smoothness on the pads of his fingertips.
She spoke, but he hardly knew what she said. He had the briefest flicker of guilt, of worry that he should be watching the Temple. But his plan did not include entering the prison in the middle of the day or attempting to steal the princess away during a walk where she was guarded. For one, it would mean leaving the dauphin behind, and Laurent would only do that as a last resort. Secondly, the moment the alarm was sounded, and the tocsins rang throughout the city, all of Paris would be after them.
No, their only hope of success was to take the princess without the guards knowing. They must have her safely away before her absence was discovered or their mission would be doomed from the start.
He would watch and finalize the plan tonight. Later. “Much, much later,” he said as he took Honoria’s mouth. Whatever small part of herself she would give to him, he would take for as long as she offered it.
Their lips met, and she surprised him with her eagerness and passion. Her lips parted, and her tongue slid into his mouth, enflaming his entire body. She seared him with that kiss, branded him. Tongues tangling, bodies melting together, lips caressing. His arms shook as he wrapped one around her, keeping the other hand on the wall behind her. He needed something to hold on to.
No woman had ever made him feel so lost in her kiss. He was drowning in the scent of lavender and the feel of lush curves and the taste that could only be described as Honoria.
His lungs burned for breath. His knees wobbled. His entire body thirsted for more like the desert thirsts for the first drops in a long-awaited rain shower. Laurent was falling, falling, falling. Finally, he braced his hands on either side of her head, pushed against the wall, and broke the kiss.
He gulped in a breath and stared at her.
Her wide eyes stared back, hazy with passion. Her cheeks were pink, her lips red as a newly plucked rose. For a long moment, they merely breathed and stared at each other.
“I want to take you to bed, Honoria.” His voice did not sound like his own. It sounded jagged and raspy as though he’d been choked and it was an effort to speak. It was an effort. Coherent thought was an effort with her so close.
“Yes,” she said with a nod. “Take me to bed.”
She moved to embrace him, but he placed a hand on her collarbone, his fingers splayed across her lovely, pale neck. He pushed her back gently. “If we go into the bedchamber, I do not know if I will be able to stop. I’m half in agony right now, being this close to you and not kissing you, not touching you”—he stroked the skin on her neck and she closed her eyes and moaned softly—“not sliding inside you.”
Her eyes opened.
“If that is not what you want, tell me now. Tell me if you want nothing more than kisses, nothing more than hands sliding over clothing so your innocence is preserved.”
“My innocence is little more than a memory,” she said, her eyes clear now. “I know what I want, and I want you.”
The words were like a balm to a burning wound. He hadn’t realized how much it pained him to hold himself apart from her. Now he slid his hand from her neck into her hair. She shivered under his touch as he pulled the ribbon from her tresses and allowed her hair to fall free across her back.
“My sweet, sweet Honoria.” He leaned forward to inhale the scent of her hair. “You are still so much the innocent in my eyes.” He murmured in her ear and watched as gooseflesh rose on her arms. Only one with very little experience would still react thus to such tender ministrations.
Only an innocent or one completely enraptured. He was no innocent, but she held him in thrall. That was the only explanation for the way he’d lost complete control of their kiss a few moments before. The only explanation for why he was willing to accept lovemaking on her terms, when everyone knew the Marquis de Montagne always took a lover on his own terms.
Honoria was no lover. She was so much more.
“Come with me.” He took her hand, enchanted when she clasped his tightly and with a trust he hadn’t expected. He led her across the room and into the bedchamber. Releasing her hand, he lit a candle, then closed the door and turned to face her. The yellow light reflected off her dark hair and gilded her porcelain skin. “Let me undress you.”
His voice had the edge of a plea in it, and he was almost ashamed. He’d meant to tell her to undress. He’d planned to watch her remove item after item until he couldn’t stand the anticipation any longer. Instead, he all but begged her to let him play the role her maid would have.
And when she nodded her acquiescence, his heart leaped in elation.
What the hell had she done to him?
He crossed to her slowly, moving carefully, half afraid she would bolt if he made a sudden gesture. But she stood calm and still, hands at her sides. He began with the intricate task of removing the pearl-tipped pins that held her bodice together. There were at least eight, and he removed them one by one. He dared not look at her face as he worked. He feared he would forget his resolve and kiss her. It was bad enough watching the way her breasts rose and fell under the gauzy white fichu. He could not wait to remove that. But first the pins.
He dropped them on the small dresser, then began unpinning the unfinished side of the bodice. As the bodice opened, he slid the garment from her shoulders so she stood in her skirt, petticoats, corset, and chemise. Her translucent fichu was tucked into her skirt and petticoats, and he drew the ends out and allowed the triangle to flutter down to the floor. Now he could see the creamy swells of her breast where the corset pushed them up. The corset was laced in front, a necessity since she had needed to dress herself, but first he tackled the ties of the skirt.
When that slid from her hips, he untied the petticoat, then took a breath as he began unlacing the stays. Honoria shivered.
