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He was the product of a long line of illustrious men and women, and she was nothing but the daughter of a merchant’s daughter and an historian from Brussels.
She rose and brushed at the shavings on her skirts. “I will look at the documents again in the morning. The sunlight always illuminates my mistakes.”
He peered across the table, studying her work. “The Temple is dark and lit by sconces and lamps inside. Your work is more than adequate.”
She curtsied. “Merci, Monsieur le Marquis.”
“Don’t call me that.”
She glanced up at him to see his brows had drawn together and his eyes flashed angrily. “I’m Citoyen Burgoyne now, if you must be formal. I prefer you call me Laurent. Theancien régimeis little more than the shavings from your pen now. I must accept that if I am to go on.”
“Perhaps the exiled Bourbons will make a triumphant return. Perhaps you will be a marquis yet again.”
He looked at her long and hard, his gaze roving over her face until it seemed he’d memorized every feature. “I’m not certain I care any longer. I can almost believe there are some things—some people—that matter more than wealth and privilege.”
Honoria caught her breath, trying to keep the small bubbles of hope from growing and touching her heart. “Such as Madame Royale?”
He swallowed, and she could see the muscles of his throat working. “Such as you, Honoria.”
She closed her eyes. The bubbles burst, causing elation as well as pain in her heart.
“I know what I said earlier, and I know I have no right to say what I am about to say now,” he began.
She opened her eyes and held up a hand. “Then don’t say it.” She crossed the small space between them, taking his hands when he held them out. He drew her away from the open window. “Don’t say anything. I know what tomorrow brings, and I regret nothing. Iwillregret nothing except wasting the last night I have with you. If you still want me—”
A huff escaped his lips. “How can you possibly doubt that I want you? I want you too much. I wanted you from the first time I saw you.”
“Because I’m beautiful.” She looked away.
He squeezed her hands. “Because you were kind. How many people would have taken me in—a man running from La Force with a price on his head? How many people would have nursed me, forgiven me for abducting—”
“I haven’t quite forgiven you that yet.” She glanced at him with an arched brow.
He smiled. “You have a generous heart, Honoria, and that is a commodity even more valuable than beauty these days.” What more did she want him to say? She had come to France because she wanted to be more than a pretty face, to do more than sign others’ names to false documents. And Laurent had seen she was more than beauty or a quill and ink. He’d seenher. A rush of emotion filled her heart.
“Does such a commodity make you want to kiss me?”
“It makes me want much more than that.”
“Then take me to bed.” When he looked as though he might protest—to tell her it was a bad idea or they should sleep—she put a finger over his lips. “One last time, Laurent.S’il te plaît.”
“How am I to resist you?”
But the question was rhetorical because he lowered his lips to hers, his mouth soft and pliant as he gently took hers. He never demanded her surrender, but he had a way of making herwantto surrender to his kiss, his touch, the demands of his body.
More bubbles seemed to burst inside her as their lips met over and over. Bursts of excitement and fear and hopelessness—but mostly she felt desire. She had never wanted anything as much as she wanted him. She put her arms around him, burying her fingers in his thick, dark hair. She pulled him closer, and he growled in her mouth.
“Give me a moment or I shall behave more like a schoolboy than the man you deserve.”
She ran her hands down his back and pulled his shirt from his trousers. “I want the schoolboy. I want the man. I want every part of you, Laurent.”
Her words seemed to unleash a torrent of passion from him. Before she knew what had happened, he’d pushed her against the wall, lifting her hands and pinning her wrists to the wall with one hand. His mouth came down on her shoulders and the tops of her breasts. Several pins sprang free from her bodice, and he freed her breasts so he might stroke them with his tongue and tease them with his lips.
“I want to touch you,” she murmured, trying in vain to loose her hands.
“Later.” His free hand was not idle. He lifted her skirts and pressed the hardness of his rod against the bare flesh of her center. Honoria could not help but rock against him. The coarse fabric of his trousers provided a friction that made her heart race.
“Mon Dieu!”He buried his face in her hair. “I may not even last until I can free myself. Have mercy, mademoiselle.”
