Rebellious Rakes: Rake Most Likely to Rebel. Bronwyn Scott

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      ‘She’ll be back,’ Alyssandra said as the woman took her friends and left.

      Haviland gave her a small, private smile. ‘Well, what I’m interested in is right here.’

      But for how long? They started walking, a slow, steady stroll, taking in the lush greenery of spring, the pleasant, warm air of the day. She was thankful for the silence as they strolled. Her mind was whirling and she needed a minute to think. How did she fulfil her promise to watch Haviland? How did she keep him from asking too many questions? How did she keep herself from rushing headlong into this forbidden attraction while not losing Haviland in the process? Or worse, losing herself? It would be too easy to capitulate to his charm, to set herself up for heartbreak when he left. How to balance all this?

      The audacious Madame Aguillard might be routed for now, but the lesson was learned. Haviland was a person of interest to the women of Paris and a healthy male in his prime. Madame Aguillard might not be to his taste, but he wasn’t a man used to being alone. It had crossed her mind as she’d watched Madame Aguillard jockey for position that if she didn’t claim him, someone would.

      Maybe the real question to ask was how much was she herself willing to risk? Could she have it all? Could she reach for the pleasure Haviland promised, the escape he offered to explore with her, and still preserve her secrets? It was already the end of April.

      ‘How long will you be in Paris?’ She cocked her head to look up at him, letting her eyes give away a little of her contemplation.

      His eyes danced in response. ‘Long enough for you to take me up on my offer. Changed your mind already, have you?’ He paused. ‘All teasing aside, we plan to stay until June, unless Nolan offends any gamblers or Brennan angers any husbands. Then, it will be sooner.’

      ‘Your friends sound delightful.’ She had six weeks at most. Surely she could keep her secret and have her pleasure, too, if she dared.

      He nodded. ‘They are. The very best of friends a man could hope for, actually. Perhaps you’ll get to meet them.’

      ‘Then where will you go?’ She shouldn’t feel so empty at the prospect of him leaving. Her strategy depended on him leaving. She couldn’t keep up this ruse for ever. He would go on to other places, other women, and she would still be here, her world much smaller than his and likely to remain so. Don’t think on it. He is here now, yours now if you encourage him. He’s already made his offer, he is just waiting for you to accept.

      ‘My friends fancy a summer in the Alps, climbing the peaks.’ He shrugged, and she thought she sensed some reluctance there.

      ‘The Alps don’t appeal to you?’ They reached a fork in the walkway, and she gestured that they take the path to the right.

      ‘The Alps do, just not as much as Paris,’ he admitted. ‘They are not known for their fencing salles. But it is on the way to Italy and Italy appeals a great deal.’

      ‘Is it the salles alone that give Paris its appeal?’ She might be guilty of fishing for a compliment here, but flirting was a way to keep the conversation light.

      Haviland smiled. ‘The salles d’armes are big part of it, but I love the coffee houses, the intellectual discussions. When I’m not at Leodegrance’s, Archer and I sit for hours in the Latin Quarter, listening to the debates, joining in sometimes.’

      ‘Surely you have that in London?’ She shot him a sideways glance.

      ‘I suppose we do. Soho is awash with artists and foreigners bringing their own flavour to the city, but it’s not a place I am able to frequent often.’ Wistfulness passed over his features and was quickly gone, but not missed. ‘Perhaps it’s not the city I love so much as the freedom I have in it. No one has expectations of me here.’

      She gave a soft laugh of understanding. ‘Le Vicomte Amersham has to keep up appearances?’ There were places she no longer frequented, too, because life required otherwise. She thought about his comment regarding escape. Paris was about freedom for him. She’d been surprised a man of his background didn’t already consider himself free, that he found it necessary to leave his home to taste freedom. She’d always thought money and power were the keys to freedom, and he seemed to have plenty of them. She and her brother had struggled to keep what little they had of either.

      ‘Where does fencing fit with all of that?’ She risked probing a little further.

      ‘Fencing is a gentleman’s art. A man should how to defend himself adequately.’ It was a rote answer, the kind fencing instructors gave to build their student base.

      ‘You’ve attained enough skill to have stopped ages ago.’ She wouldn’t let him get off with an easy answer.

      He stopped walking and faced her, eyes serious. ‘If you want to know, it’s about freedom, the chance to prove myself on my terms and no one else’s. Skill cannot be inherited, it has to be worked for, it has to be honed to perfection and that is something only a man can do for himself.’

      ‘I know.’ Her answer was a whisper. She did know. Better than he thought because that was how she felt every time she picked up a foil, every time she faced an opponent on the piste. How would she be able to keep her emotional detachment when he looked at her like that? Spoke to her in words that echoed in her heart? She swallowed in the silence. ‘Come, the fountain I want you to see is just up here.’ The layers were coming off. But his layers weren’t the only ones being peeled back. She’d not bargained on the fact that exposing him would also mean exposing herself.

      * * *

      It was quiet beneath the shade of the leafy canopy overhead, the sound of trickling water growing louder as they approached the end of the path. ‘This is the Medici Fountain, one of the prizes of our park.’ Her voice was quiet out of reverence for the solitude.

      ‘It’s beautiful.’ Haviland spared a glance at the stonework, but his gaze rested on her and she had no doubt his words hadn’t been for the fountain alone. ‘Is this what you wanted to show me?’ His eyes dropped to her mouth, silently encouraging.

      ‘And I wanted to show you this.’ She stretched up on her toes, arms wrapping around his neck as she brought her mouth to his. This time there would be no mistake about who was kissing whom and who had started it.

       Chapter Eight

      It was both easier and more difficult to fence Haviland on Thursday, two days later. Alyssandra had not bargained on this. She would have thought the sensation of kissing him would have waned by now. And, most certainly, fencing him should have been easier. After all, this time she knew what to look for in his attacks from the experience of having opposed him before; knew how he’d hold his body, how he’d move, how fast he’d be. But the distraction of him, of knowing that body and how it felt pressed to hers, was mentally overwhelming. No wonder Eve was not to have eaten from the tree of knowledge.

      It took all her concentration to think about flèches instead of kisses while knowing full well he did not share the distraction. How could he? He thought he was facing her brother. He had no idea she was behind the mask. Yet, she sensed he carried his own distraction, too. The timing of his movements was off and he was dropping his shoulder more than usual.

      Even so, it took her longer than she’d СКАЧАТЬ