Heiress in Red Silk by Hunter, Madeline (best mystery novels of all time TXT) 📗

“I could wear a pelisse,” she said, fingering the shawl’s edge, “but none of mine make an ensemble with this dress.”

“That should be fine,” he lied easily while he offered his arm.

* * *

Paris remained busy long into the night. That was Rosamund’s first reaction when they began strolling along the Seine. They were not alone. Some people hurried past, but many walked slowly, taking the air.

“The river smells more than ours does,” she said.

“It is a big city and the Seine runs right through it. It does not move as fast as the Thames either, or have a tide.”

Although it was dark, she could see the buildings they passed. Streetlamps provided broad pools of illumination.

“They are still burning oil here,” Kevin said. “These lamps have silver backing that reflects the light. Grows it. The light is superior, even if the mechanics are clumsy.”

As they passed the next one, she peered up to see what he meant.

“This is much like the City,” she observed. “Some grand buildings, like this one here, but right nearby, ancient, small ones.”

“Very soon you will see very grand ones.”

Across the river there loomed a large, castle-like structure with small windows and a tower on one side. She was so taken by it that she did not notice the cathedral until it rose in front of her, across a plaza.

“You may not have noticed, but we crossed a bridge and are on an island in the river,” Kevin said. “It is the oldest part of Paris.”

They viewed the cathedral, and he told her some of its history. Then they meandered down to the river again.

“I received a letter from Monsieur Forestier,” he said while they stood on a bridge, gazing down the black ribbon of water. “He would like to meet tomorrow. An early dinner. You are invited.”

“I won’t understand anything that is said. What will I do there?”

“Look beautiful.”

She glanced at his profile. They were not near one of those streetlamps, so she could see little of his expression.

“Do you want me there to distract him, so he makes a bad bargain?”

“You are attending as a full partner whose agreement is needed. If for some reason your presence leaves him dizzy and irrational, it won’t be your fault, or mine.”

“I hardly think he will become irrational.” She laughed. “Dizzy indeed. He is probably just like you, all science and machines and never distracted long by any woman.”

A stillness opened beside her. She looked over and found his gaze on her. His eyes were dark pools in the dark night, but alive with tiny sparks.

“Is that what you think? I can see that I have been too subtle.”

His tone, quiet in the night, unnerved her. “You were not subtle at all. You explicitly said that you were never enthralled.”

“I suppose I did.”

He seemed closer now, only he had not moved. His height dominated her, yet she did not feel threatened. Her heart beat harder. A delicious alarm pulsed in her. Not fear, but its friendlier cousin that teased with its caution.

Then his hand was on her face, and his gaze very close. The warmth of his palm flowed right into her.

Her thoughts scattered. Astonishment ruled her, and she barely breathed. Both of his hands cradled her face. His head dipped, then stopped, as if waiting for something. It lowered more and he kissed her.

That kiss had been waiting since they left London. Long anticipation made her respond with something akin to relief.

She had not expected that reaction. She had been on her guard for a reason, but all reason deserted her now. She accepted kisses warm and slow, then succumbed to others hard and passionate. His power seduced her. It had been so long since sensual excitement had overwhelmed her.

Absorbed her. She had no weapons to resist, and she was glad that she didn’t. His intensity turned physical, capturing her as surely as his gaze could at times.

Despite her blurred awareness, she noted details. The way his arms enclosed her. The scent of his garments and person. The artful way his tongue sent unbelievable thrills through her. The pressure of his hands splayed on her back and hips. His kisses sought her neck and she angled her head to permit it. Delicious shivers descended, tightening her breasts and womb. A wonderful madness beckoned.

Murmurs nearby. Her whole body cried for them to go away. Silence responded. Whoever had walked by paid them no mind. She was euphoric there had been no interruption because she wanted, desperately wanted—his hand rose and caressed her breast. Yes, yes, she wanted that.

She clung to him so he would not stop. He ceased kissing her and held her close, his lips pressed to her crown, while his hand explored. Careful caresses titillated her. Devilish fingers teased. He drew cries and moans from her and made her ache.

As if he knew, his hand went lower on her body. He pulled her closer and kissed her crown while he slid his hand between her thighs. Over dress and petticoat and chemise, he reached deeply between her legs, then pressed up against the exquisite agony that tortured her.

She hung on to him, mindless and gasping. She accepted what he offered. Not complete relief, but enough to keep her from dying. She bored down as best she could so that hollow craving might be removed. Only the pressure itself began to stir more profound hungers. It was then that he removed his hand and wrapped her in his arms.

They stayed like that, with her nestled against him while she sought some composure and forced her body to give up hope of anything more. She became aware again of the river below, and the lights of the city and the balustrade behind her hips. Guilt began to whisper in her head, but she ignored it because she did not want to regret feeling this again. Not yet. She did not want to lose hold of the sensual glory that could exist between a woman and