A Scoundrels Kiss

by Shelly Thacker

  She followed her nose to a steaming silver carafe that sat atop the nearest cart, and opened the top to peek in. Chocolate. Her favorite.

  Her throat constricting, she looked over at Max as he took the seat opposite her. This was more than kind, more than thoughtful, it was…caring. And only hours ago she had condemned him as a man who didn’t have time for feelings.

  She felt terrible for misjudging him.

  “A glass of wine for the lady, please, Perelle,” Max said.

  The butler picked up a large crystal goblet from beside Marie’s gold-rimmed plate and filled it. “Will there be anything else, monsieur?” he asked, handing her the wine and returning the bottle to a silver bucket on one of the carts.

  “No, thank you,” Max said, his eyes on her. “We won’t be needing you for the rest of the evening. Bon soir to you and your wife.”

  “Certainly, sir. Bon soir. Madame.” The butler bowed politely to her, then returned to the house.

  Marie could hardly contain a giggle. “I think he and Nanette find this rather odd.”

  “Ah, well, here’s to us—a rather odd pair.” Max picked up his own full glass and clicked it against hers. “Salut. To your health, darling.”

  “And to yours. Max, this was so thoughtful of you. You even remembered how much I love chocolate.”

  Sipping his wine, he took a moment to answer. “You remember…that you love chocolate?”

  She shrugged. “I know it doesn’t make any sense, but I remember the foods I liked. Not where or when I had them, but the tastes.” She glanced at the banquet surrounding them. “Perhaps a person’s strongest memories are the ones associated with the strongest feelings and sensations.”

  “I suppose that makes sense. Chocolate has always been my favorite, too.”

  “Was it you I used to share it with?” she asked excitedly. “In front of a fire? I remember sharing a steaming mug of chocolate in front of a fire.”

  “Yes.” He cleared his throat. “Yes, it was me.”

  “I remember, Max! I can remember that we used to do that!”

  “Marie, we’ll have to keep our voices down.” He smiled ruefully, whispering. “We don’t want to disturb the neighbors. We’re in hiding, remember?”

  Marie lowered her voice to match his. “Oh, yes. Of course. Sorry.”

  “Though most of them are out for the evening.” He motioned with his glass. The row of town houses was almost dark but for a candle in a window here and there. “They won’t be back from the dances in the Palais-Royale and the soirées in Place Vendôme and the salons on the Champs-Elysées until well after midnight.”

  Marie nodded, her gaze drawn from the darkened homes back to Max’s profile. Earlier today, she had longed to go out and see more of Paris, but now she found she was content to be here. With him.

  The flickering candles created a circle of gold that surrounded them, setting them apart from the darkness. The glowing warmth and the way they spoke in whispers made it feel as if they were completely alone, the only two people in all the world. When she remained silent, he glanced at her. Their gazes met and held.

  By night, without his spectacles and frock coat, he once more had a ruffian air about him. The way his buttoned waistcoat snugly outlined the muscles of his chest added to the impression. He was an image of relaxed male power as he leaned casually against the table, his fingers so strong around the delicate crystal glass he held.

  A tingle of sensation went through her, but she realized it had nothing to do with fear. Not anymore. As she had come to trust him, she had also come to feel something else. Something that stole over her whenever she was near him. It was especially powerful tonight, when they were alone together, with the black velvet sky overhead, and spicy scents all around, and silvery light sprinkling down from the moon and the stars.

  And for the first time, she wondered whether he might be feeling something similar, because she saw the coolness slip from his gaze.

  But an instant later, he glanced away, turning his attention to their feast. “Since we can’t go into the city, I’ve brought the best of Paris to you.” He gestured with the crystal goblet. “There’s Roquefort cheese from the Bois de Vincennes. Fruit from the shop in the Tuileries gardens. And of course the chocolate, from Café Procope, renowned as some of the best in the world. You’ll notice something different from our other meals, though. Something missing.” He checked under a platter of sliced ham. “Hmm. None here.” He lifted a lid on a pot of soup. “Nor here either.” He picked up a napkin that covered a basket of rolls. “Not a one.”

  “Not a single scientific book or journal to be found.” She laughed.

  He grinned, handing the napkin to her. “Exactly. No work, Marie. No pressure to remember. Just a nice, relaxing evening.” He took another drink from his glass. “The wine is an old Touraine vintage. I thought it might remind you of home.”

  “Max,” she said warmly, letting her gratitude shine in her eyes. “How did you manage all this?”

  “Perelle and Nanette have earned their evening off. I sent them out for most of the foodstuffs. Except for the wine. I wanted the right one, so I purchased it myself. It’s very good.” Lifting his goblet for another taste, he nodded to her glass. “Try it.”

  She took a sip. “But you shouldn’t be going out into the city. Not for something like this, just to please me. It could be dangerous for you.”

  “I was careful.” He shrugged.

  “But I don’t…want anything to happen to you, Max.”

  She said it softly, voicing the words even as she had the thought.

  His gaze met hers. He was silent a moment. “Of course, chérie. You’re naturally concerned about what would become of you.”

  She considered that briefly, analyzing the possibility. “I don’t think that’s why,” she said honestly.

  His eyes reflected surprise and something else, but again he glanced away, clearing his throat. “We should eat our supper before the hot food grows cold and the cold food gets hot.” Reaching over and taking her plate, he started to fill it. “Are you hungry?”

  “Enough for two people.”

  “I think we’ve enough here to feed several hungry Maries.” He smiled. “By the way, how do you like the gown?”

  “It’s…um…quite nice.”

  He gave her an apologetic look. “I know it’s not as fashionable as your others. But I didn’t want you to catch a chill in the night air. Or ruin your slippers on the grass.”

  Marie didn’t see how she could catch a chill, since the night was unseasonably warm. But it was nice that Max was so concerned about her well-being that he bothered himself over such details as her dress.

  He handed her the plate, then filled his own. She spread soft Roquefort cheese on a chunk of baguette. “We’ve so much food here, Max. Perhaps if there is some left over, we could give it to the poor.”

  “The poor?”

  “Yes, I…” She paused with the bread halfway to her mouth. “How strange. I was just thinking that there are a great many people who don’t have enough to eat, and we should help them. Is that true?”

  “It’s true that there are many in France who don’t have enough food, yes. It’s not as bad in the summer, but in the winter there are terrible famines.”

  She bit into the baguette, chewing, thinking. But as had happened so many times before, the flicker of memory vanished just as quickly as it appeared. “I can’t…remember anything more about it.” She frowned. “But even if there aren’t many people who go hungry at this time of year, perhaps we could still help them? We seem to have so much.”

  “I’ll…I’ll see that Perelle gives away whatever’s left.” He regarded her with an unusual expression. “It’s kind of you to be concerned about the less fortunate, Marie.”

  “I wasn’t before?”

  “No. At least, not that I can recall.”

  She arched one brow. “The more you tell me about the old Marie, the less I like her.”
r />   “I suppose this terrible experience gives you a chance to…change.”

  “Yes.” She rather liked that idea. If she couldn’t remember her old self and her old life, she could begin a new one.

  A better one.

  Max kept gazing at her silently, looking a bit perplexed.

  Blushing under his regard, she took another sip from her glass. “You were right about the wine, Max. It’s much better than the ones we’ve had before at supper. Sweeter.”

  “Yes. Good. Glad you like it.” Blinking, he took a swallow from his glass. “I thought you would. I bought something else for you, too.”

  He took another basket from one of the carts, set it on the table between them, and removed the napkin that covered it. Inside were two small boxes wrapped in blue tissue and tied with gold ribbons.

  She set her wine glass aside as he handed her one of them. “Oh, Max, they’re beautiful. They’ll look so pretty on my dressing table with all the other little boxes.”

  He laughed. “No, Marie, these aren’t the gifts. You have to untie the ribbons and open them.”

  “Oh.” She bit her lip, feeling foolish.

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have laughed,” he said quickly, softly. “And you’re right, the boxes are pretty. But what’s inside them is even better. Open it.”

  Reluctantly, Marie destroyed the brilliant wrapping. It covered a small velvet box. She opened the hinged lid to discover a ring inside, a gold band covered with sparkling, clear gems. “Oh, yes.” She smiled. “That’s very lovely, too.”

  He grinned but didn’t laugh this time. “I promised before that I would replace your wedding band.” He plucked the ring from the box, took her left hand, and slid the slender circle of gold onto her finger. “This is so you’ll know that you’re never alone, Marie,” he whispered. “You don’t have to be afraid of the darkness, because I’m here with you and I’ll keep you safe. And you’ll never be alone again.”

  Her eyes brimmed with sudden tears. Not because of the ring, but because of his words: they were so simple, but they filled the shadowy places inside her, the vast emptiness that had terrified her since she awakened to find herself a stranger alone in a strange world.

  He handed her the other box. “And this one is just…ah…something I saw in the jeweler’s shop that made me think of you.”

  She unwrapped it, blinking hard to hold back the tears, unable to speak.

  This box held a small object of elaborately engraved silver: a circle of glass with a handle, attached to a long chain. Like a mirror, but clear. She could almost remember the word. It was a…

  “Magnifying glass,” she whispered.

  “I think it’s meant for reading,” Max explained, “but I could picture you wearing it when you help me with my experiments.”

  She picked it up and looked through it, intrigued at the way it made everything look larger than reality. She bent over her plate of food. “This is wonderful. How fascinating!”

  “You said earlier that you couldn’t remember what it means to be you, what it’s supposed to feel like. I want you to know that I understand, Marie. I understand and I’m going to help you.”

  She straightened, tears welling again. “Max—”

  “No, don’t say anything. And no tears.” He reached out to touch her cheek, lightly brushing away the teardrop that spilled free. “I’m your husband, Marie. You don’t need to thank me for loving you.”

  Before she could even begin to put into words all the emotions flowing through her like the warm night air, he leaned closer, gently took the magnifying glass from her hands, and lifted the chain over her head.

  His fingers brushed the nape of her neck as he settled the cool silver around her throat. The contrast of hot and cold sent a rush of awareness tingling through her.

  He paused a moment, his fingers resting there, as if he felt it, too. His face was so near hers that she could see the color of his eyes in the glow of the candles and moonlight. They looked silvery and…

  Warm. There was a warmth there unlike any she had noticed in his gaze before.

  And if either of them moved forward, just a bit…

  He sat back before she could even complete the thought.

  “But here I am distracting you when you’ve barely eaten enough to feed even one hungry Marie,” he said with a quick grin. Tossing the crumpled wrapping paper out of the way, he picked up her glass. “Here, darling.” He handed it to her. “You’ve barely touched your wine.”

  An hour later, the drug still hadn’t taken effect.

  Reclining against a tree, Max swirled the dark red liquid in his own glass with a flick of his wrist, waiting. Patient.

  After finishing supper, the two of them had moved to a woolen blanket spread out under the fruit trees. Marie lay on her back, her head pillowed by his bunched-up waistcoat, which he had offered with a gallant flourish when she wanted to lie down a few minutes ago.

  She trusted him almost completely now, so swept away by the atmosphere he had carefully created in the moonlit garden that she had finished her entire goblet of wine without so much as an inkling as to his true motive.

  It wouldn’t be long now.

  “Marie, would you like another hand of whist?” he asked lightly.

  “No.” She yawned. “I’ve already lost three hands.” She extended her arms in front of her, the new gold wedding band glinting in the candlelight. “Though I seem to still have two hands left.” She giggled.

  The sound of her laughter danced over his nerve endings and set him on edge. As he had all evening, he fought to keep his mind on his mission. His duty.

  Unfortunately, he’d made one serious miscalculation tonight: the gown.

  He had picked out the dullest one he could find, in a shade carefully selected to clash with her coloring, in a style that covered her from neck to toes, in a plain, quiet cotton fabric.

  But her face and figure made it look as lovely as any of the expensive creations in her armoire upstairs.

  In fact, without her pannier, the skirt made him all the more aware of the natural curves of her hips and legs. The hint of softness concealed by the pale blue fabric made him wonder what it would feel like to slide his hand—

  “You know, Max, I really don’t think I like that name.”

  “What name?” He struggled to right his careening thoughts. “My name?”

  “No, not yours.” She rolled onto her side, looking up at him with a languorous smile. “Mine. Marie.”

  Trying to breathe evenly, he returned her smile. “But that’s your name.”

  “It’s the old Marie’s name. And it’s so…so plain.” She yawned again. “And very dull.”

  “And you find it boring.”

  “Yes.” She blinked sleepily. “I’m so glad you understand. Wasn’t I ever called anything else? Nanette calls her husband mon petit chou. She says it’s a…nickname.”

  “It means ‘little cabbage’,” Max explained. “It’s an endearment.”

  “Hmm. I don’t believe I would like to be named after a vegetable.” She frowned in thought, toying with the magnifying glass that dangled from the chain around her neck. “Though something like Carrot would at least be more colorful than Marie.”

  “We could call you Asparagus,” he suggested with a straight face. “Or perhaps Parsley.”

  Her gaze lifted to his and a grin curved her mouth. “Or Green Beans with Garlic Butter.”

  “Which would be not only colorful but aromatic.”

  “As would Roquefort Cheese on Bread.”

  “But not quite as aromatic as Pâté de Foie Gras with Sardines.”

  “Pâté for short,” she suggested.

  “Or Sardine.”

  “How about Rump of Veal with Stuffed Truffles?”

  Laughing, Max shook his head, unable to better that one.

  Marie surrendered to a fit of giggles, then covered her mouth with her hand, looking surprised that she had made the girlish sound. “What o
ther sorts of nicknames are there?” she asked, grinning behind her fingers.

  He thought about it for a moment. “To be honest, Marie, I wouldn’t change anything about you. Including your name.”

  Blushing, she giggled some more. “Oh, my…I believe I’ve had too much wine.”

  “Good, then maybe by morning you’ll forget this business about changing your name.” Her mention of the wine brought his mind back to the task at hand. His grin faded.

  She rolled onto her back again, looking up at the moon through her magnifying glass, making a small sigh of contentment.

  “Marie,” he asked slowly, “how are you feeling? Still hungry? Have you had enough to eat?”

  “Couldn’t eat another bite,” she murmured, dropping her hand to her chest, still clutching the silver necklace. “In fact…I feel quite sleepy. I don’t understand why…when I napped all afternoon.”

  “A large meal on a warm night will often make one drowsy.”

  “Mmm,” she replied, accepting the explanation as readily as she had accepted the wine.

  A moment later, her lashes drifted downward toward her cheeks.

  He fell silent, letting her rest…letting the drug take hold. He would need to make sure she was firmly in its grasp before he began his questions.

  His gaze shifted to their supper table, to the empty crystal goblet that sat next to the vase of white roses, the gleaming facets as cool and silvery and unfeeling as the distant moon.

  It had been too easy.

  Guns and explosives weren’t the only weapons with which Wolf and Fleming had armed him. The drug wouldn’t hurt her. It simply relaxed one’s natural restraints and inhibitions. A few more minutes and every thought that came into her head might well be his for the asking.

  The elixir had never been used in quite this way before, on someone suffering amnesia. He had to proceed cautiously, but Wolf and Fleming had thought it worth trying. They had assured him it could be an effective truth serum, depending on how hard the subject fought against it. Tough, experienced spies usually managed to resist.