STOLEN CHARMS

by Adele Ashworth

  "No," he stated emphatically, his chest tightening because he realized at once that she wouldn't see past the rumors to the man, to the truth as he might explain it. She didn't believe him, and what could he say? That he'd never been with anyone so thoroughly enchanting and delightfully unknowing, so striking to look at, so exciting to satisfy? That he'd never before given without taking in return as he had tonight? Any statement in his defense would sound arrogant and unfeeling, and ultimately would only remind her of those he truly now wished she didn't know anything about. So in the end he said nothing more, which unquestionably made matters worse.

  "You lied to me," she wailed miserably, jerking free of him with such force he could do nothing but let her go. She turned her back to him, walking a few feet away, hugging herself, head down. "You didn't want a kiss, you wanted everything."

  "I didn't plan this, Natalie, it just happened," he admitted softly, knowing immediately it was a futile thing to say.

  She snickered caustically. "As it's just happened to countless others, I'm sure."

  His jaw hardened. "That's unfair."

  "Unfair?" She whirled around. "What about me? I've never been with a man before, Jonathan."

  She said the words as if they'd be some astounding revelation to him. But the fact that this mattered so much to her effectively subdued him. "I know that," he murmured.

  She peered openly at him for a long moment, then glanced out over the shoreline, protectively wrapping her arms around herself again. "Oh, God, this is awful," she whispered shakily.

  Jonathan rubbed his palm along his neck, then placed his hands on his hips. He knew she was speaking out of confusion and embarrassment, but he felt a trace of irritation just the same.

  "Nothing we've done is awful," he began slowly. "It is never awful. It is a perfectly natural act that happened without thought because we have passions between us that are undeniable and, I think, rare. I have never felt this kind of desire for anybody but you, Natalie. And it started years ago when you kissed me in the garden—a sweet act of innocence I have never been able to push from my mind."

  She stiffened considerably, closing herself off, and that piqued his anger.

  "I don't understand it, either," he continued gravely, "but it's not going to go away. You feel it, too, and each day we're together it gets stronger. Part of me wants to send you packing because it makes me nervous as hell. But I can't bring myself to do that because somewhere inside I believe something wonderful is happening and I for one would like to see where it leads."

  She remained silent, unmoving, staring out to the darkened sea. Then slowly she shook her head. "But what about him?" she asked with a shade of desperation. "What if this ruins everything I've come here for?"

  His first thought was, What about whom? Then a gust of wind sliced through the calmness with night-ocean coldness. She shivered, turning her face to him once more, rubbing her upper arms with her hands as she clutched them for warmth and strength. And he knew.

  Jonathan, for the first time, felt as if he had been physically slapped for his actions, her callous words biting him with more sting than she could ever produce with the palm of her hand. She showed no reaction to the intensely private feelings he'd only just laid bare before her. Her thoughts were with a dream, a fictional reality centered in her mind, somewhere beyond grasp. A hope she would cherish above everything else until she learned it didn't exist.

  His body became rigid, but not with rage. It was helplessness he felt, frustration, defeat, and more understanding for a woman than he'd ever experienced before. He'd just made love to her, partially so anyway, and with anyone else he would have turned and walked away after a comment so burning. Yet right now, reacting as he was, he knew he was more angry with himself—for taking advantage, for losing control, and for giving so much where it clearly wasn't wanted.

  "I'm sure the infamous Black Knight will find you innocent and charming and everything he's ever desired," he maintained in a dark, acid voice. "Nothing is ruined. Your virtue is intact. Nobody knows what happened here tonight but you and I, and I will never mention it to anyone."

  Her face went slack, her eyes grew to round pools of shock, probably because she now understood how she'd hurt him. But he refused to acknowledge her thoughts. Instead, he turned and lifted the blanket, packing things quickly and leaving the beach in full darkness, not another word spoken between them.

  * * *

  Chapter 7

  « ^ »

  Natalie sat at the white wicker dressing table in their bungalow, taking a long look at her reflection in the mirror. Her appearance was decent enough for a ball, she supposed. The bungalow owner's wife had helped her with the tightening of her corset, but she'd had to dress her own hair for the first time in her life, and that had proven quite an adventure in itself. Twice she'd thrown her pearl-handled brush down in exasperation as she attempted to arrange her menacing curls on top of her head in a style that at least resembled an elegant coif. Never before had she really cared about her formal appearance; she merely took it for granted when the maids were finished. Tonight, however, she was a mess—in mind and manner—and her nervous fingers only made things worse.

  At last she stood, with forced refinement, appraising her choice of gown—a rich russet silk over full crinoline. She'd only brought two ball gowns with her, so her selection was minimal. Her decision to wear this one had more to do with climate than anything, for it was fairly lightweight for evening dress. The waist was drawn tightly, pushing the bust-line up and forward. The sleeves were short and puffed, off the shoulder, and enhanced by fawn-colored velvet trim along the collar, with matching lace accentuating the full skirt. For adornment she wore only the simplest cameos: two dangling from her ears, one on a gold chain around her throat, and a ring on her right hand. The gown and jewelry did wonders for her coloring, something reddish-brown and ivory usually didn't do for a lady.

  This was one of her vainest moments, she considered through a smile. But first impressions were everything, and the Black Knight would see her for the first time this night. She wanted him to be impressed, and she had to admit she looked impressive.

  Natalie turned, clutching her shaking hands together, and moved toward the open window to sit gracefully in one of the wicker chairs facing the Mediterranean Sea. Their room was lovely, the view outstanding, especially now with a golden setting sun shining through muslin curtains of sea green. From the minute Jonathan had ushered her inside, she'd adored it.

  The furniture was painted white, as were the walls, which were adorned with numerous paintings from local artists. Many were seascapes, rich and colorful, and others were of the surrounding towns and whitewashed buildings distinct to Marseilles. Their room itself was small, but charming in its simplicity. The bed, shrouded in an airy, bright blue coverlet, stood against the far wall. Next to it were the dressing table and stool, beside which stood a muslin screen in coral pink for discreet dressing. The only other furnishings were the two chairs and small wicker table in front of the window, which opened fully to allow the sea breeze to cool the room continuously. It was the most colorful, comfortable place in which Natalie had ever stayed, and she cherished each moment, gazing out to the open sea, knowing she would soon be returning to gray, dreary England.

  He'd never said so, but Natalie was sure Jonathan didn't stay in places so beautiful when he traveled alone. That only meant he'd found the bungalow for her. As she came to know him better, she found him to be one of the most thoughtful individuals she'd ever met. And not just thoughtful in a way a gentleman might treat a lady of acquaintance, but in a more subtle, personal manner, as if he truly considered what she might like and how she thought and felt.

  The last four days had been interminable. She tried to tell herself it was because she had to wait so patiently to meet the legendary thief after learning he would be at the ball. But realistically she knew it was because it had been four days since her intimate encounter with Jonathan on the beach. The
memory of it filled her mind constantly, making her blush and squirm with embarrassment, more so if he walked into the room and simply looked at her. She knew instinctively that every moment they were together he was remembering her reaction to his touch, a reaction unforgivable, in her opinion.

  But he hadn't mentioned that evening again. Hadn't, in fact, mentioned much at all. For four days he'd been nearly silent, speaking to her only when he thought it necessary, going about his business as he left her in the bungalow each morning to ride into the city. Or so he said. Natalie really had no reason to be suspicious. He had, in fact, twice on occasion taken her with him. He wasn't in any way rude or devious; it was just that his attention had turned elsewhere, and she wasn't sure how to respond to his sudden impassivity. She was fairly certain it had nothing to do with Mrs. DuMais, but that idea couldn't be disregarded. She only wished she didn't care so much if it did.

  Part of her realized his indifference was because of what she'd said to him after their cozy twilight picnic where she'd completely lost control of her mind. She'd sensed his feelings that night, had noticed the look on his shadowed features. He had been totally honest with her—she knew that. And if she considered her feelings honestly she knew he was more than accurate regarding their growing attraction to each other. But above it all, more than anything else that mattered in her life, she refused to become one of Jonathan Drake's innumerable conquests. If she gave herself to him to any further extent she'd be the one to lose, and she'd lose everything—her self-respect; her virginity, which was something she truly wanted to give her future husband; and most probably her heart. She'd been consumed, for various complex reasons, with meeting the Black Knight for two years now, and she needed to remain focused on that. She'd worked too hard and far too long for Jonathan, and her confusing feelings for him, to ruin this one night.

  This night. And she was ready.

  Natalie stood with fired nerves and walked two steps to the window, noting irritably that even with good marks for thoughtfulness, Jonathan obviously hadn't remembered that this was the most important night of her life. She glanced to the silver clock on the dressing table, wringing her hands in front of her. It was nearly seven, and he had yet to return from his city wanderings. What the man did with his time, she couldn't guess.

  He entered the bungalow at precisely that moment, as if on cue, and she whirled around to confront him. He carried a cloth bag over one arm, which she assumed contained clothes for the ball that he'd purchased in town since he certainly hadn't brought anything appropriate to wear to such a function in his one small trunk. She faced him, taking a stance of impatience, arms at her sides, chin high, as she watched him close the door.

  At last he glanced at her, as he'd done a thousand times, but this time he stared at what he saw. Her pulse quickened, color flooded her cheeks, and that's when Natalie realized she had dressed for him, too. It was a disturbing thought, but she held his gaze, a twinge of a smile on her lips.

  "You look beautiful."

  The words were those she wanted to hear, but his tone was so matter-of-fact, so bland, she wasn't certain if he was paying her a compliment he truly believed or merely saying exactly what any lady expected to hear from a gentleman of quality.

  "Thank you," she mumbled, clasping her hands in front of her to keep them from shaking.

  His eyes grazed her figure, from the curls high on her head to the lace at her hem, pausing only briefly at her accentuated bosom and waist. Then he turned and strode toward the screen to change.

  "There are some things we need to discuss, Natalie," he said frankly, unbuttoning his shirt with one hand as he walked behind the thin barrier. "First, as far as the Black Knight is concerned, I'll introduce him to you if I see him and if it isn't awkward."

  She felt a welling anxiousness in the pit of her stomach. "I'll be very discreet, Jonathan. You needn't worry."

  "I'm certain you will, but the meeting still has to be on my terms," he insisted. "The man's identity must be protected. If he's there I'll talk to him, and if he feels it's safe, I'll find a way to introduce you."

  She held her tongue of argument, realizing his intentions were all she could hope for.

  "The second item of importance is the sword," he continued quickly, rustling with clothing from the bag. "I can't have you mentioning it to the count."

  How was that relevant? "Why?" Her expression went flat with comprehension. "He doesn't know he's selling it to you, does he, Jonathan?"

  "Not yet."

  How men ever survived in the business world she couldn't guess. "Of course," she agreed to the ridiculous. "I won't mention the sword."

  He flung his day clothes over the screen. "And finally, we must discuss our marriage."

  She swallowed dryly as embarrassment returned, her fingers toying nervously with her cameo ring. It occurred to her at that moment the enormity of the game they were about to play.

  "We've been married two years," he continued directly. "We had a usual courtship of six months and live in London proper for the part of the year we aren't traveling abroad. We move in excellent social circles, have plenty of money though not excessive wealth, and as yet no children. The rest of your identity need not be embellished. The count thinks I'm here with an interest in buying his Parisian estate."

  "All this drama for a sword?" she asked incredulously.

  "It's a very nice sword," was his vague reply.

  She paused, thinking. "Is this what Mrs. DuMais arranged for you?"

  He was silent for a moment, dropping his shoes on the floor with a clunk.

  "Yes, in part," he admitted. "She also knows we're not really married. She's the only one you can confide in tonight."

  "Naturally."

  He brushed over her rather snide comment, then several seconds later stepped from behind the screen, tying his cravat with expert fingers. And his appearance took her breath away.

  He looked magnificent, flooding her with memory of long ago. Another ball. Only this time he was more sophisticated, mature in bearing, more handsome, if that were possible.

  His clothes were expensive and perfectly tailored, which partially explained where he'd spent the last four days. A cream silk shirt covered his broad chest, over which he wore an emerald-green waistcoat, and a frock jacket and matching trousers of lightweight wool in deep olive. It was a striking combination, though one she would never expect him to choose. Yet the colors made his eyes, as they bore into hers, an incredibly vivid blue, his hair shiny and dark as polished black onyx.

  "Natalie?"

  She raised a hand to her throat. "Marvelous," she whispered.

  For the first time in days, she caught a semblance of a smile on his lips. "I dress to please you, my darling wife. You've always admired me in shades of green."

  She wasn't certain if he was being sarcastic or rising to the moment with a very credible acting debut. She decided to assume it was the latter, playing along as she reached for her gloves and fan on the wicker table. "Have I? How well you've learned my tastes during the last two years, Jonathan."

  He straightened his coat. "Indeed, Mrs. Drake. As any husband should." He offered her his arm. "Our hired carriage awaits at the top of the road. Are you ready?"

  She hesitated, growing uncomfortable as she considered her next words. Unfortunately they needed to be said before she and Jonathan left to attempt such a crucial masquerade.

  Grasping the cameo around her neck, she asked with some reluctance, "Are we in love?"

  He stared at her blankly, then lowered his arm and slowly frowned. "What?"

  She felt hot suddenly, although she continued to look at him levelly. "As a married couple. Are we in love?"

  That bewildered him. He had no idea what to say, or whether to laugh or argue or question her sanity. With all his organization in planning their deception, he'd analyzed them kissing each other—when, how, why, and in front of whom, but not once had he thought of love between them.

  Natalie, for the
first time since she'd met the imposing Jonathan Drake, knew she had the advantage in the palm of her hand. It was an exquisite moment of triumph, and she could hardly keep herself from grinning.

  "Please, Jonathan. I have to know how to play the game," she returned as innocently as she could. "Some married couples love each other. Are we one of the fortunate few, or would you rather we avoid each other for the evening?"

  It was his turn to hesitate, his eyes narrowing as he continued to watch her. "I hadn't thought about it."

  "Yes, I know," she asserted at once. She realized her face shone pink with discomfiture, but she carried on, hoping to appear bored by a tedious dialogue he should have raised between them days ago. "As a man you may not have considered it, as the men at the ball surely won't. But the women will notice and respond accordingly." She purposely cleared her throat. "Should I be jealous when you dance and flirt with others, or merely indifferent?"

  His mouth twisted in an arrogant half smile. "You've actually thought about this?"

  In the blink of an eye, the advantage was once again his. Now her cheeks were burning as he stared down at her in vague amusement. "Any woman in my position would, Jonathan."

  "I see." He dropped his gaze to her breasts momentarily, then raised them back to her face. "What do you think?"

  She fidgeted from his shameless regard, never expecting the question and unsure how to respond. She wanted to provoke him by announcing how little she cared, or that she preferred the more plausible relationship of marital aloofness. Then it struck her that he'd be more unsettled by her forced loving attention, and instantly that was the game she wanted to play.

  "I think we should," she declared confidently.

  His brows rose minutely. "Be in love?"

  She shrugged. "I think it's more realistic in our circumstance."

  "Do you?" He was standing very close to her now, his voice deep and quiet. "As two properly bred members of the English gently?"