She sighed and turned her attention back to the count, who now seemed genuinely taken aback by her suggestion, that she could be so easily swayed. Actually they all appeared uncomfortable as it occurred to them that by her offering to hand over the faux jewels without argument, the Frenchmen had been wrong in their assumptions and had insulted an influential Englishman and his innocent wife in the count's Parisian home. Natalie concluded this at once and played upon it by patting Henri's arm in a small measure of condescension, expressing a silent understanding toward the absurd complexities of the male ego.
Then without further response, she raised her fingers to her neck and unclasped the necklace, pulling it forward and holding it out to the count.
Dazzling emerald green and gold glittered under candlelight—a magnificent forgery she loathed losing.
Henri took it from her with thick fingers, clutching it, his heavy brows knit together as he turned it over to study its structure. "For a woman, you are indeed"—he cleared his throat—"astute, Madame Drake. And you are also honest."
"So is her husband," Madeleine interjected with a tactful drop of her chin.
That was the final offense. The count and other distinguished noblemen had acted disgracefully toward her and Jonathan, and that acknowledgment had come from a Frenchwoman. A splendid touch. Natalie felt the air grow thick with embarrassment and triumph.
Someone shouted obscenities, and they all turned.
And then she heard the pops, two of them, followed by screaming and a sudden mass of confusion.
Jonathan grabbed her wrist and yanked her to the ground, her feet tangling in petticoats and yards of blue taffeta as she tried to steady herself. She heard yelling in the distance, wailing. Madeleine shouted something in French from behind her, but she couldn't understand it. The count pivoted unsteadily, knocked in the back by several people pushing through the crowd. Faille snatched the necklace from Henri's hands and sprinted along the edge of the buffet table toward a side entrance, tripping twice over his gangly legs before he reached it.
The yelling continued, disarray grew, then another pop exploded above the noise, which Natalie now registered to be a pistol shot. Jonathan pushed her to the edge of the buffet table so that she couldn't see much of anything but him and scattering feet. He said something to Madeleine in French, then turned back to her, grabbing her face with firm fingers.
"Madeleine's getting you out of France—"
"I'm not leaving!" she blurted angrily without clear thought, attempting to steady her unbalanced figure so she wouldn't topple over and crash into the table.
He gritted his teeth. "The authorities will be here soon, maybe even the National Guard if things get uglier." He tightened his hold on her cheeks. "You can't get arrested, understand?"
She grimaced at his hardened features, fuming from his determination. Someone fell against the table knocking over their discarded glasses of champagne and whisky, causing the contents to splash over the side and down the front of her gown.
The noise grew. A chair, heaved across the floor, crashed through a window twenty steps away from her, and Natalie started to tense in fear. "I'll leave, but you're coming with me—"
"I can't," he argued, looking directly into her eyes. "I have to tell somebody in authority about tomorrow."
"Madeleine can do that."
He shook his head. "No one will believe her. She's French and a woman, and they'll either suspect her involvement or disregard her. I will probably be taken seriously but that means I can't leave until tomorrow at the earliest. She can get you out tonight."
"We must go while people are still disoriented!" Madeleine interrupted in a shout above the roar, kneeling behind Jonathan.
Natalie refused to look at the woman or give in so easily. "I'll stay at the hotel with her until you come for me—"
"Dammit, Natalie, no! You—" He stopped, releasing her cheeks, then raking the fingers of one hand harshly through his hair to calm himself. "If these people attempt to assassinate the king, the streets will ring with unrest, and you might not get out at all. Things are already dangerous enough. You did a marvelous job for me, sweetheart, but it's over. Go home now."
She glared at him and hit a fist against his chest. "I hate you, Jonathan."
He have her a sheepish grin. "I know. Now go."
He turned toward Madeleine, and Natalie grabbed his coat sleeve. "Do not die."
The shouting grew louder, the whimpering shrill.
He rolled his eyes in exasperation. "I would never deprive you of the pleasure of killing me yourself."
She opened her mouth to say something clever, then shut it again. With that he kissed her hard on the lips. "Get out of France, Natalie, before you're detained or arrested. Your mother would not approve."
"She wouldn't approve of you, either," she nearly screamed.
He glanced at her face for a final time. "Yes, she will."
Then he disappeared into the scrambling crowd as Madeleine dragged on her arm until she found herself outside and standing on the dark and dangerous street.
* * *
Chapter 18
« ^ »
Moonlight sifted through gauze curtains to illuminate the entry hall as Jonathan stepped into his town house. He paid his hired driver after the man set his trunk on the floor, then dismissed him, locking the door to the outside world. It was nearly midnight, and he was exhausted, relieved to be home.
Loosening his neckcloth, he moved quietly through the first floor toward the center staircase, deciding against lighting. There was no need. His intent was to do nothing but fall into bed and sleep off the weariness of the last few days. Tomorrow, well rested and prepared to face his future, he would make his first formal call on Miss Natalie Haislett.
She'd arrived home safely, that much he'd learned, but whether she'd speak to him again soon was anybody's guess. It had been nearly a week since the disastrous party in Paris, and all had not gone well for the Legitimists. But he was tired of concerning himself with their cause. His life was in London, or more precisely Natalie was in London, and his life was with her.
He missed her, and he'd never missed a woman before. She had wrapped herself around his heart, and he had succumbed. She would forgive him for the last little lie about the emeralds and marry him, not only because his egotistical mind would accept nothing less, but because she loved him, too, and he knew this.
Jonathan climbed the stairs to the second-floor landing, unbuttoning his cuffs, then working through those at the bottom of his shirt as he walked into his darkened bedroom. Immediately he saw her and stopped short.
Her body lay under his covers, a silver shimmer outlining the curve of her figure as moonglow streamed through the tall window behind her. She stirred and turned in his direction, noticing him as he stood staring at her. Silently she sat up and stepped onto the carpet to walk toward him, completely unclothed.
"Jonathan?"
His body reacted from joyous wonder at finding her between his sheets, from the husky, intimate way she said his name, from the naked vision of her coming to his side.
"Were you expecting someone else?" he softly teased.
"Yes, I was expecting my lover," she answered with a casual air and a toss of her curls. "He hasn't arrived yet, though, so I suppose I'll have to settle for you."
One side of his mouth curved upward. "I think I can make you forget him."
Her brows rose. "Really? How arrogant." With lighthearted irritation she added, "But then, since you're the one who's here and available to me, I suppose I, too, shall take it upon myself to make you forget all the other lovers you've had in this bed."
His smile widened. "You did that in Paris, Natalie. I can't now recall having a lover before you."
She sighed and inched her body up so close to his he felt the heat of it. "That's the correct response, Jonathan, and naturally what I'd thought you'd say."
He touched her cheek with his palm, and she quickly covered it with he
r hand, turning her face into it, kissing him. She stood before him like a goddess from his deepest fantasy—skin gleaming like pearls, body sensual and soft, hair curling thickly over her breasts, eyes dark in shadows.
"I missed you," she whispered.
And he was lost.
Jonathan seized her elbow and pulled her against him, wrapping his arms around her waist, drawing her into him so she could feel the evidence of his desire, dropping his lips to brush hers.
"Madeleine told me—"
"I don't want to talk about Madeleine," he murmured against her mouth. "I want you to tell me what's in your heart, Natalie."
She reached up and placed her palms on his cheeks. "I'm furious with you."
"I know that already."
She touched his lips with delicate kisses. "I need you."
"I know that, too."
She shivered as he glided his fingertips up her waist until his hand found her breast. He cupped it, stroked it, feeling hot skin beneath rising gooseflesh, making her gasp when he gently squeezed her nipple to a peak.
"Tell me what I need to hear," he begged in a whisper. In a silky, passion-filled voice, she pleaded, "Love me, Jonathan…"
From that small demand, urgency overpowered him. He took her mouth completely with his in blatant hunger, drawing the breath from her with a harsh kiss of strength against softness, passion and longing against sweetness and forgiveness and acceptance. She parted her lips without insistence, eagerly welcomed his tongue with a sweep of hers, and his blood began to boil.
Gently he pushed her toward the bed with one hand while working through the remaining buttons on his shirt with the other. She grasped his shoulders as he led her, tasting him with a growing impatience to feel.
The back of her knees touched his quilt, and with that she pulled away from the kiss. He stared down at her face hidden in darkness, features unreadable, and yet he sensed every feeling for him she possessed. They emanated from her, shrouding him in warmth and comfort like summer sunshine on skin.
She lowered her body onto the bed as he swiftly discarded his clothes, and then he was beside her, touching her, kissing her mouth and neck, cheeks and brows and eyelashes. She moaned softly as his hand found her breast again, running his fingers along the base of it, cupping it, kneading it tenderly.
His shaft, hard and hot and ready, grazed her hip. But instead of shying away from it as she had their first time, she pushed herself into it, closing her leg over his to mold him to her tightly. He groaned from the contact, encircling her waist with his arm as they now lay nearly side by side, kissing deeply, breathing rapidly, wanting.
She put her hands flat on his chest, massaging his muscles with vigor, then lowering them between their bodies until she found the coarse curls below his navel.
He drew back, releasing her mouth and sucking in a sharp inhale at a boldness in her he hadn't expected. Then she touched the hot, smooth length of him, her expression of uncertainty only vaguely discernible through filtered moonlight.
"Yes," he assured her in a gravelly whisper, caressing the softness of her breast.
Cautiously she explored him with her fingers, moving them up and down his demanding erection, teasing the curls at the base, grazing her nails along the outside. Then she took him fully in her hand, her thumb finding an emerging satiny drop on the surface that she smoothed across the top in one slow circle.
Jonathan had trouble breathing, holding back. He ached to join with her, to embed himself in her heated softness, but wanted more desperately at that moment for her to discover the hard angles and strength of his body, the physical differences between them. He reached down with his hand and covered hers, staring gravely into her eyes, showing her how to stroke him, moving her hand slowly up and down the length of him until she grew confident in the movement herself.
He placed his hand back on her breast, rubbing the rosy, hardened tip with his fingers. The other he laid flat across her forehead, smoothing her hair back from her beautiful face, taking in every feature with only a faint stream of light.
"Tell me how you feel," he urged again quietly, his voice thick with longing.
Her body trembled as her breathing became a pant from his steady caresses. "Don't ever leave me, Jonathan."
Those barely audible words came from deep within, through an ache of something she couldn't yet define for him. He forced himself to stay calm, to hold back his release as she continued to stroke him with her hand, swallowing harshly at the wonder of having her beside him, desiring him, wanting him always. "I love you, Natalie…"
She drew a shaky breath from the power of her own feelings, and he could wait no longer.
He covered her mouth with his, kissing her delicately at first, then spreading her lips with his tongue, invading the warmth of her with thriving need. He reached down with his own hand and touched hers again as she stroked him intimately, grazing her fingers with the tips of his. Finally necessity invaded, and his heart pounded and he knew he was close to losing himself. He closed his palm over her knuckles to stop the movement, and she responded. He kissed her deeply, brushing her brow with his thumb as he pulled her hand from him and placed it to her side.
He released her mouth and began a line of gentle kisses down her neck and chest, circling the tip of her breast with his tongue, then taking the nipple in his mouth, kissing and sucking until she whimpered. He lowered his hand to the curls between her legs, skimming his fingertips along the soft flesh of her inner thighs before finding the slick, wet folds and parting them to stroke her slowly, deliberately.
She gasped and curved into his hand, moving her fingers to his hair as the anticipation in her grew. He quickened the pace, sucking her nipples, one after the other, increasing the pressure of his fingers, then finally pushing one inside of her as he found the hidden nub of her pleasure and began circling it with his thumb.
She pressed into him, lifting her hips in rhythm, setting her own pace, closing her eyes once more to the feel of his rousing invasion.
He drew his lips down her belly, pausing to rub his cheek in the curls between her legs, inhaling the scent of her, marveling in the beauty of her as he brought her closer to her glorious crest. He touched his lips to her thigh, and she stiffened a little, confused through the haze of desire, unsure of his intentions.
"Just feel me," he whispered before pulling his hand away and quickly replacing it with his mouth, tasting her, penetrating her with his tongue.
"Jonathan—"
He ignored her momentary shock, sliding his palms beneath her to hold her still, licking her within until she accepted the intrusion and began to burn once more in a craving fever.
She clutched him to her, her fingers through his hair, breath quick and uneven as she started pushing her hips against his mouth. Expertly he flicked the center of her in steady measure, taking her to the edge of satisfaction and then withdrawing the pressure, again, and then again.
Finally she moaned his name in delicious torment, and he stopped the teasing and carried her there. Her thighs tightened. She pressed into him. Then the pleasure shattered within her, and she cried out, rotating her hips while he flicked and stroked and licked her with his tongue.
He felt the quivers within her subside, and quickly he moved up to cover her with his body, lowering himself between her legs, adjusting her hips beneath his. He hesitated for a few seconds, hearing her fast breathing, feeling the dampness of it on his skin, and at last she opened her eyes to his.
He watched her face in near darkness, tracing her lips with his fingertips as he entered her, deeply, resisting further motion while she adjusted to the pressure and fullness of him.
She welcomed him, encasing him in hot, tight softness, expressing no pain this time, only desire of completion and the hope of pleasing him. She wrapped her legs around his thighs, her arms around his neck, pulling him as close as she could.
Everything about her bewitched him, as it always had—her glossy hair spreading out in a s
ilvery sheen across his pillows, her magnificent eyes now circles of black satin, caressing him, hypnotizing him, the soft feel of her, the tempting scent of her, and now the sweet feminine taste of her as her honeyed moisture lingered on his lips.
"I will never leave you," he whispered with an intensity that staggered even him.
She inhaled a deep, shaky breath, feeling the radiant power between them, comprehending it. "I know."
He placed his forehead on hers, wove his fingers through her hair, and steadily began to glide out and then back into her, keeping the action slow and small until he felt her relax from the tightness and grow accustomed to the sensation.
She started her own little movements against him, running her inner thighs along the outside of his, and he gradually quickened the pace, driving deeper with each penetration. She arched her body enough for him to realize she wanted more, and he gave, changing the rhythm until she adjusted, circling his hips to help her find fulfillment again.
She matched the force of each thrust as passion grew, resting her palms on his neck, her breathing shallow once more. He lowered his hand to her breast and clung to it possessively, sliding his fingers across her nipple, then circling it, squeezing it.
She turned her face into the pillow, and he increased the tempo, rotating his hips against her, kissing her temple and cheek and the curve of her throat.
He held back for her, concentrating, kissing her face, sucking her earlobe, grazing it with his teeth, kneading her breast with expert fingers. The heat she radiated scorched his skin, her breath caressed his cheek, and his body strained with a fire of its own as he neared his own climax.
She writhed beneath him frantically, whimpering, and finally he could stand no more. He reached the edge of sanity, raised himself up to see the beauty of her face, and just as quickly she grabbed his hips with tight hands, forcing him to remain inside of her.
His body tensed. Then he let himself go and exploded within. She continued to move her hips, circling them against him, pushing into him, digging her nails into his skin, until at last she whispered his name and captured the exquisite pleasure for a second time. Her legs jerked wildly, her deep muscles contracted around him, and he watched her, felt everything, savored it all, loved it all.
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