At last a topic of conversation that Aimée could sink her teeth into! “I have no use for the king! I understand that his charm is great, but I have seen so many poor, suffering people that I can feel only disdain for a monarch who could waste so much time on extravagant, frivolous pursuits.”
St. Briac had gone pale under his tan, and Francois could only gape. Fearing for the foolish girl’s life, St. Briac made a valiant attempt to smooth things over. “Are you not aware that our king has spent many years at war? His courage is legendary. In fact, he was in the thick of battle at Pavia when taken prisoner.”
Aimée rolled her eyes and made a gesture of dismissal with one pretty hand. “His involvement of France in these silly wars is proof of our king’s childish male vanity. Why does he not concentrate on improving the lot of his own country instead of always attempting to take someone else’s away? The poor man’s character is obviously hopelessly shallow.”
Francois had begun to cough and then choke, and Aimée turned worried eyes on him. “Oh, dear. Are you all right?”
When he could breathe again, the king said hoarsely, “That will teach me to eat the stale bread of a peasant wench!”
She straightened slim shoulders. “I beg your pardon, m’sieur!”
St. Briac was torn between amusement at this scene and concern for what it might lead to. Fortunately, he was spared further involvement by the far-off sound of his huntsman’s horn. “There’s Perot, my friend! Let’s be away to join the others.”
The king was already rising. “No, no, St. Briac. I insist that you remain and accept all the comfort from this charming wood sprite. I for one have had my fill.” He gave them both a terse bow, mounted his horse, and galloped off through the woods.
Cringing, Thomas lay back in the lush grass, closed his eyes, and then let the laughter rise irrepressibly in his chest.
“Your friend’s behavior was quite odd,” Aimée observed. She reached for the basket and began to replace flask, cup, and linen serviette. “Has he some special regard for the king?”
“You might say that.” The smile that curved St. Briac’s mouth was at once that of a devil and a little boy. Slowly he began to laugh, remembering all that had happened.
Aimée looked on in consternation. Obviously both men had been lost in the woods for too long. Still, she couldn’t deny that this tall fellow stirred confusing feelings within her, feelings she had believed to exist only in poetry or in her sister’s romantic fantasies. She stared at him. The thick gray velvet of his doublet was tailored so that it stretched taut across his broad shoulders, strong tapering chest, and flat belly as he continued to lie back in the grass, helpless with laughter. Finally he raised one hand to brush tears from his sparkling eyes and sought to regain some composure. Aimée noticed that his fingers were long, clean, and aristocratic yet sun-darkened like those of a peasant who had no use for gloves. Glancing over, she discovered that he was watching her. Curiosity mixed with humor in his gaze.
“I apologize, mademoiselle,” St. Briac said softly. “You must think that my friend and I are quite mad.”
“The idea has occurred to me,” she admitted. When he chuckled again, she couldn’t help smiling in response. The man exuded something much more potent than charm. “Why were you laughing so? Don’t you share the regard your large-nosed companion feels for our monarch?”
St. Briac stared in delight and then put a hand over his eyes and shook his head in an effort to contain his mirth. “Large-nosed companion?” he echoed. “My little wood sprite, you are wonderful. Tell me your name.”
“I am Aimée de Fleurance, m’sieur.”
“It is a great pleasure to make your acquaintance, Aimée. To answer your question, I do in truth feel real affection and respect for King Francois, but at the same time I see the truth in much of what you said.” He found himself fascinated by this piquant, outrageous girl and couldn’t help wondering whether he had fallen from his horse and was dreaming this entire episode. Never had St. Briac seen eyes as green as the spring leaves or such thick, feathery black lashes. Her eyebrows arched delicately, betraying a quick intelligence, yet the minx was spellbindingly feminine. Flushed cheeks bespoke her awareness of him as a man.
Aimée dropped her eyes under St. Briac’s open regard. When he lifted her chin with a long finger, she shivered.
“You are very lovely, mademoiselle,” he murmured. He was seized with a longing to hold her in his arms in the fragrant grass, to taste her sweet mouth and creamy skin.
Aimée felt chilled and then burningly hot. Frightened, she drew back, her eyes wide as a fawn’s. “I, I—” In horror, she realized that the peaks of her breasts were outlined against her thin bodice and that St. Briac’s eyes were on them like a brand. “I have to be getting home. I’m quite late as it is.”
He realized then that Aimée was completely innocent; they had misjudged her. Sighing, he tried to forget the hard throb in his groin as he helped her rise. She turned away, unable to meet his gaze, and hastily began to collect sheets of parchment that now were scattered about the clearing. He joined her and puzzled briefly over the poems, written in English, that covered the pages.
“Merci,” Aimée whispered, assembling all the papers and placing them in the rush basket. “Again, I am sorry about the stag, at least I am sorry if I spoiled the afternoon for you and your companion. Also, I would appreciate it if you would convey my regrets to him. I did not realize that my opinion of our king would upset the poor man so.”
St. Briac grinned again, his eyes crinkling. “Think nothing of it. My large-nosed friend is oversensitive.”
“Well, adieu,” she said primly, and extended delicate fingers. They were lost in his strong, dark hand.
“Mademoiselle de Fleurance, I beg you grant me one favor before you leave.” St. Briac’s eyes were soft, melting her resistance. “I never met a wood sprite before today, and I crave a kiss to remember her by.”
She opened her mouth but could summon neither words nor breath. Gently, the man was drawing her into his embrace. For a moment he held her against his chest, one hand caressing her small back as if to soothe her fears. Aimée was conscious of steely muscles against her cheek but also of warmth. A faint, pleasantly masculine scent assailed her senses from the velvet doublet, and she heard the slow thump of his heart.
“Fear not, miette,” St. Briac whispered, tilting her chin up so that he could search her wide leaf-green eyes. When his lips touched her own, Aimée thought wonderingly that they too were hard yet warm, but then she forgot all else as his arms tightened, crushing her breasts against him, and his mouth slanted over hers. A wave of intense sensations broke over her body. His lips had parted, demanding that she reply, and she tasted his tongue. She was shocked yet exhilarated. One of his arms encircled her waist like a steely band, while his free hand slid into her glossy curls. Through her simple frock and petticoat she was suddenly aware of something rigid pressing against the unfamiliar ache between her thighs.
A horse whinnied and stamped behind them, followed by an exasperated voice. “God’s teeth! It would seem that I cannot leave you alone for a moment.”
Aimée broke free and whirled around to glimpse a small, thin man with white hair. He was clad all in black and sat astride a restless dappled horse. Humiliated and confused, she instantly scrambled across the clearing to snatch up her basket; then she lifted her skirts and disappeared into the woods without a backward glance.
St. Briac stared after her and then pivoted to confront his manservant. “Gaspard, you fat wit! When will you learn some manners? Have you no sense at all?”
“More than you, I think,” Gaspard LeFait replied calmly. “The king will have your head for consorting with a treasonous female if you are not at the hunting lodge in time to dress for tonight’s festivities.”
St. Briac grimaced. “The maiden is no traitor. She didn’t realize she spoke to the king himself.” Remembering, he tried to repress a smile. “Has the king told everyone w
hat happened?”
“No, he’s far too embarrassed. He related the story of your lost stag to the rest of the hunting party, but only I heard of the insults that chit heaped upon his royal head.” Gaspard’s lips twitched. “When you didn’t follow him immediately, he bade me save you from the madwoman.”
Swinging into his saddle, St. Briac gave a snort of wry laughter. “More likely he was imagining what he was missing.”
Before turning Sebastien in the direction of the hunting lodge, he glanced once more at the empty clearing and felt a surprising pang of regret.
YOU & NO OTHER (The St. Briac Novels, Book 1) is available on Amazon: http://amzn.com/B005T8NLWC
View all of Cynthia Wright’s novels here: http://www.cynthiawrightauthor.com/books.html#StBriac
Meet Cynthia Wright
My career as a novelist began when I was twenty-three, with a phone call from New York announcing that CAROLINE would be published by Ballantine Books. Can you imagine my excitement? I went on to write 12 more bestselling historical romances set in Colonial America, Regency England & America, Medieval England & France, and the American West.
Today I am a New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author, but what means most are readers’ messages like this one: “When I read your books, I can’t wait to turn the page, but never want the story to end.”
Today I live in northern California with my husband, Alvaro, in a 1930’s Spanish cottage. When we aren’t riding our tandem road bike or traveling in our vintage Airstream, I love spending time with family, especially my two young grandsons. I also recently received a degree as a Physical Therapist Assistant and feel blessed to have two rewarding careers!
P.S. Because so many readers have asked, “In what order should I read the Raveneau & Beauvisage books?”—here is that oft-requested list!
Although the titles stand alone, these series intertwine with some characters crossing over, and many readers enjoy them in chronological order:
1781 – SILVER STORM
1783 – CAROLINE
1789 – TOUCH THE SUN
1793 – SPRING FIRES (A Beauvisage/Raveneau Novel)
1798 – SMUGGLER’S MOON (The Raveneaus in Cornwall, Book 1)
1814 – SURRENDER THE STARS
1814 – NATALYA
1818 – SILVER SEA (A Raveneau/Beauvisage Novel)
1903 – TEMPEST
I’d love to have you join me at my website (where you can sign up for my newsletter):
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Novels by Cynthia Wright
CAROLINE
The Beauvisage Novels, Book 1
~
TOUCH THE SUN
The Beauvisage Novels, Book 2
~
SPRING FIRES
The Beauvisage Novels, Book 3
(A Beauvisage/Raveneau Novel)
~
NATALYA
The Beauvisage Novels, Book 4
~
SILVER STORM
The Raveneau Novels, Book 1
~
SMUGGLER’S MOON
The Raveneaus in Cornwall, Book 1
~
SURRENDER THE STARS
The Raveneau Novels, Book 2
~
SILVER SEA
(previously published as BARBADOS)
The Raveneau Novels, Book 3
(A Raveneau/Beauvisage Novel)
~
TEMPEST
The Raveneau Novels, Book 4
~
YOU AND NO OTHER
The St. Briac Novels, Book 1
~
OF ONE HEART
(previously published as A BATTLE FOR LOVE)
The St. Briac Novels, Book 2
~
BRIGHTER THAN GOLD
The Western Novels, Book 1
~
FIREBLOSSOM
The Western Novels, Book 2
~
WILDBLOSSOM
The Western Novels, Book 3
~
CRIMSON INTRIGUE
(not yet released in e-book form)
A Gift From the Jewels…to YOU
Ever wonder which of all the scenes she’s written is Cynthia’s favorite scene? In this very special anthology, twelve internationally bestselling, award-winning historical romance authors—all Jewels—have selected their favorite scenes to share with you. Along with Cynthia’s, you’ll visit favorites scenes by Jill Barnett, Annette Blair, Cheryl Bolen, Lucinda Brant, Glynnis Campbell, Tanya Anne Crosby, Colleen Gleason, Danelle Harmon, Brenda Hiatt, Lauren Royal, and Laurin Wittig.
Download your FREE copy now!
Visit jewelsofhistoricalromance.com
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Come to the Jewels’ website and enter their monthly contest for prizes you won’t want to miss! http://jewelsofhistoricalromance.com/
Smuggler’s Moon
The Raveneaus in Cornwall, Book 1
Copyright © 2014 by Cynthia Challed
Excerpt from Surrender the Stars Copyright © 1987, 2011 by Cynthia Challed
Excerpt from You and No Other Copyright © 1984, 2011 by Cynthia Challed
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions.
Without limiting the rights under copyright(s) reserved above and below, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior permission of the copyright owner.
Please Note:
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
The scanning, uploading, and distributing of this book via the internet or via any other means without the permission of the copyright owner is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.
Thank You.
Digital Edition published by Boxwood Manor Books
ISBN: 978-0-9890919-6-1
Cover Art by Kim Killion
Digital Formatting by Author E.M.S.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Author’s Note
Excerpt from Surrender the Stars
Excerpt from You and No Other
Meet Cynthia Wright
Novels by Cynthia Wright
The Jewels of Historical Romance
Copyright
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Cynthia Wright, Smuggler's Moon
Smuggler's Moon Page 35
