His Silken Seduction

by Joanna Maitland

  Guillaume frowned over the top of the mirror but said nothing.

  Ben carefully scraped the last bristles from his chin. Soon Guillaume was making ready to leave.

  “Guillaume, be so good as to ask Mademoiselle Suzanne to step up to see me when she has a moment to spare.”

  Guillaume turned back from the door and glared at Ben. He clearly thought such a request was inappropriate. Ben’s conscience agreed, but that would not stop him. “Tell her, if you will,” he added quietly, “that I have remembered some information she will wish to be aware of.”

  Guillaume looked surprised, but after a moment, he nodded and left.

  Ben lay back on his pillows and stroked his newly shaven jaw with his free hand. He hadn’t made a very good job of it, but at least he looked less of a fright than he had when his head had been swathed in bandages and his hair had been matted with blood.

  He closed his eyes and tried not to think about Suzanne, but he failed. His body was definitely recovering now, for the very thought of her delectable person was having a marked effect. He swore.

  The door opened before he was fully back in control of his body. It was Suzanne. He quickly raised his knees and rearranged the bedclothes. Then he swallowed hard and forced himself to concentrate on his need for information.

  “Guillaume thinks that Bonaparte must be in Paris by now. He clearly holds out no hope that the king’s army will have remained loyal.”

  She was standing by the open door. Her eyes were cast down.

  “I know that you are troubled. You are bound to be worrying about your sister, but I can assure you that Jacques will defend her. With his life, if needs be.” He paused before continuing in a gentler voice, “Has the news from her given you cause for concern?”

  Suzanne started back, shocked. “Guillaume should not have spoken of that. He had no right.” Spots of high colour flared on her cheeks. She looked as though she were about to rush out of the room, probably to berate Guillaume.

  Ben stretched out his left hand to stay her and draw her nearer. “Pray do not blame Guillaume, Suzanne. He did not say anything about a message from your sister. I read the truth in his face. Come, sit down. Tell me. I may be useless as far as physical defences are concerned...” he nodded down at his bandages “...but there is nothing wrong with my brain. If there is a problem, and if there is anything that can be done from here in Lyons, we will find a way to do it, I promise you.”

  Chapter Three

  Suzanne took a deep breath and stepped fully into the room, pushing the door behind her. How could she resist that outstretched hand? She longed to take it, to clasp it to her heart, but she did not dare. She might love Benn…and her heart would surely break when he left her...but she would not indulge in a missish gesture that Benn would scorn. Or, worse, that he would pity.

  At least he had not blamed her troubled mood on that tiny, betraying touch of their hands. Let him continue to think she was simply worrying about her sister.

  She raised her chin and looked him in the eye. “Guillaume said you had some information for me?” Benn dropped his gaze for a second. Suzanne fancied that his colour had heightened a fraction, too.

  What was going on?

  “I have to admit, Suzanne, that I, er, misled you a little. I have no new information. How could I have, lying here?” He tried to shrug his shoulders. A mistake. A shadow of pain crossed his face.

  Suzanne’s heart contracted. She had taken an involuntary step towards him before she managed to stop. She clasped her hands firmly together. She would not allow herself to touch him, even if he was in pain.

  “Suzanne, we need to talk. You cannot continue to bear your burdens alone. Now that your sister has gone to Paris, you have no one to confide in. I know you would not stoop to share your concerns with mere servants. “

  Suzanne drew herself up a little more and looked down her nose at him. She doubted that Benn had ever faced the sort of hardships that the Grolier family had endured. Benn might be too haughty to trust a “mere servant,” but Suzanne and her sister were not.

  Guillaume had been a rock for their family when more exalted people had deserted them. The Groliers had remained true to their king, at the cost of their family’s fortune and status. Benn, as an Englishman, could never understand what the French had suffered through the Reign of Terror and the years of Bonaparte’ s despotism.

  Benn stretched out his hand once more. Then he smiled up at her in a way that touched her heart. She felt a sudden urge to throw herself on his chest and pour out all her troubles. That beguiling smile. Was he really offering to share her burdens?

  “You smile, sir. I fancy you do not understand the threats we face. This is France, not England. Traitors, and the innocent as well, are sent to the guillotine in this country. We have had years to learn that trust is not a matter of rank or status. I have trusted my servants with my life. And with your life, too.”

  This time, his blush was unmistakable. It made him look very young and vulnerable. The white bandages contrasted starkly with his high colour. “I beg your pardon, Mademoiselle Suzanne,” he said formally, bowing his head a little. “I meant no insult, I promise you. But my words were worse than thoughtless.” He gazed up at her, his blue eyes wide and apologetic. “Can you forgive me, my dear?”

  Suzanne’s heart lurched. How was she to resist when he used such words?

  She tried to clear her throat. “Let us forget it,” she said a little gruffly, fixing her gaze on the wall above his head. Benn was, without doubt, the handsomest man she had ever seen. His spare masculine beauty made her pulses race and her thoughts tumble whenever she looked at him. How was she supposed to keep her wits about her when she was near him? No woman could do it.

  Wrong. Marguerite did it.

  That rebellious little voice was back inside Suzanne’s head, reminding her of her strong-minded sister, who was now far away and in great danger. Suzanne swallowed the fear that clutched at her throat.

  With an obvious effort, Benn forced himself up from his pillows and thrust himself forward to grab Suzanne’s hand. He fell back again at once, his weight pulling her with him.

  “Out?” She landed on the edge of the bed in a rather undignified heap. She opened her mouth to rail at him.

  He was too quick for her. He gave her fingers a tiny squeeze, which silenced her completely. She felt as if a torrent of steaming water was enveloping her body, starting with the fingers he held in his.

  Oh, Benn. Do you have to inflict this torture on me? She wished she had the courage to speak her thoughts aloud. It was impossible, of course. She clamped her lips tight together to prevent any rebellious sounds from escaping.

  “You are angry with me,” he said softly. “And I admit I have given you cause. But my motives are of the best. I beg you to believe that.” He squeezed her hand again. When she did not object...for she still could not speak...Benn’s smile returned, then widened. “You may think me only a dunderheaded Englishman who understands nothing of French hardships. And you would be right, at least in part. But what I do understand, Suzanne, is you. You have nursed me for long enough now that I know your ways, your gentleness, your healing touch. I see the hardness in your face when you come to tend me. I see other emotions, too.”

  Suzanne closed her eyes against his words. What had he seen?

  “This morning,” he continued, almost without a pause, “I could see how troubled you were. Why, you almost fled from this room. What happened to our companionable conversations over morning coffee?” He grinned teasingly at her. “Why, you did not even remember to take away the empty cups. Guillaume had to do it later. As if he did not already have enough chores,” he added, in a voice of mock reproof. “Shame on you, mademoiselle.”

  She raised her head, slowly, to look at him. Ben saw that her eyes were huge and sheened with tears. That hurt. He felt as if he had been struck a blow. This remarkable girl was bearing the burdens of her whole family. No wonder she could not respond
to his silly teasing. He should be taking her in his arms, stroking her hair and soothing her with sympathetic words. She needed comfort and gentle caresses. But he did not even have two good arms to offer her. He…

  Without conscious thought, Ben did something totally foreign to him. Keeping his gaze locked with hers, he lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it. Her eyes widened even more. He heard her sharp intake of breath, impossibly loud in the stunned silence. She sat motionless, like a radiant statue wrought from glowing, pink-tinged marble. She was so beautiful that it almost pained him to look on her, knowing that they had only a few more days together and that he would never set eyes on her again once he left this place.

  Slowly and very deliberately, Ben turned her hand in his and put his lips to her tender palm.

  It was as if the marble had been touched by the finger of some ancient god and brought instantly to life. Her whole body shuddered. She moaned deep in her throat. And her glorious eyes, darkening to almost black, closed against his gaze.

  What was he doing to this poor girl? Ben knew he should have been feeling compassion, and remorse for treating Suzanne in such a cavalier fashion. He felt neither. His whole body was exultant that she should respond to him so. Hard, masculine pride surged through him. What he was feeling for Suzanne Grolier was pure, unquenchable desire. And he was beginning to suspect that she might be feeling it, too.

  For long minutes, neither of them moved. Ben feasted his gaze on her, seeing for the first time how the tiny tendrils of fine fair hair escaped to curl at her temples and caress her porcelain skin. Her eyelashes were thick and surprisingly dark. They rested on her blushing cheeks like downy feathers, waiting to be blown away by the whim of the breeze…or by the breath of a lover’s kiss. Ben raised his lips from her palm and strained forward, as if drawn by an invisible thread. He was going to kiss…

  Her eyes flew open. She was shocked. Her lips worked as if she were saying his name, but there was no sound. And then she turned her head away.

  The moment was over. The thread was broken. Ben gently returned her hand to her lap, resisting the temptation to allow himself a last caress. His body was now raging with desire. If Suzanne were aware of even half of what he was feeling, she would flee from him in horror. She was an innocent girl, after all, untutored in the base lusts of men.

  “Tell me what happened today, Suzanne. Why are you upset?” When she said nothing, Ben knew it was time to insist. “What has happened to your sister?”

  Suzanne remained tense and still for several seconds. Then she crumpled. Her shoulders slumped, her hands went to cover her face, and soon her whole body was shaking with convulsive sobs.

  Ben reached out his hand, but let it drop again before it could touch her shoulder. She needed his advice and counsel. Feeding his rampaging lust even further would be of no help at all.

  Her weeping stopped almost at once. She was fumbling in her pocket. Ben reached under his pillow for his own clean handkerchief and pushed it into her fingers.

  She raised her head, surprised. “Thank you.” Her voice was barely a whisper. She wiped her reddened eyes and then blew her nose hard. She had begun to shake her head, in disbelief at her own weakness, Ben decided. Or was it in rejection of him?

  She straightened her shoulders and looked at Ben. The handkerchief was a screwed-up ball in her clenched fingers. “There is nothing that you, or any of us, can do,” she began in a lifeless voice. “Marguerite sent back the trunk of silks from Paris since she could not sell any there. The trunk was broken open on the way.”

  “The silks have been stolen?” Ben knew the damage such a loss would do. The family needed every sou that the sale of their wares could bring. Marguerite had been foolhardy to entrust her silks to a carrier in such dangerous times.

  “No. Nothing is missing.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t understand.” He frowned a little and would have touched her if he dared, to show her the depth of his concern. But that was out of the question, for his body would go up in flames.

  “No, how could you?” She sounded strange, as if she were talking to someone else, someone invisible. “The trunk has two keys. Marguerite carries one when she travels. The other is kept here. That way, if the trunk must be sent by carrier, we can be sure that its contents have not been tampered with.”

  This was all extremely odd. Had she not said, just a moment ago, that none of the precious fabrics had been stolen?

  Before he could say a word, Suzanne continued in that same thready voice. “They broke open the trunk, but they took nothing. What they wanted was Marguerite’s letter. They broke into that, too.”

  Ben’s heart began to beat very fast. Now he did understand. What on earth had possessed Marguerite to enclose a letter? And what was Jack about, to allow her to do such a thing? One indiscreet word could be the death of them all. They would…

  His logical mind reasserted itself. There was a strange mystery here. “How do you know there was a letter, Suzanne?”

  Her hand went to the bosom of her plain muslin gown. “It was still in the trunk. But the seal was broken. I fear we are lost.”

  Ben smiled reassuringly. “How long is it since the trunk arrived?”

  “What? Oh, several hours, I suppose. It would have arrived at the coach office last night, but it was not delivered until first thing this morning. I don’t see that the timing changes anything.” She was fighting back now, and sounding much more like her normal self.

  “It changes everything, my dear Suzanne,” Ben said firmly. “If Bonaparte’s agents were going to arrest us all, they would have done so by now. ‘Strike while the iron is hot’ as the proverb goes. And why would they have left you the letter, knowing that you would understand the danger as soon as you saw the broken seal? No, trust me when I tell you that they will not come.”

  Her eyes widened, and she clasped her hands together. Then her mouth opened just enough to allow the tip of her tongue to moisten her lower lip. Ben recognized it for an unconscious gesture, born of anxiety, but the effect on him was electrifying. It was the most sensuous move he had ever seen. Desire flooded through him, all over again.

  Suzanne seemed to notice nothing. “But it must have been Bonaparte’s agents,” she protested. “Thieves would have stolen the silk and ignored the letter.”

  Ben forced himself to respond to her words and not to her distress. ‘You are right about the thieves. And you are right to assume that Bonaparte’s men broke into your trunk and read your sister’s letter. Then they were arrogant enough to send you both trunk and letter. They want you to know what they have done.”

  “So they do suspect us!”

  “It is more likely that they simply want to display their power. They want you and all the people of Lyons to be afraid. They know there are royalists in this city, so they are sending a very clear message everyone is a suspect, everyone’s possessions can be searched at will, and no one is safe under Bonaparte’s law.” Suzanne’s pale skin was turning ashen at his words. “But in this case, your sister’s letter has passed their test. I am sure of that, Suzanne. Tell me, what did she say?” He had convinced himself, by his own hard logic. But could he convince poor Suzanne?

  She began to speak, but she soon faltered. Taking a deep breath, she straightened her shoulders and drew a folded paper out of her bodice. “I think it is best if you read it for yourself. I assumed we were all betrayed. Perhaps you can assure me that I am wrong? I hope SO.”

  Ben took the letter and unfolded it carefully. The paper was still warm from its contact with Suzanne’s body. There was just the faintest scent of the lavender in which she stored her clothes. It lingered in the back of Ben’s throat like the perfume of the finest wine. And one mouthful was not nearly enough.

  Ben tried to concentrate on the letter. It was short. And it was very cleverly crafted. Had Suzanne been so shocked by the broken seal that she had failed to notice that? Marguerite had given nothing away, not even her own name, but there were hi
dden messages here, nevertheless. She was going to visit someone she referred to as “the curé.” She mentioned the possibility of a visit to the coast. What did she mean by these tantalizing references? Was she planning to help Jack to escape to England? Ben could see no other explanation.

  “Who is the curé your sister speaks of? Do you know where he lives? She says that is where she is going. She makes no mention at all of Jacques, but I assume that he will go with her.”

  Ben’s factual questions seemed to restore Suzanne’s normal poise. “I was not sure at first. Then Guillaume reminded me. There was a curt, Father Bertrand, who, er, who knew our family well in the old days. But he had to leave Lyons during the troubles. Guillaume says he went to Normandy. A village somewhere near Rouen, he thinks.”

  “Ah. I see.” The tension began to leave Ben’s shoulders. ‘Your sister is a brave and resourceful woman, Suzanne. She is telling us, through this subtly coded letter, that she and Jacques are making for the coast so that he can take ship for England.” He grinned at her, feeling more than a little smug at having deciphered Marguerite’s code where Suzanne could not.

  “But why on earth should he do that? Jacques’s place is here, alongside his fellow royalists, fighting for our cause. You must return to England, Benn, but you are English. Jacques is a Frenchman.”

  Ben knew, in that instant, that his face had given him away.

  “Dear God!” Suzanne exclaimed. “You gulled us all. Your friend Jacques is another English spy!”

  There was no point in denying it. “You are right, of course,” he conceded, trying to keep his tone light. “The only difference between us is that he can pass for a Frenchman, and I cannot. Jacques’s...Jack’s mother is French, you see,” he added, with a rueful smile.

  “And ‘Jack’ is his real name.” It was not a question.

  Ben did not reply, which was confirmation in itself. He had told Suzanne quite enough now. It would be dangerous for her to learn more.