To Tempt a Rebel (The Scarlet Chronicles, #4)

by Shana Galen

  “Then we have no choice but to use the secret tunnel.” Alex sat back, dejected.

  “A year or so ago I went to Vauxhall Gardens,” Miss Blake said slowly. “Vauxhall is a pleasure garden in London. They have music and dancing and fireworks.”

  “We know what Vauxhall Gardens is,” Dewhurst grumbled.

  “He might not.” She indicated Tristan.

  “I’ve been to London, Miss Blake, so I have heard of these gardens.”

  “When I was there, I saw the most wonderful rope walker.”

  “All I ever see are whores,” Dewhurst muttered.

  “You have to look up, Lord Anthony,” Miss Blake remarked, lifting her hands from her ample chest to her face.

  Everyone but Dewhurst stifled a laugh. Tristan found he rather liked Miss Blake, though she obviously had horrible taste in men.

  “This rope walker could do amazing tricks on the rope. She stood on her hands and bent over backward. I was terrified she would fall, even though there was a net to catch her if she did. But she didn’t fall. She was very talented. And don’t look at me like that, Sir Andrew. I have a point. There must be rope walkers in Paris, although what we need is someone who can climb a rope rather than walk it.”

  “Even if we could find such a person,” Dewhurst said, “how would we secure a rope inside the Temple?”

  “You don’t need a rope,” Montagne said from the doorway. He’d returned and looked as unruffled as before. “There are drainpipes from the roof of the Temple almost to the ground. We’d just need someone who could climb one of those. There’s a walkway on the inside of the turrets. He or she could gain entrance from there.”

  “And how are we to find someone who can climb like a monkey?” Dewhurst asked. “It’s not as though we can walk through the Parisian prisons and ask for the expert climbers to come forward.”

  “I can climb it,” Alexandra said.

  “No,” Tristan said before he was even aware of what he was doing.

  She cut her gaze to him. “Yes, I can. When I was in the traveling troupe with my parents I knew rope walkers. They have to be good climbers to make it up to the rope.”

  “Then I was right that we need a rope walker.” Miss Blake smiled.

  “You need a good climber, and though I never did much rope walking, I did often help to string the ropes. That requires expert climbing. I’d like to think I became quite good at it.”

  “And how long ago was that?” Tristan asked.

  “Long enough, but I could practice and still do it. I know I can.”

  “If anyone could do it, it’s you,” Ffoulkes agreed. “You’re small and light enough—”

  “Am I the only one who doesn’t want Alexandra to fall to her death?”

  “No one wants her to be hurt, Chevalier,” Ffoulkes said, “but if all we need is a locksmith that makes our task much easier. Alex climbs up, admits us, helps the locksmith free the king, then lowers him down in...perhaps some sort of basket—”

  Tristan covered his eyes. Now she was to climb up with a basket?

  “And we take the child out of the country.”

  “How am I to get out of the Temple?” Tristan wondered aloud. “Or is that not a concern?”

  “We’ll need a distraction,” Montagne said.

  “I’m good at distractions,” Dewhurst said. “A few explosions ought to do it.”

  Montagne crossed to Miss Blake. “Then Honoria and I will wait in a carriage and take the king across the border. It’s past time we left Paris anyway.”

  “After this, Chevalier will have to leave as well,” Alexandra said.

  “Pardon?”

  She gave him a long look. “You didn’t think you’d be able to stay, did you?”

  He’d tried not to think too much about that eventuality. Not that he thought he would be traveling anywhere. The plan the league had sketched out was doomed at best. It would never work, and now he had no choice but to go along with it.

  Thirteen

  Alex could see the doubt written on Chevalier’s features. She might have felt the same if she didn’t trust the rest of the league implicitly. They’d never failed her yet, and they wouldn’t now. But she didn’t have time to convince Chevalier of that. She had to make sure he arrived at his apartments without being caught.

  “I’ll take Chevalier home while you plan the details,” she said.

  Ffoulkes nodded, already consulting with Honoria about the forged documents they’d need. “We need that locksmith,” he said absently.

  “And the pass,” Honoria added.

  “He’ll get them,” she promised. She took his arm and led him through the door and down the stairs.

  “Curfew began an hour ago,” he said. “We can’t risk going out.”

  “Then we go up.”

  “What does that mean?”

  She led him to a door that opened into a bedchamber. She entered and removed her shoes, but he hesitated. “What are you doing?”

  “Not seducing you. I still dislike you.” But she didn’t hate him. Truth be told, she didn’t even dislike him—most of the time. He was worried about her falling when climbing. Her heart had filled when he’d stood up for her. “I need to change if I’m to be dashing about on roofs.”

  “This is your bedchamber.” He stood outside, peering in, and she could only imagine what he thought of the unmade bed and explosion of clothing on the floor. “Wait.” He scratched his head. “What do you mean, the roofs?”

  She smiled and began rummaging about in the wardrobe. “I can’t hear you.”

  He stepped into the room just as she stepped away from the wardrobe with a pair of breeches and a black coat in her hands.

  “You can’t mean to wear those.” His eyes were wide.

  “Oh, yes I do. Would you close the door, please?”

  “If you are found dressed in men’s clothing—”

  “The door, Chevalier.”

  He went to the door and closed it. “—you could be arrested and charged with not only violating curfew but inappropriate dress. What are you doing?”

  “Removing this dress. Can you help so I don’t have to ask Honoria to come down?” She turned her back to him. She was an actress and used to dressing and undressing in mixed company. She had lost her modesty long ago. “That’s a ridiculous law. I don’t understand why people can’t simply wear what they want.” She glanced at him over her shoulder. “Unlace me.”

  “It’s unseemly for women to dress as men.”

  He took so long to cross to her, she half thought he would step out and tell her to call Honoria, but then she felt his hands on the laces. He was hesitant at first, but then more deliberate in his movements. The tight bodice began to loosen, and she took a deep breath. “Why do you uphold some manmade beliefs but not others?” she asked. “You fight to the death against the belief that nobles are better than commoners. You oppose the wearing of different clothing and the giving of titles, yet you still insist women must dress differently than men, and your precious republic has yet to give females the right to vote.”

  “Some have argued for that.” He finished with the laces, and she removed the bodice so she stood in corset and chemise. She could deal with her skirt herself.

  “Have you?” she asked, turning to face him.

  “No.” His voice was distant, and she looked up from her task to see his gaze had dipped to her breasts, pushed high by the tight corset.

  “Typical man, then.”

  His gaze rose to her face. “Forgive me.”

  “Just because my body differs slightly from yours doesn’t mean I am no less equal.” She finished with the tapes on the skirt and allowed it to drop to the floor. “And don’t tell me that women are intellectually inferior to men. If some women lack the education men have it is because men have kept them from it, just as the nobility prevented the commoners from the rights and privileges they should have.”

  “I find I have no good argument.”

 
; She smiled at him. “That’s a start. Will you help unlace this corset?”

  The look of pure hunger on his face almost made her smile. She really had not been trying to seduce him. Now that he was here, though, and looking at her with those dark eyes, it was difficult not to want him. She tried to summon that dislike again, but it was fleeting and fickle.

  “Or perhaps I should call Honoria?” she asked.

  “Too late for that,” he said, voice low and husky. “Turn around.”

  She gave him her back, and he made quick work of the laces on her simple corset. She shrugged it off and would have turned back around, but he placed his hands on her waist and bent to kiss the exposed skin of her shoulder. Alex’s pulse kicked, and she closed her eyes, intoxicated by the feel of his lips on her flesh.

  She did not like him. She did not like...oh, but she did like this.

  “Oui?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  His lips trailed across the back of her neck, making the fine hair there stand up. She shivered as he kissed down the top of her spine, his hand continuing down the material of her chemise to rest on the small of her back. “How do you always smell like flowers?” he asked, nuzzling her hair and then moving to the back of her ear. Alex stifled a moan.

  “I don’t know. Soap?”

  “You have daisies in that vase by your bed.”

  She glanced over at the small blue bottle she’d used as a vase. “They’re half dead, but the little girl selling them looked even worse. I don’t think they have a fragrance.”

  “That’s the scent your skin carries—spring flowers.” The hand at the small of her back slid lower to the curve of her arse.

  “Oui?” he asked again.

  She moaned.

  His hand slid over her buttocks, molding the shape and making her sex ache in response. “How far do you want this to go?”

  She knew he meant their lovemaking. She could tell him to stop now or allow it to go on a little longer...or a lot longer. “I want you,” she answered. “I know it will complicate matters.”

  “Because I may betray you?”

  “There’s that.” The hand still on her waist traced the curve of her body to the neck of her chemise. Her nipples pebbled in response. “But also because Dewhurst had a point. It’s harder to put someone you...have a connection with in danger.”

  “Someone you care about.” His fingers toyed with the bow she’d made when tying the neck of her chemise together.

  “If this goes much further, it will be hard not to care about you.”

  “I already find it difficult not to care for you.”

  She knew exactly what he meant. They were supposed to be enemies, but the battle lines grew blurrier every day.

  He pulled the bow and the chemise slipped down, revealing her breasts, the rosy nipples erect. His hand trailed down, cupping her flesh, fondling a nipple. But it was the hand on her bottom that drew most of her attention. He pulled the chemise to her feet, then his hand was on her bare arse again.

  “If we do this, I have rules,” Chevalier said.

  Her eyes opened, and she turned her head to look at his face. He kissed her lips gently. “I won’t be dominated.” His hand on her bottom traced the seam of her cheeks to the juncture of her legs.

  “And you think I would dominate you?”

  “You would try. I can’t allow that.”

  “Because of what happened when the Duc—”

  He kissed her again to silence her. His hand slid between her legs, pausing just short of where her sex throbbed. “I will be on top. Always.”

  “So you want to dominate me.”

  “I’ll be considerate.” His fingers brushed her sex. “Oui?”

  “Please.”

  He caressed her outer lips, then slid just inside, where she could feel wetness already pooling.

  “I won’t dominate, but I do need to be in control.” His wet finger moved upward, finding that little bud of pleasure and glossing over it. Alex saw stars.

  “So I’m to lie on my back and take it.”

  “I’ll make it worthwhile.” His finger slid back down and dipped further inside her. “Are we in agreement?”

  “You on top?” she panted as his finger made the slow trek back to her clitoris. “I lie back and take it.”

  “Or stand here and take it.” His finger brushed her clitoris and she jerked.

  “I think.” She moaned as the hand on her breast lightly pinched a nipple. “I can agree to that. This time.”

  “Stubborn,” he said with a laugh into her neck. “I like a challenge.” He circled the nub where pleasure was building. Her whole body and mind was focused on that one spot as he flicked and circled, and then his hand drew back, two fingers entering her this time and she all but cried with frustration. When he withdrew and spun her around, she gave a huff of displeasure.

  “I want to see your face, mon trésor. And I seem to remember you thinking I wore too many clothes last night. Shall we remedy that?”

  Now he had her attention. She certainly appreciated the male form, and if what she had felt when pressed against him was any indication, she would like what she saw under his clothing. She pushed his coat off his shoulders and helped him pull it off, then watched as he loosened his cravat and unbuttoned his shirt. She dipped her hands in the waistband of his breeches and felt him inhale sharply as she slowly pulled the hem of his shirt out. She inched the linen up, her fingers brushing against the hot skin of his abdomen. Finally, he pulled the garment over his head and stood before her bare-chested. She traced the muscles of his torso, liking the way his skin seemed to pebble with gooseflesh at her teasing touch.

  “Take off the rest,” she ordered.

  He glanced at the closed door.

  “No one will interrupt us. If there’s something important, they’ll knock first.”

  He bent to remove one boot and stocking, and she moved behind him to observe the way the breeches molded to his buttocks. “You often entertain in here?”

  “I’ve never brought a man here, but Honoria and Montagne...entertain in the bedchamber across the hall, since there’s no privacy in the attic. None of us liked Montagne—”

  “I don’t wonder why.” He reached for the remaining boot.

  “—at first, but Honoria is not a child, so we didn’t interfere. I’ll be given the same courtesy.” She ran a hand over his taut backside and he jerked up.

  “I don’t like being touched from behind.”

  “More rules?” She arched a brow as he turned to face her. “I don’t like rules.”

  “Rules protect us and keep us safe.”

  “You don’t need protection from me.”

  “I’m not so sure about that.” He gave her a serious look. “If my rules make you uncomfortable, we can stop now.” His gaze swept her body. “I don’t want to stop, but I will.”

  “I don’t want to stop either.” She moved closer, pressing her warm naked flesh against his. “I’ll follow your rules.” She kissed him with promise. “This time.” Her hands slid down his chest and rested on the fall of his breeches. “May I?”

  He nodded, and she opened the breeches, freeing his hard member, then wrapping her hands around the hot length of it. He groaned low in his throat, and she slid the breeches over his buttocks and down his thighs. They caught, and she knelt to free them from his calves and feet. Then he was as naked as she. She looked up, admiring the size and length of him. Her hand closed on the hard flesh again, her thumb and forefinger barely meeting.

  Without asking if there were any rules against it, she leaned forward and licked the tip of him. He jerked, but didn’t pull away. Slowly, she closed her mouth over the head of his erection, sucking lightly.

  “Alexandra.” His voice was almost a growl. “You don’t have to do this.”

  She looked up at him. “What makes you think I feel compelled? I like the taste of you.” She put her mouth on him again and took more of him inside, sliding her lips
up and down his rigid flesh.

  His thighs tightened where she held them for support, and his breaths turned to pants. She could hardly take all of him, and when she managed he let out a hoarse cry. She loved how he sounded so much she did it all over again. He was trembling slightly, and if she still disliked him, she would have felt triumph at having found a weakness. But she didn’t dislike him, and she certainly didn’t dislike this. He was warm and alive and pulsing deliciously against her tongue. She slid up to the tip of him again and he stepped away.

  “You don’t like it?” she asked, still on her knees, wanting him back so she could lick and taste and pleasure him until he made those sounds again.

  “I love it. Too much. No one has ever done that to me before.”

  “Not even Claudine du Champ? Then I suppose I had better make this good.” She reached for him again, a little surprised by how much she wanted to continue.

  “No.” He pulled her to her feet. “What I want is you on the bed.” He kissed her, and his skilled tongue slid between her lips. His hands roamed over her body, making her flesh hot and tight. Making her forget about his cock in her mouth. Now she had other ideas for what to do with it. She reached for his cock, but he caught her hand, then turned her away from him and pushed her down on the bed. Her bottom was in the air and he stood behind her and nudged her legs open. She tried to rise, but he pushed her down again. “Lift your hips,” he ordered.

  She didn’t like orders, didn’t like men telling her what to do. That sliver of dislike she’d been holding on to reared up again. Then his hand slid up her inner thigh. “You’ll like this, Alexandra,” he said, voice low. Her sex clenched, and she lifted her hips. With her legs spread, she knew she was exposed to him. The vulnerability was unnerving, but also exciting.

  She heard him exhale, the moan he made clearly a sound of appreciation. She spread her legs wider, and his hand on her lower back clenched. His gentle fingers slaked across her aching flesh, testing her readiness. She could have told him she was ready, but she appreciated the courtesy. And then his cock was there, the hard length of it rubbing over her outer lips until they began to swell with anticipation.