This was a common topic of conversation, and she launched into her well-rehearsed answer. She’d lived in the countryside with her parents, who had been devastated when her brother died in the Battle of Waterloo. Now that their period of mourning was over, her parents had thought it might be beneficial for her, their young daughter, to travel to London and see her cousin and attend social events. Her mother and father were still far too distressed to interact socially and they did not want their daughter to suffer.
As she spoke, she’d stared out at the small garden behind the town house. Very little bloomed at this time of year, a few roses could be seen in the light filtering from the ballroom. But when she finished speaking, she looked back at Beaumont and almost jumped to see him standing right beside her. She hadn’t even heard him move.
“That’s a lovely story,” he said, his gaze on her face. Collette felt it heat again at the intensity of his look. She wondered if she would ever become used to having such an attractive man so close to her.
“It’s all true,” she said, and immediately regretted the words. They sounded too much like a protest, when one had not been required.
“I don’t doubt it. I too was in the war, though I didn’t fight at Waterloo. Tell me, was your brother army or cavalry?”
Collette opened her lips, but she had not encountered that question before. Moreover, she had not been schooled in the answer. It had never occurred to her or to the men holding her father that any Englishman would care about the particular placement of a French soldier.
Beaumont noticed her hesitation. “Don’t you know?”
“Yes, but…” Should she choose one? Then what if he asked more questions like the brigade number or the commander? “You must excuse me, sir. It is difficult for me to discuss.” He was not the only one with acting skills.
“No, you must excuse me. I should never have brought it up.” He lifted her hand from the balustrade, forcing her to angle toward him. “Forgive me?” he said, kissing the back of her hand.
“Of course.”
His took a step forward, forcing her back if she wanted to keep any space between them, and her shoulders touched the wall of the terrace. “It must be hard to lose a sibling.”
She nodded. He was so close. Even in the darkness, she could see his violet eyes. He still held her hand, and his other hand rested lightly on the balustrade beside her hip. “I have seven. You are welcome to borrow any of mine. You met my youngest sister?”
She nodded again, trying to focus on his words, not the feel of his hand holding hers or the closeness of his body or how soft his lips looked, how inviting.
“Did she tell you all of my secrets?”
Collette shook her head. Her voice had deserted her, and she feared if she attempted to speak, he would lean close to her and she would catch his scent and lose all control over her baser urges.
“I suppose I shall have to leave that to my brothers. I have four, and we live to humiliate each other. Two of my brothers are in the navy. Officers and proud of it. They want nothing but to serve the king. And your brother? Did he support Napoleon?”
She nodded, all but transfixed by his good looks and his melodious voice, then realized what he’d asked. “I mean, no.”
“He did not support Napoleon?”
“I—” What was the correct answer? She did not want to be seen as a supporter of the dictator who had been England’s enemy. “No, he was conscripted.”
“I see. And did your father work for Napoleon against his will too?”
“He—” Collette drew in a sharp breath. “My father did not work for Napoleon, monsieur. He was a farmer.”
“Did you mention that before?”
“I thought I did.”
“I must have been confused.” He leaned close and she felt his warm breath on her cheek. “I will confess… May I confess something to you?”
Collette didn’t know what to reply. She wasn’t certain she could have spoken if she’d tried.
“When I look at you, my brain goes to mush. My thoughts are all muddled. Do you know how that feels?” His body pressed against hers, a warm, solid weight that terrified and excited her at the same time. “All I can think about when I am this close to you is my mouth on yours.” He reached out and touched a finger to her lips. He’d removed his gloves at some point, and the feel of his bare skin sent a zing of pleasure through her. “My hands on your skin.” He caressed her lips with his finger. “My body pressed to yours.”
Collette could not breathe. Her lungs burned and her heart beat painfully in her chest. As though she watched from far away, she stood immobile while Beaumont trailed his finger from her lips to her chin, catching it lightly between thumb and forefinger. Then he lowered his mouth to hers, brushing over her in a slow, tantalizing whisper of a kiss. Collette drew in a sharp breath, and Beaumont moved to the corner of her mouth. “I make you nervous, don’t I, mademoiselle?” He spoke in French now, though she barely realized it. “You are afraid I will kiss you, really kiss you. And you are also afraid I will not.”
Collette wanted to move her mouth to meet his and give in to him—his velvet voice, his teasing mouth, his intoxicating scent. But she could not afford to indulge in flirtations, especially not with men she could not trust. Her father’s life depended on her, and she would not gain any useful information on the terrace with Mr. Beaumont.
Collette closed her eyes and summoned all her strength. “I am afraid if you kiss me, you will receive a nasty surprise, monsieur.”
His lips paused in their exploration as he undoubtedly felt the pressure of her knee between his legs.
“Step back, or I will make certain amorous activities are the last thing on your mind for the next few days.”
Slowly, very slowly, Beaumont moved back. As soon as he was out of range of her knee, she lowered it and let out an audible breath.
“You might simply have said you had a headache.”
“I don’t have a headache,” she said, keeping her voice steady. “I am not attracted to you.”
The fact that she was able to spew such a blatant lie and keep a straight face was testament to how determined she was to free her father. The fact that she could resist Beaumont at all was proof of how dedicated she was to stealing those codes.
“I see.” He gave her a puzzled look. “You will forgive me if I’m at a loss. This has never happened to me before.”
She narrowed her eyes. “What do you mean?” Now that he was not standing so close and not looking quite so confident, she could almost speak to him as though he were a mortal man.
He shifted awkwardly and raked a hand through his hair. All of which served to make him seem even less like a god and more like a human.
“I mean, no woman has ever refused me before.”
“Never?”
“No.” He shoved his hands in his pockets.
“Not a single woman?”
“Not until now.” He looked increasingly uncomfortable and his voice was quiet and hesitant. Collette had the urge to apologize and to confess that she actually did find him incredibly attractive. But that was lunacy. She could not confess such a thing, even if such an admission would not beg for more information.
Collette moved toward the terrace doors. “I take no pleasure in rejecting you, sir. Thank you for the dance.” She pulled at the latch on the doors.
“I must escort you into supper.”
“That’s not necessary,” she said. “I can find my own way and sit with Lady Ravensgate.”
“But—”
She held up a hand. “Please. I think it would be best if you and I do not speak again. Ever.”
And she swept into the ballroom, feeling very much as she had when she’d been a child and had her favorite toy taken away.
Five
Rafe didn’t wait for Porter, the Master of the House at the Draven Club, to answer the door. He merely shoved it open and barreled into the wood-paneled vestibule, noting that candles in the large chandelier lit the room. Then Porter appeared, making his way down the winding staircase. He moved quickly for a man with only one leg, but Rafe signaled to him. “No hurry, Porter. I let myself in.”