Free Time for Eternity by Susan Squires Page A

built. It was hard not to think about his body moving under his clothing as he filled his plate. His muscles were not ropy, stringy things. They bulged. She would be able to see the veins that fed his biceps … The image made her … tingle.
    Where had she gotten thoughts like that? The only times she had ever even seen men without their shirts was from a distance during haying time on her aunt’s estates. Yet she could imagine just how Avignon’s muscles would look if she could see him naked
    …
    Stop it, she told herself. It was as if she already knew what he looked like naked.
    He sat down next to her with his own plate. That was too close. His suppressed energy hummed and echoed in her veins. He had brought the shallow bowl of salt with its tiny silver spoon. “Feel free,” he murmured, “but Pierre would be desolate if you didn’t taste first.”
    He didn’t seem to be the type to say grace. The devil wouldn’t thank God, would he? So she murmured her own thanks under her breath and turned her attention to her plate. How had she not realized she was famished? Everything tasted wonderful. There was no need to add salt. After some time she slowed enough to realize her companion was only toying with his food. She must look like some starving urchin to him.
    She cleared her throat. “My compliments to your chef.”
    “I should have Pierre in to see your enjoyment.”
    She shrugged. “With the Revolution, things have not been so easy. Madame LaFleur has had to watch her sous carefully since her husband died.”
    “Things are never easy when the common man runs wild. All descend to the lowest common denominator.”
    “I had such hope at first,” she murmured. “Things were so bad, the taxes so hard, the priests so venal … I thought that if one but followed the principles of Rousseau and Voltaire …”
    He grimaced and shook his head. “It never works.”
    “You are a royalist, of course.” He would be, with huge estates no doubt confiscated in the name of the people without a king to protect them.
    “The royalists are as stupid and greedy as our fine new ‘citizens.’ Fear and greed are the only truths.” He sipped his wine, looking to see if he had shocked her.
    “A man like you would believe so.” Strange, but some part of her believed that too.
    “Ahhhh, and what does your … experience tell you about men like me?”
    She felt herself coloring. He was baiting her because she was young and inexperienced. In truth she had never known anyone faintly like him. She was not going to give him the satisfaction of admitting that. “Your reputation is generally known.”
    “But what a unique opportunity,” he observed, cutting a beefsteak that bled onto his plate it was so rare. “Do tell me what the general populace thinks of me.”
    “It … it is not my place to say.” Her oysters consumed her attention.
    “Surely you can satisfy my curiosity in return for my hospitality this evening?”
    Did he have to keep reminding her of her obligation? Well, there were some things she could deduce. And Madame LaFleur had gossiped. “You cannot blame the messenger then.”
    “Fair enough.”
    “Well … well, you are thought to be ruthless.”
    “True.” That did not seem to faze him.
    “And a libertine of course.” He said nothing. “Because of the women,” she felt obliged to explain. She had seen those for herself in the grand ballroom.
    “Of course. Because of the women.”
    “And the gambling.”
    “That too.”
    “The fact that you never return from your debaucheries until dawn.”
    “Dear me, do people notice that? I’m flattered.”
    Well, really! If he admitted everything so blithely, she ’d have to reach deeper to make him feel his faults. She bought time by taking a bite of the creamed spinach.
    “You are called the ‘wicked duc.’ ” That was weak. It was only she who called him that.
    “So I’ve heard.” He couldn’t have heard that. He was just toying with her. The