Free Little Red Writing by Lila DiPasqua Page A

such thorough searches, why don’t you look through the desks and I’ll go to supper.”
    “Because I’m in charge of this mission, my friend,” he said, clamping a hand on Thomas’s shoulder. “And therefore, you’re the one with the stomach ailment.” Nicolas didn’t mention that he was experiencing an annoying stomach ailment. It was driving him mad, but each time he thought of the proof he might uncover in the end, his entrails tightened.
    “Ah. Yes. I see your point.” Thomas’s arm dropped to his side. Disappointment was evident in his eyes and Nicolas suspected it had something to do with Camille. “Do you want me to search Anne’s desk, too?”
    “No!” Nicolas mentally cringed at how strongly that came out.
    Thomas lifted a brow.
    Nicolas cleared his throat. “I’ll take care of Anne’s desk and her rooms. Search her sisters’ rooms, desks, everything. Keep the key. I’ll get it from you in the morning.” If Thomas found evidence implicating one of the other two, he wouldn’t have to search in Anne’s private domain. “Make certain you leave nothing unturned.”

Chapter Seven
    Nicolas’s heart rate doubled as he approached Anne’s door.
    Supper had been long and drawn out. Being forced to make witty commentary and polite conversation, with Anne so near, had been maddening.
    Her cheeks slightly flushed, her breaths slightly quickened, she’d looked achingly beautiful. And—God help him—aroused by his presence at the table. He’d been impatient for the ordeal to be over, so that he could join her in her rooms. Each time her eyes met his, a bolt of heat shot through him. Starved for her, he’d barely touched his food. He couldn’t get the image out of his mind of her on the desk in the library, her sweet body half exposed, her glistening pink sex slick with desire, looking every bit like every man’s fantasy.
    Because Anne and her sisters had been in their rooms all afternoon and he couldn’t search Henriette’s chambers as he’d wished to, he’d had to find other ways to fill the long hours before he’d be with Anne. Caring nothing about the books in the trunk—his grandmother’s favorites—he was drawn to Anne’s volume of poems.
    He’d reread them.
    And he shouldn’t have.
    Her words had affected him more strongly this time. This time he found them even more moving than before. Because this time he knew the woman behind the words. Her smile. Her voice. Her taste. Intimately.
    Her heart was on those pages. But her heart had changed. She didn’t believe in love anymore. It was absurd that the notion continued to bother him but he couldn’t shake it. A heart that had had such depth had closed itself off. It was a shame.
    Worse, rereading her work, knowing now that she’d had some intimate experience with men, had stirred up suspicions he’d spent most of the day trying to mute. He refused to believe Anne was Leduc without definitive proof.
    Entertaining thoughts of his mission only aggravated that annoying emotion in his gut that wouldn’t go away. He had absolutely nothing to feel guilty about. He was not the guilty party here—and yet he was left wrestling with that very emotion that directly clashed with his longing for her.
    Nicolas reached Anne’s door.
    In short, he’d been in turmoil when he’d walked into the Salle de Buffet for supper, and he was in turmoil now.
    He took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
    On the other side of this door is an alluring woman no man would refuse to bed . She’s waiting for you, warm and willing . Knock on the bloody door!
    He rapped on the door lightly.
    It flew open and he was yanked inside. The door slammed shut. Shoved hard, his back slammed against it. Nicolas grunted. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dimmer light in the room.
    Anne stood before him, hair down in long fiery-colored curls, wearing nothing but her chemise, her palms pressing against his chest.
    He feasted on the sight of her. He had to