Free Adele Ashworth by Stolen Charms Page A

difficult with absolutely no kissing allowed.”
    She blushed furiously, unable to imagine him on top of her for anything. Disgusted with herself for the reaction he was sure to notice, she turned and walked behind the screen.
    “Then I’m sleeping in the chair.”
     
    I t had to be well after midnight when he felt her crawl in beside him. He knew it would happen eventually; it was just too cold in the room.
    Jonathan didn’t move for fear of making her jump out of bed again. He preferred sleeping in the nude, but with everything else he was forcing her to accept, he could never go that far. So, lying there in worn but binding trousers, he hadn’t really been able to sleep anyway. And neither could she as he’d listened to her attempts to get comfortable for nearly two hours before she’d finally slipped between the sheets in defeat.
    She curled up behind him, shivering, encased to her chin, fingers, and ankles in a full nightgown of unembellished white cotton, trying to steal his covers, and certainly stealing his warmth. He nearly winced when he felt her feet, now frigid blocks of ice, slithering in between his legs. But as he drifted toward oblivion at last he had to smile at the comforting action, oddly trusting and so very sweet.

Chapter 4
    M adeleine DuMais was born beautiful. Not in the classic sense, really, for her looks certainly weren’t refined, but exotically so. She possessed a quality of bearing unseen in the lower, even middle classes, but perhaps that was because she lived outside one station or the next, if that were possible. Her breeding was mixed, and she knew it; she took advantage of it.
    Standing in front of the mirror in her bedroom, a blazing morning sun filtering through parted chintz curtains, she buffed a final touch of color into her cheeks and lips, then rubbed a bit of kohl above her lids and smoothed her chestnut hair back from her broad forehead.
    She knew she was exceptionally appealing to look at from head to foot. Indeed, it often proved amusing when men tripped over themselves in her presence, but oddly she wasn’t self-centered about her physical qualities. She was proud of them, and over the years they had served her well.
    Smiling in satisfaction, Madeleine glided her palms down the front of her silk morning gown, canary yellow with only a touch of pale lace, tightened at the waist and flowing in a thick cascade over whalebone to swish becomingly at the floor when she walked. She took pride in her curves, in her substantial bosom, and a waist that showed no sign of childbirth and hopefully never would. She wanted Jonathan Drake to notice her as well, for he would be arriving at her home in precisely ten minutes for their meeting. And he would be punctual. The English always were when it came to their own national security.
    Pleased with her appearance, she turned and left her bedroom, descending the stairs with grace, and entering her parlor where she would await the arrival of the Englishman. The warm atmosphere of the room always lifted her, as it was so enriched by fine mahogany furniture, padded generously and covered with wine-colored satin. The curtains of the same color were divided considerably so the entire room could embrace the sun, which reflected in a hazy glow off delicately flowered wallpaper. Marie-Camille, Madeleine’s only maid, had left a coffee service for two on the small, rounded table between two chairs in front of the now-cold fireplace, and the coffee itself would be brought in steaming when he arrived. Madeleine took a seat closest to the door and waited.
    From her French mother, a woman of the stage but only mildly talented at best, Madeleine had inherited her unusual beauty, her exquisite figure, her heart-shaped face, and ice-blue eyes. But from her father, a captain in the British Royal Navy, she’d acquired everything else—her smarts, her common sense, her humor, and passion for goodness. He had wanted to marry her mother, but alas, Eleanora