Free Hearts Beguiled by Penelope Williamson Page B

ruse of picking my pocket for a chance to rifle through my drawers, ma mie. There would have been plenty of opportunity during the coming days. And nights."
    The bright color that stained her cheekbones deepened. "I ... I don't understand."
    He brushed the back of his knuckles across the blush on her cheek. "You do understand. You could have searched my rooms to your heart's content. After we become lovers."
    She jerked away from him so fast she stumbled backward and had to clutch the bedpost to keep from falling. Then, when she saw what she was grasping, she let go as if the wood were a burning torch singeing her flesh. He almost laughed.
    She threw up her head, tossing back her hair. "I don't know what has provoked this delusion of yours, monsieur, that I desire to become your lover—"
    He did laugh then. "You know damned well what provoked it. This—"
    He pulled her against him, wrapping his hand in her hair and pulling her head back, crushing his mouth down hard over hers. She resisted him for a moment, pressing against his chest with her clenched fists. Then her lips parted under his with a long, shuddering sigh.
    He had meant to take possession of her with that kiss, to claim her mouth the way he later intended to claim her body. But what began as an act of conquest became one of surrender, as her lips moved beneath his with such exquisite tenderness it brought a tightness to his throat so that he couldn't breathe.
    Breaking the kiss, he pushed her away from him, holding her at arm's length. He drew in a deep, decisive breath and briefly closed his eyes.
    "Gabrielle . . ."he began.
    Whirling, she fled from the room.
    "Wait, Gabrielle!" He bounded after her, slamming his palm against the front door before she could pull it open. "What about tomorrow? The Jardin des Plantes. I still want to see you again."
    "I don't want to see you."
    "You do."
    "Please." She begged him with wide violet eyes. "Please ... let me go."
    And he saw in her face that what he was feeling, she felt as well. And that it frightened her as much as it did him.
    His arm fell to his side and he stepped back.
    She pulled open the door and, without looking back, ran along the hall and turned down the stairs. He shut the door and crossed the room, went to stand by the window so that he could see her when she emerged into the gardens. Her head, flashing red-gold in the setting sun, reminded him of piles of autumn leaves blown into fiery swirls by the wind. He watched her weave in and out among the tables and chairs of the Cafe de Foy, scurry along the garden path around trees and benches, to disappear . . .
    "But not forever," he said aloud to the empty room. "Whatever or whoever you are, Gabrielle, I am going to have you in my arms, in my bed. Gabrielle, ma mie. My lady-love."
    ❧
    Gabrielle leaned against the gnarled trunk of a chestnut tree, gasping for breath as if she had just run the sixteen miles around the city walls instead of the few yards across the Palais Royal gardens. She pressed trembling fingers against lips that felt bruised and swollen. Never, not even in dreams, had she been kissed like that.
    Glare from the setting sun dazzled her eyes and she squeezed them shut, then opened them immediately because the image of Maximilien de Saint-Just's face seemed to sear through her closed lids.
    Her face burned at the memory of the way she had kissed him back. She, Gabrielle de Vauclair de Nevers, who prided herself on her hardheaded approach to life, had allowed herself to become infatuated with a complete stranger. When it came to Maximilien de Saint-Just, it was as if she had no control, not over her head, and certainly not over her heart. In her present weakened state, he could convince her of, get her to do, anything.
    Just keep away from him, she told herself, pushing away from the tree trunk and resolutely squaring her shoulders. You'll be all right as long as you keep away from him.
    But she knew that already it was too late. She was