“As you said, he is old. With luck, I will outlive him and one day be left in peace.” She turned to him, leaning her hip against the railing, her features shadowed by the moon over her shoulder. “Perhaps he is not so old that he might yet give me a child to keep my company.”
“Your words are bold,” Nick said, sidling closer to her until he could feel her heat. “’Tis a shame for a woman of such passion to be paired with one so aged and dwindling—he will never make you burn.”
He saw her smirk in the intimate space between them, and she chuckled. “Do you think you might accomplish that task if given the chance, Nicholas FitzTodd, Baron of Crane?” It was almost as if she mocked him.
Nick was shocked into silence for a moment. He tugged the chalice from her grip and set it on the railing. Reaching out a hand, he laid it alongside the warm, soft skin of her neck, forcing her to look up at him. He heard her soft breath at the physical contact and smiled when she would not meet his eyes. Nick thought it best to teach the girl to what ends teasing would gain her.
“Verily, Lady du Roche,” he began, “I—”
“Simone,” she amended in a husky whisper, glancing into his eyes for only an instant. “My name is Simone.”
“Simone,” Nick repeated, drawing out the syllables of her name even as he pulled her closer. “Shall I demonstrate my abilities for you?”
Just when Nick expected her retreat, Simone reached her hand from beneath the confines of the cloak and laid it upon his chest. Her eyes found his, and the invitation he saw there, the raw need, tested his resolve to move slowly.
She licked her lips, a fleeting dart of pink tongue. “Please do…Nicholas.”
He dropped his mouth to hers and pulled her fully against him. She tasted of honeyed wine and autumn’s chill, and the sweetness of her small hands cupping his face shook Nicholas in a way no other dalliance with a woman had.
He slipped his free hand beneath the cloak to find her waist, then wrapped his forearm behind her, lifting her slightly. Simone’s hands smoothed to the back of his head, holding him to her mouth as tightly as Nicholas himself clung.
Nick wrenched his mouth from hers. “Lady Simone, have a care. I am not known for my restraint,” he said, giving her opportunity for escape.
He could feel her breasts pressing against him with each breath as she looked up at him. “Then why did you stop?”
The sight of her lips parted like wet rubies and the innocent impatience flashing in her eyes destroyed any thought of return for Nicholas. He pulled her head to his to once more seize her mouth. His hand dropped to her collarbone, smoothed over her shoulder, and down to cup her breast.
Simone gasped at the intimate touch, and he raised his head slightly. “I should warn you,” he whispered, “if this is some intricate plot to ensnare me as your husband, ’twill not work. I do not yield to feminine trickery.”
Simone’s eyes sparkled and one delicate eyebrow arched. She even huffed a short breath of laughter. “Fear not, Lord Nicholas. My betrothal is all but sealed, and any matter, you would not be a suitable match for me.”
She leaned forward and closed her eyes as if eager for the kiss to continue, but Nick avoided her lips.
“Why do you say that?” he demanded, feeling a frown pull at his mouth and brow. She opened her eyes with a sigh of impatience, and he continued. “Because I am younger than four score?”
“Nay.” Simone blinked, as if surprised. “’Tis because I think you a drunkard and a braggart and, most likely, you do not possess the wealth my father requires of my husband.” She leaned in once more, but Nicholas retreated further.
“What in God’s holy name led you to those conclusions?”
“Simple observation,” Simone said, quite matter-of-factly. “When first you approached me, you stumbled on your feet and your tunic looked as though it had been used to clean a privy.” She bowed her nose to touch his chest and sniffed. “You smell of cheap woman and drink. What else am I to assume but that you are a penniless womanizer?”
She must have mistook the choked sound Nick made for a different emotion, for she placed a silencing finger across his lips and continued.
“Be not shamed, mon cher,” she whispered. “I care not for your wealth.”
Nick shook his head to rid himself of her pitying touch. Was he not good enough for any woman? First Evelyn, and now this pixie of a girl thought him unworthy? Mayhap his costume was a bit bedraggled from his earlier festivities, but God’s teeth! Cecil Halbrook was one of Nick’s own underlords and he could buy the old codger a hundred times over.
“’Tis well then, my lady,” he growled. “For on this night, I will leave you with such memories that even all the king’s riches could never erase me from your mind.”
He seized her again, this time roughly, grabbing her upper arms in viselike fists and dragging her against him. Simone’s head reeled from his assault on her mouth. There was not a spot within that remained untouched by his hot tongue, and when he pushed her back against the railing, his hands roaming her body freely, she could not stifle her groan.
It was so very exciting! Sensations flooded Simone beyond her expectations—her legs were heavy and weak, and a warm ache began to wind in her midsection. Charles had kissed her before, even touched her leg on occasion, but not like this.
Never like this.
“Simone!” The whisper hissed directly in her ear—Didier’s voice—but Simone only squeezed her eyes more tightly shut and willed him to disappear.
“Sister!” Didier implored. “You must listen to me!”
“Not now,” Simone groaned against the baron’s lips.
Nicholas raised his head slightly. “Of course,” he breathed, his gaze devouring her face. “I will take you to my private rooms.”
Simone shook her head and pulled his lips back to hers.
“Sister—”
“Go away,” she mumbled.
“What say you, Lady du Roche?” Nicholas demanded, his voice ragged. He made as if to draw away from her. “Would you now refuse me after leading me on your merry chase?”
Simone made a small mewing sound in her throat and pulled the baron’s hand beneath the cloak. “Nay, my lord. I—”
“Papa is coming!” Didier shrieked.
The double doors to the balcony burst outward and Armand du Roche stepped through, Lord Halbrook close on his heels.
The blond man from the ball and his wife also appeared, the red-haired woman looking decidedly worried. Her husband, however, seemed not at all surprised.
“Simone!” Armand hissed, causing her to realize she was still pressed intimately against the Baron of Crane. She started, pushing away from Nicholas and frantically straightening her gown. She shrugged out of the borrowed cloak and shoved it at its owner.
“Papa, I—”
“Non!” Armand shouted. The right side of his face spasmed beneath his age-whitened scar, and his right arm was drawn against his side. He continued his rebuke in rapid-fire French. “No excuses! You were to remain in the hall and yet, the instant I am gone, you abscond with this…this”—he sneered in the baron’s direction, spittle flying from his lips—“rogue to play the harlot!”
Simone dropped her eyes to the flagstones beneath her slippers, a hot sweep of embarrassment burning her ears. “I am sorry, Papa.”
“And you!” Armand switched to English as he addressed Nicholas. “You should be whipped for assaulting a lady in such