Now, to test the theory.
Pushing the thought of Ryan hunting him down and beating him to a bloody pulp from his mind, he took a step forward, toward Alexandra. She didn’t move.
So far so good.
Feeling a bit more confident, he took another step until they were standing no more than half an arm’s length apart. She remained where she was, gazing up at him, expectantly. It was almost as if she wanted him to kiss her. The realization stunned him. Alexandra Summersby, the most unruly, feisty hoyden he’d ever encountered in his life, was presently gazing up at him with that same doe-eyed expression that he’d seen a hundred times before. He felt the corners of his mouth start to twitch with the beginnings of a chuckle. It really wouldn’t do to laugh now, he warned himself. It would be most unfair, ungentlemanly and unkind to say the least. Yet for some annoying reason he couldn’t seem to stop himself. The expression on her face was so completely out of character. Never in a million years would he have imagined her to look at him like that—eyelids batting of their own volition and her lips puckering in expectation as she leaned slightly forward. Yet here she was doing precisely that—it was much too comical to stop the smile crossing face.
And that was when she hit him.
It wasn’t a faint slap on the cheek. No, Alexandra put all her weight behind the right hook that landed squarely across his jaw, throwing him completely off balance.
Damnation!
“What the devil are you—”
“Who the hell do you think you are?” she hissed, cutting him off.
“You hit me,” was all he could think to say as he raised his hand to his rapidly bruising cheek.
“And you bloody well deserved it,” she said, seething with rage.
He supposed he did. Still, he never would have expected her to hit him . . . or to do it so painfully well. Besides, he hadn’t actually laughed, he’d just smiled . . . a bit more than usual perhaps. And he’d felt like laughing, but she couldn’t possibly know that, could she? Judging from her expression, perhaps she could read his mind. He met her eyes, and looked a bit deeper—beyond the anger—and what he saw filled him with guilt. She was hurt. He’d hurt her, and he’d never regretted anything more in his life.
Blast!
Rubbing her sore knuckles with her hand, she turned to go. He didn’t want her to—not with this bad air between them—he had to explain. She cursed under her breath and was just getting ready to step back into her room when he broke from his trance and reached for her wrist, wrapping his fingers around it. “Let go of me,” she cried in clear frustration as she tried to yank herself free.
“Alex,” he said, pulling her toward him. “I’m sorry I laughed, truly I am . . . it was badly done of me and not at all meant as an insult. Please stay.” She eyed him skeptically, not at all ready to fall into his arms. Well, it seemed as if an explanation was in order. “The look on your face was so . . . well, you looked as if you were hoping I might kiss you, and it just seemed funny because . . . well, to be perfectly honest, you’re just about the last person I ever expected to find looking at me like that.”
There, that should do it.
The look on her face however, told him that he might be dangling over the railing in another second unless he did something drastic to alter her state of mind. With a quick tug, he drew her into his arms. Then, before she had the chance to launch into another verbal attack or give him yet another beating, he closed his mouth over hers.
Heavenly.
She struggled like a caged animal at first, but a heartbeat later, he felt the tension flow from her body and she sagged against him. He tightened his hold and pulled her closer, his right hand resting on the small of her back while the left remained upon her shoulder. She smelled of lavender.
Testing the waters, he ran the tip of his tongue along her lips and felt her quiver—a delightful response that made his own pulse quicken. When she put her arms about his neck, he knew she wasn’t about to run away from him. He pulled back a little to take a look at her. Her eyes were still closed, her perfect lips slightly pursed from kissing. He ran the pad of his thumb along her cheekbone and watched her sigh in response. What a charming creature she was.
Without another moment’s pause, he crushed his lips against hers.
During the course of his life, Michael must have kissed at least a hundred women. But this was different. This was new and refreshing and it was . . . he wasn’t sure exactly what it was, but it felt better somehow. Strange choice of word perhaps, but there it was.
Pressing her closer, he deepened the kiss with his tongue. He felt her stiffen for a moment, but then she sighed, allowing him to coax her tongue to follow.
He’d know for a while now that he wanted to kiss Alexandra, but he never would have guessed just how captivating he would find it. In fact, he’d thought himself capable of keeping it brief, his only intention being to sample what she had to offer, but this was proving far more difficult than he’d anticipated. She was so soft and pliable beneath his touch—all traces of her prickly, tomboyish character completely evaporated, save for her choice of clothes. And he’d been overly surprised to discover that there was something quite erotic about the fact that she was wearing breeches. Her legs were clearly defined beneath them, but more importantly, so was her firm and perfectly rounded backside.
His right hand drifted down to grasp onto one of her buttocks. She groaned faintly in response, arousing him even further.
Good God.
He had to stop this now before he took her right there on the balcony for all of Paris to see.
And that was when the stabbing sense of guilt that he’d thus far managed to contain, suddenly surfaced in full force. He’d given Ryan his word of honor that he would steer clear of his sister unless he intended to court her. Well, he had no intention of doing any such thing. Indeed, now that she’d shown her interest, he was very likely to tire of her rather rapidly he knew.
He was just about to pull away, when she beat him to it.
“Well,” she said as she looked him dead in the eye. “That was far better than I would have expected.”
Michael blinked.
“However, it’s growing exceedingly late, and I must be off to bed. Alone—before you get any ideas in that presumptuous head of yours.”
She sent him a coy smile as she slipped from his arms and walked away. “Good night, Ashford,” she called over her shoulder as she sashayed back inside her bedroom and pulled the door closed behind her. He heard the lock click.
Well, that was a first, Michael thought to himself. He had always been the one to walk away, leaving the girl staring after him. With a sigh of exasperation he leaned against the railing to look down upon the street bellow. The nights were growing warmer though the slow breeze was leaving him quite chilly now that he was standing there alone.
Damn.
Alexandra was unlike any other woman he’d ever met and she was beginning to get under his skin. It was a rather disconcerting admission for him to make, but there it was.
Still, he was only just getting to know her, he reminded himself. Perhaps, he would still discover that she wasn’t nearly as appealing as he presently found her to be. Besides, the whole attraction was very likely based on the fact that there were no other women around to draw his attention.
Feeling as if he’d finally solved a great mystery, he headed back inside. There was nothing for it. He would simply have to control his urges and keep his distance from her or he’d find himself heading for the altar before they even managed to complete their assignment.
CHAPTER TEN
Michael stepped down from the carriage that he’d hired to take him to rue de Rivoli. He paused for a moment as he regarded the large palace that lay before him—a vast and magnificent edifice that seemed to dwarf Carlton House in both size and opulence. Straightening his back and taking on an air of arrogance that only those of extreme wealth and importance were capable of managing, Michael strode toward the sentry that guarded the imposing entrance of the French Emperor’s residence.
He handed his calling card to one of the guards and stated his purpose. It identified him as Monsieur Michel Laurant, having purposefully avoided taking a title that might be known among Bonaparte and his cronies. The man, who appeared only marginally less arrogant than Michael (due in no doubt to the fact that he was not only French but Parisian to boot) stepped inside to convey the message to a higher authority who remained invisible to the public.
After ten minutes, the guard returned and gave Michael a haughty glance before opening the door just wide enough for Michael to step inside. “Monsieur le Docteur will receive you now.”
Michael squeezed past the insufferable man, trying terribly hard to hide the beginnings of a wide smile. He had asked to see a Monsieur Philippe Allaire, who Sir Percy had assured him would be William’s cover name. Well, it appeared as if the would-be double agent had turned himself into a doctor—perhaps Bonaparte’s very own private physician.
Michael stifled a grin as he followed a footman up a long flight of stairs. He must remember not to underestimate his opponent, for it did appear as if Lord Summersby was a very determined man. Then again, should he really have expected anything less of Alexandra’s eldest brother? He wondered what she would think of William’s ingenuity. In any event, he had newfound respect for the man, traitor though he may be.
Michael’s shoes clicked sharply against the polished marble floor as he followed the footman down a corridor flanked by partially nude sculptures of what he presumed were renditions of various Greek or Roman gods. The images immediately drew his thoughts to Alexandra and the captivating question of how her br**sts might compare with the perfectly rounded ones of the statue. He cursed beneath his breath when he felt himself begin to strain against his breeches. This really wasn’t the sort of thing he ought to be thinking of as he readied himself to meet with her elder brother. There was a code of behavior among gentlemen, and besides, he’d promised Ryan that he would keep away from her.
Bloody hell!
It wasn’t as if Ryan was a close friend, but still, he liked the young lad and as he reminded himself, he’d given him his word—the word of a supposed gentleman. Not to mention that, despite appearance, Alex was a lady.
He wasn’t even supposed to have kissed her!
Michael’s mental haranguing came to an abrupt halt when the footman suddenly stopped before a heavy wooden door and gave it a loud knock. A muffled murmur that Michael couldn’t quite distinguish sounded from within. An instant later, the door was opened and Michael was ushered into a splendidly lavish drawing room with plush rugs full of elaborate floral patterns in varying shades of blue. Silk upholstered furniture in gold tones and beautifully carved tables inlaid with mother of pearl occupied the space. The walls were filled with gilt-framed paintings of biblical scenes resplendent with images of angels, beams of light emerging between puffy white clouds, and gowned figures gazing heavenward in a mixture of fear and reverence. It was all a bit too gaudy for Michael’s tastes, though he didn’t give this much thought. After all, he wasn’t the one who had to live there.