Rake Most Likely To Rebel. Bronwyn Scott

had made eye contact, she’d given him tacit approval to approach, to flirt. At that point, a name had not been of issue. ‘It mattered a great deal in the garden,’ Haviland answered, his eyes resolutely fixed on her face, watching for some reaction, any reaction that might give her away, daring her to lift those deep-brown eyes to his. She was far too serene for his tastes. He wanted her agitated. She’d kept him up all night, damn it.

      She did lift her gaze, a worldly half smile on her lips to match the hint of condescension in her eyes. ‘Then I kissed you and apparently that changes everything for an Englishman. Are all of you so chivalrous? Tell me you’ve not come to propose marriage to atone for your great sin.’

      ‘I am not in the habit of kissing women whom I do not know. That makes me particular, not chivalrous,’ Haviland corrected. She was mocking him and he didn’t care for it, although he recognised it was an offensive move of some sort, a protective strategy, something to put him on the defensive much like a reprise in fencing after an attack has failed. He recognised, too, that she would not be much help in supplying the answers he wanted without his asking directly. ‘Are you his wife?’

      She made him wait for it, studying him with her eyes, letting precious seconds pass before she uttered the words, ‘No, I’m his sister.’

      Haviland felt the tension inside him ease. One mystery solved, but another remained. He asked his second question, the one that mattered more in the larger sense. The first question had been for his private pride. ‘You knew who I was last night the moment you heard my name. Why did you pretend otherwise?’

      ‘You promised me sanctuary in exchange for my secret.’ She stood and pierced him with narrow-eyed speculation. How had he lost the upper hand? She had played him and now, somehow, he was the one in violation.

      ‘Is this how an Englishman keeps his word? By interrogating a lady?’ Her retort was a powerful dismissal. Manners dictated that he should rise, too, but he knew where that would lead if he didn’t change the direction of this conversation. It would lead to farewell and he had not yet got what he came for. Her manoeuvre had been skilfully done. She’d put his own leave-taking into motion, taking control of the interaction out of his domain.

      Haviland rose. He was skilful, too. He wasn’t going to be outflanked. He smiled charmingly. ‘You are right, of course. My curiosity has got the better of my manners. I can do better if you would give me a chance. Would you do me the honour of accompanying me to the park? It’s a lovely day, and I’d prefer not to walk alone. Or should I ask your brother?’ He did not think she needed the approval. He’d added the request for formality’s sake. He didn’t want to risk angering the eccentric Leodegrance. It was also a goad. She wouldn’t refuse a dare. She was old enough to make her own decisions as she’d exhibited last night. A woman who kissed like that didn’t live under her brother’s thumb.

      ‘There’s no need to ask him,’ she said too quickly. ‘I’ll send for my hat and gloves.’ He was not prepared for the odd look that crossed her face ever so briefly. Was that fear? Anxiety? She was hiding something, that much was clear. Perhaps it was nothing more than the fact that she hadn’t told her brother she’d met him last night. And perhaps it was something more. Maybe Alyssandra Leodegrance was a woman with secrets.

       Chapter Seven

      In for a sou, in for a livre. Alyssandra drew a deep, steadying breath and slipped her arm through his with a confidence comprised mostly of bravado. She couldn’t cry off now for at least two reasons. First, she’d promised her brother she’d keep Haviland close even if the two of them disagreed on the method. Second, Haviland had come back for more. Coming back had been the plan since the moment she’d put on the blue dress. She’d not flirted with him for the simple prize of a single night and a few stolen kisses. She’d played for bigger stakes and she’d got them in spades. The only surprise was how early he’d called. He’d wasted no time coming back for more.

      That in itself was impressive. It was something of a feat for him to have made it this far. ‘How did you find our home?’ she asked as they made the short walk to the park. ‘It’s hardly common knowledge.’ For an outsider, was the implied message. There were plenty of people who knew where they lived. The hôtel had been in the Leodegrance family since the sixteen hundreds. But everyone who knew them knew Antoine did not receive visitors. It was difficult to imagine which of their acquaintances would have given up that information to an Englishman. His only connection to them would be through the salle d’armes and while his skill was respected, he was still an outsider. Surely, no one there would have told him.

      ‘By trial and error mostly. Shopkeepers.’ His eyes rested on her. ‘I did not think it would prove to be such a secret.’

      ‘My brother likes his privacy,’ she answered shortly, making sure he heard the warning in that and the caution not to come again. Visitors were not welcome.

      ‘And you? Do you like your privacy as well?’ Haviland was probing now and not so subtly.

      ‘When I want company, I go out.’ Her retort was pointed, in the hopes of dissuading him from pursuing this line of question. It would be a good time to let the subject drop. They’d arrived at the wide gates of the Luxembourg Gardens, and there was a small crowd of people to navigate: nannies with children, children with kites and boats for sailing in the fountains. She was conscious of Haviland’s hand moving to the small of her back to negotiate the knots of people at the entrance.

      Even the smallest, most mundane touch from him sent a jolt through her. Some men just knew how to touch a woman. Haviland North was one of them. Etienne’s touch had been comfortable, but nothing like this. If a simple touch from him could ignite such a reaction, it made one wonder what other more intimate touches could do.

      ‘Like last night?’ he said once they’d found their way clear of the people at the entrance. Touches like last night? Those had certainly been more intimate. It took her a moment to remember where they’d left the conversation. Then she realised with no small amount of disappointment he was not talking about touches, but about company.

      ‘Did you come looking for me or for any company in general?’ His tone was edged with ice. He’d misunderstood her answer. He was thinking she was a loose woman, looking for intimate male company whenever and wherever it pleased her. She wanted him to be warm and charming as he had been last evening, as he had been before he knew who she was and everything had turned into a fencing match of the verbal variety. Her identity had made him wary as she’d known it would.

      ‘You approached me, as I recall. You crossed the room.’ It would be entertaining to banter with him if so much wasn’t at stake. He was clever and bold, not afraid to say the audacious. It made conversation an adventure, wondering what would come next, what her response would be. ‘I hardly think it’s fair to blame me.’

      He shrugged, contemplating, his eyes on her mouth. ‘If I had known who you were from the start, it might have changed the, ah, “direction” of the evening. There’s no denying being who you are complicates things. I kissed the sister of my fencing instructor. Surely, you can understand the precarious position that puts me in.’

      Kissed was a relative understatement and they both knew it. They’d acted precipitously. She’d been a stranger to him. They’d owed each other nothing but passion in those moments. Then she’d become someone and everything changed.

      ‘And I kissed my brother’s star pupil. Certainly, you can understand the position that puts me in.’

      He gave a wry smile. ‘No, I’m afraid I don’t. What position is that, exactly?’

      She met his smile with a coy one of her own. They were expert wits toying with one another the way expert fencers tested the skills of their opponents. How much to reveal? How much to conceal? ‘The position of deciding whether or not I can trust you. There’s so much to consider if we were to become, shall we say, entangled.’ It was hard to