Rebellious Rakes. Bronwyn Scott

to him as she dared without touching. ‘Then this is your lucky day. I’m about to be your first.’

      He chuckled, low and throaty, a sexy invitation to repeal her decision. He didn’t take rejection like any man she’d ever known. ‘Then I shall delight in helping you change your mind.’

      ‘You flirt like you fence, all balestra and lunge.’

      ‘It’s an aggressive combination.’ His response was sexy and sharp in its immediacy. His eyes hooded so she couldn’t see them, his forehead pressed to hers. ‘So you did know me before last night. So you have seen me fence.’ His tone was flintily accusatory.

      She bit her lip. ‘I did say your reputation preceded you. It stands to reason that you’re a phenomenal fencer if my brother is willing to take you on.’

      ‘So you did.’

      She swallowed. He was going to kiss her. And he might have if Madame Aguillard hadn’t swept down upon them with her little coterie of friends.

      ‘There you are, monsieur le vicomte! And how nice to see you, too, mademoiselle.’ She nodded at Alyssandra. ‘You’re out twice in as many days,’ she added cattily, her eyes drifting between the two of them, but it was clear who the centre of her attention was. ‘My friends have been dying to meet you, Amersham.’ She gushed in rapid French to Haviland.

      ‘Je suis enchanté.’ Haviland smiled, overlooking the familiarity, but it was a polite smile only, nothing at all like the wicked smiles he’d been giving her. Alyssandra took a petty satisfaction in knowing he preferred sparring with her over Madame Aguillard’s company.

      ‘I am giving a little dinner party tonight,’ she said after introductions had been made. ‘Perhaps you and your friends would like to come?’ She stepped close to Haviland, affording him a view of her bosom if he so chose to look. Alyssandra noted Haviland did not. It was another small victory and one Madame Aguillard was well aware of. But she was not a woman who admitted defeat easily. She put a confiding hand on his arm. ‘There will be cards for Monsieur Gray and ladies for Monsieur Carr. I have some especial friends who would like to meet him particularly and I’m sure you and I can find something special for you, too.’

      Alyssandra wanted to skewer the woman for her audacity. She watched Haviland step back, freeing his arm from the woman’s touch. ‘I appreciate the invitation, but I must respectfully decline.’ He offered no reason. The conversation mopped up after that with polite small talk and Madame Aguillard wandered off to join other groups.

      ‘She’ll be back,’ Alyssandra said as the woman took her friends and left.

      Haviland gave her a small, private smile. ‘Well, what I’m interested in is right here.’

      But for how long? They started walking, a slow, steady stroll, taking in the lush greenery of spring, the pleasant, warm air of the day. She was thankful for the silence as they strolled. Her mind was whirling and she needed a minute to think. How did she fulfil her promise to watch Haviland? How did she keep him from asking too many questions? How did she keep herself from rushing headlong into this forbidden attraction while not losing Haviland in the process? Or worse, losing herself? It would be too easy to capitulate to his charm, to set herself up for heartbreak when he left. How to balance all this?

      The audacious Madame Aguillard might be routed for now, but the lesson was learned. Haviland was a person of interest to the women of Paris and a healthy male in his prime. Madame Aguillard might not be to his taste, but he wasn’t a man used to being alone. It had crossed her mind as she’d watched Madame Aguillard jockey for position that if she didn’t claim him, someone would.

      Maybe the real question to ask was how much was she herself willing to risk? Could she have it all? Could she reach for the pleasure Haviland promised, the escape he offered to explore with her, and still preserve her secrets? It was already the end of April.

      ‘How long will you be in Paris?’ She cocked her head to look up at him, letting her eyes give away a little of her contemplation.

      His eyes danced in response. ‘Long enough for you to take me up on my offer. Changed your mind already, have you?’ He paused. ‘All teasing aside, we plan to stay until June, unless Nolan offends any gamblers or Brennan angers any husbands. Then, it will be sooner.’

      ‘Your friends sound delightful.’ She had six weeks at most. Surely she could keep her secret and have her pleasure, too, if she dared.

      He nodded. ‘They are. The very best of friends a man could hope for, actually. Perhaps you’ll get to meet them.’

      ‘Then where will you go?’ She shouldn’t feel so empty at the prospect of him leaving. Her strategy depended on him leaving. She couldn’t keep up this ruse for ever. He would go on to other places, other women, and she would still be here, her world much smaller than his and likely to remain so. Don’t think on it. He is here now, yours now if you encourage him. He’s already made his offer, he is just waiting for you to accept.

      ‘My friends fancy a summer in the Alps, climbing the peaks.’ He shrugged, and she thought she sensed some reluctance there.

      ‘The Alps don’t appeal to you?’ They reached a fork in the walkway, and she gestured that they take the path to the right.

      ‘The Alps do, just not as much as Paris,’ he admitted. ‘They are not known for their fencing salles. But it is on the way to Italy and Italy appeals a great deal.’

      ‘Is it the salles alone that give Paris its appeal?’ She might be guilty of fishing for a compliment here, but flirting was a way to keep the conversation light.

      Haviland smiled. ‘The salles d’armes are big part of it, but I love the coffee houses, the intellectual discussions. When I’m not at Leodegrance’s, Archer and I sit for hours in the Latin Quarter, listening to the debates, joining in sometimes.’

      ‘Surely you have that in London?’ She shot him a sideways glance.

      ‘I suppose we do. Soho is awash with artists and foreigners bringing their own flavour to the city, but it’s not a place I am able to frequent often.’ Wistfulness passed over his features and was quickly gone, but not missed. ‘Perhaps it’s not the city I love so much as the freedom I have in it. No one has expectations of me here.’

      She gave a soft laugh of understanding. ‘Le Vicomte Amersham has to keep up appearances?’ There were places she no longer frequented, too, because life required otherwise. She thought about his comment regarding escape. Paris was about freedom for him. She’d been surprised a man of his background didn’t already consider himself free, that he found it necessary to leave his home to taste freedom. She’d always thought money and power were the keys to freedom, and he seemed to have plenty of them. She and her brother had struggled to keep what little they had of either.

      ‘Where does fencing fit with all of that?’ She risked probing a little further.

      ‘Fencing is a gentleman’s art. A man should how to defend himself adequately.’ It was a rote answer, the kind fencing instructors gave to build their student base.

      ‘You’ve attained enough skill to have stopped ages ago.’ She wouldn’t let him get off with an easy answer.

      He stopped walking and faced her, eyes serious. ‘If you want to know, it’s about freedom, the chance to prove myself on my terms and no one else’s. Skill cannot be inherited, it has to be worked for, it has to be honed to perfection and that is something only a man can do for himself.’

      ‘I know.’ Her answer was a whisper. She did know. Better than he thought because that was how she felt every time she picked up a foil, every time she faced an opponent on the piste. How would she be able to keep her emotional detachment when he looked at her like that? Spoke to her in words that echoed in her heart? She swallowed in the silence. ‘Come, the fountain I want you to see is just up here.’ The layers were coming off. But his layers weren’t the only ones being peeled back. She’d