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How many times, she pondered with her face heating, had he so easily brought her to that tumultuous glorious peak during their first joining? At least four, all of them before he had surrendered to his own arousal and finally climaxed inside her sated body, obviously able to control his need while she had been abandoned and importunate.

That pattern had continued through the night. He would coax her expertly to arousal with his hands and mouth, moving smooth and deliciously hard inside her with his splendid erection until she felt she would shatter into a thousand pieces, waiting until that last perfect second to join her, their orgasmic release simultaneous and intense.

The last thing she remembered was drifting to an exhausted sleep in his arms, his mouth skimming her neck, one of his skillful hands smoothing her bare hip.

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19

Damn him, his celebrated reputation was well deserved.

At one time, he had been the denied suitor and she in control, but that balance had shifted. Irrevocably, sometime during the very easy convincing of her traitorous body, the darkly attractive Anton Garcin, had assumed all power over her. It was unsettling, unwanted, and she wasn’t at all sure what to do about it.

“Madame?” The quiet voice was unassuming and polite, through the closed bedroom door, accompanied by a light knock.

Raising up and pulling the sheet to cover herself, Lara called, “Yes, come in.”

A young maid entered, crisply uniformed, carrying a tray. “Good morning, my lady.”

It made her feel naïve, but Lara was a bit mortified to be there among the tumbled sheets, so obviously one of the notorious
comte’s
conquests, even in front of a servant who probably found it quite normal to bring breakfast to a strange woman in her employer’s bed.

“Good morning,” she managed to say evenly.

“If there is anything you need at all, or if the food is not to your liking, please simply ring.” Setting the tray by the bedside, the girl curtsied, her face almost carefully expressionless.

It would be impossible for the food to disappoint her, as there was enough to feed at least five people. Lara eyed the creamy eggs, a variety of meats, assorted breads, ripe fruits, and a pot of both chocolate and coffee with bemusement. “If you would bring hot water in a half an hour or so, I’d like to bathe.”

“Certainly, madame.”

Not knowing how to ask except bluntly, she said, “Where is the
comte
?”

The maid answered readily enough. “He rides early every morning without fail, and then usually is in his study working most of the day.” After a small hesitation, she added, “He is a very busy man, madame.”

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Emma Wildes

Lara lifted her brows. It seemed the rakish
comte
inspired loyalty in his servants, even a young maid. Of course, she
was
a female, so maybe it wasn’t all that surprising after all. She said smoothly, “I am sure he is. I hope not too busy to arrange for my departure. As soon as I am bathed and dressed, I would like to leave.”

“I’ll make sure he is informed if you wish.”

“Please. And you may tell the chef that this looks wonderful but not to be offended if I don’t eat it all.” Lara laughed ruefully, never a snob with servants, looking at the huge repast.

For the first time, the girl smiled tentatively. “I believe I made the mistake of telling him you were very slender, my lady.”

“I certainly wouldn’t stay that way for long if I ate like this every morning. Thank you…what is your name?”

“Mignon, my lady.”

“Very well, thank you, Mignon.”

Reaching for the coffee and pouring the steaming beverage into an exquisite porcelain cup, Lara leaned back and sipped thoughtfully.

The
comte
was not the only one who had pressing matters to attend to.

Once she was back at her apartments, she needed to send word that the list had been lost. It was pressing her luck certainly to ask Roussel to give it back, no matter how well he might have enjoyed her.

Or was it
she
who had enjoyed
him
?

With an inward, embarrassed groan, Lara reached for a flaky roll and lavished it with butter. She was just taking the last bite when the door opened.

This morning the
comte
was dressed informally in fitted boots, black breeches that clung to his lean thighs, and a white shirt open to show his strong neck. Striking always in tailored evening clothes, he was almost more so dressed casually, the white lawn of his fine shirt emphasizing the impressive width of his shoulders and a contrast to his bronzed skin. His hair, so dark and thick, was slightly wavy, framing the masculine perfection of his bone-structure, and those thickly lashed intense dark eyes. His mouth too, Lara thought, the bit

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21

of roll still in her fingers, was part of his magnetic allure. It was firm, yet well shaped, and when he smiled at a woman the way he now smiled at her, he exuded sensual charm.

“I am told that you wish to leave.” He looked slightly amused at the amount of food on her tray. “Though it might take you all day to eat that, so perhaps you should just stay in bed.”

“Apparently, the servants were discussing my physical characteristics and your chef thought I needed fattening up a bit.” Not at all comfortable with how his compelling male beauty always struck her keenly, Lara spoke more tartly than she intended.

“A woman as beautiful as you, Countess, is rather noticeable, I’m afraid” He raised a brow at her tone. “And if I recall, I found your body perfect as it is.”

“I thought all your lovers were beautiful,” she countered, almost surprised to hear the clear resentment in her voice.

“You are incomparable.” He seemed unruffled, as usual.

“The question is, Monsieur de Comte, did you think all the ones who came before me incomparable, too, when you first took them to bed?”

He laughed then, and it changed his face, giving him a boyish air.

“This is a switch. I have to coerce you into my arms,
chérie
, and now you sound worried I will tire of you.”

Disconcerted by the possible truth in that statement, Lara reached for her coffee, taking a quick sip. Finally, she said in truth, “I resisted you in the first place because I did not want to become one in a long list of women who have been discarded. I do not give myself indiscriminately to every handsome man I meet, and have moral reservations over a casual affair.”

Crossing over to the bed, he sank down and plucked the cup from her fingers, setting it aside. He leaned over to kiss her, moving his warm mouth slowly against hers, one hand cupping her cheek.

Lifting his head and looking into her eyes, he said softly, “I know you are not promiscuous. I don’t think I would want you so much if

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Emma Wildes

you were. I am infatuated with your beauty, and after last night, enchanted by your passion. I am also—” he grinned again, sitting back, picking up her cup and giving it back to her—“very glad you find me handsome.”

His facile avoidance of what she had just said was irritating. Lara snapped, “Do you intend to continue to hold the threat of exposure over my head, monsieur?”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, please call me Anton. I think, considering all the intimacies we have shared, you are entitled to my given name.”

“Monsieur de Comte,” Lara said deliberately, looking him in the eye, “you did not answer my question.”

He sighed expressively at her stubbornness and shrugged his broad shoulders as he stood. “Tonight, I will escort you to the Guimond
fête
. I know you wish to go home and…rest,” he said suggestively, “though I very much like seeing you naked in my bed. I have already arranged for my driver to take you back to your residence. I will call for you at ten. You will spend the night here, of course.”

“I see. You have decided to make this a very public affair.” Only barely resisting the urge to throw her half empty cup at him, Lara fought to keep her voice even.

“Yes, indeed,” he agreed with a graceful polite bow. “Everyone in Paris will know you are my mistress.” His smile was suddenly cool, lacking his usual charm. “But look at it this way, Countess, it is much better than hanging.”

Anton ran his hand in practiced concentration over the cannon bone, feeling the restless stallion shift his weight. “Damnation,” he muttered. “I am afraid you are right, Bernard.”

“When it comes to horses,” his trainer said without rancor, “I am always right. You just didn’t want to believe me.”

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23

“I certainly didn’t.” Standing up, Anton sighed. “I guess I will run Pegasus instead. Unfortunately, he doesn’t have the same heart.”

“His speed, though, is incomparable.” Bernard argued the point with the familiarity of their long acquaintance, not a social equal yet not just an employee, either.

They were the same age and Anton had always spent a great deal of time in the stables even as a child. Bernard had been the son of the head groom, and though as boys they had very little in common besides their deep love of fine horseflesh, they had naturally fallen into an easy friendship.

As a grown man, Bernard now ran the entire huge stable, training horses that ran in races all over Europe, horseracing being Anton’s ruling passion, contrary to public opinion that had him only interested in bedding beautiful women.

It was an expensive hobby, but his horses won often enough to balance out the cost, and since he was a very wealthy man, he could afford it even when they lost. In a life filled with many demands on his time, from both his vast holdings and his social position, he indulged himself with his horses.

Incomparable
. He had used that word that very morning to describe his delectable and reluctant new mistress. Anton murmured, “I won’t be going. I have become suddenly…tied up.”

Bernard, swarthy and stocky, with the hands of a laborer but the touch of an angel when it came to horses, stared, openly surprised.

“You will miss the meet?”

Lara’s possible danger, much more acute than she realized, was something to keep in mind. He nodded. “I don’t wish to leave Paris at this time.”

Shaking his head in disbelief, Bernard said, “
Diable!
She must be very good, the beautiful English countess.”

Anton wiped a bit of straw from his sleeve. “Who said it was because of her?”

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Emma Wildes

“It seems a logical assumption. You wanted her a year ago when she arrived here, and according to what I heard this morning, you finally got her. I was told she slept in your bed almost until noon and left here wearing her ball gown from the night before.”

That was good. The sooner news spread that she was under his protection, the better. “I might have kept her up a bit late,” Anton admitted dryly. “If you saw her, you’d understand.”

“Raven hair, they say, and skin like morning cream. So fair, she is like a princess from some romantic fable.” Bernard chuckled. “You always were a lucky devil, Anton. The question is, what took you so long?”

“I needed leverage.” Anton watched as a young stable lad came to lead his prize stallion away, the uneven gait confirming the animal’s injury. “Lady Edgerton does not take lovers.”

“She took you.”

“I took
her
,” Anton disagreed cynically. “She needed quite a bit of convincing.”

“Did she?” Bernard gave him a speculative look. “So this one, she is different? Are we going to end up with an English Madame de
Comtesse
?”

What was the proper protocol when you forced a virtuous woman into an illicit affair against her will? He would venture that she had gone to her husband’s bed a virgin, and she stated quite plainly she wasn’t comfortable having a liaison.

He felt a little guilty, but not enough to keep from wanting her. It helped to know she had so passionately succumbed to his forced seduction and that he could perhaps save her from disaster, but he wasn’t sure if either point entirely excused him.

Anton shook his head, remembering the look in her eyes that morning. She had been deliciously glorious amid his sheets, her dark hair gleaming, pale shoulders bare. But she had been also angry, both with him, and he guessed, with herself for yielding so easily the night before. She might want him, but she didn’t
like
him.

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25

He said, “Even if I wanted to make such an offer, I doubt somehow the lady would even consider it, Bernard.”

“Roussel, you understand, madame, is dangerous. I hope you know what you are doing.”

Not sure she wanted to admit that the man in question already knew of her nefarious activities, Lara smiled coolly for any observant eyes. “I realize he isn’t just a handsome fop, Louis. If he was, he would not interest me.”

“He is nothing like a fop, and this new development worries me.

The Comte de Roussel is intelligent, make no mistake, and no one’s fool. You were more wise when you refused him.” Holding out his hand as if offering her a glass of champagne, the young man kept his expression neutral, but his dark eyes were sharp. All around them, people milled, and the ballroom was crowded and loud.

The fact everyone whispered already over her overnight stay with Anton, not to mention her very public arrival on his arm this evening, grated on her nerves. In one evening, she had gone from distant and untouchable to mired in the scandalous
comte’s
web. “He is my lover, not my confidant,” she said defensively. Then with reluctance, she admitted, “Though, perhaps it would be best if I did not…participate unless you absolutely needed me.”

Louis Cartel, Leon Medes’ young cousin, even more ardent a republican than his unfortunate relative, agreed at once. “From the possessive way he looks at you, I expect Roussel will demand a good deal of your time.” His gaze was amused and tinged with male speculation. He added in a low murmur, “I know I certainly would.