Arms of a Stranger by Danice Allen Read Free Book Online

Anne. Bodine got no less than he deserved .
    She slid a glance their way, sideways and surreptitious, out of the corner of her eye. Delacroix and Bodine were moving toward an empty table just next to theirs. Like everyone else in the room, she watched their progress. Delacroix walked with haughty nonchalance, as if he hadn’t a care in the world. Anne noticed again that he had wonderful legs. She sighed and looked away. No rogue should have legs like that. He’d only use them to further his nefarious designs on women’s hearts. Thank goodness, she was immune!
    Anne Weston sat in a pool of sunshine, dressed in a butter-yellow dress and with a frothy, feathered bonnet sprigged with daisies perched atop her fair curls. She was sucking on her fingers, avidly enjoying every slick, sugary mouthful. Even from across the room, Lucien could see the white confectioner’s powder from the beignet outlining the curve of her upper lip. One swipe of the tongue—preferably his—and she’d be as clean as a whistle and ready for kissing.
    Kissing. It was not his usual habit to intersperse his undercover activities with romance, but last night he’d been unable to resist such an enchanting armful as Anne Weston had been. When he’d first seen her standing at the railing of the steamboat as it eased against the levee at Biloxi, he’d wondered how much she owed to her corset for that tiny waist. Now he knew that the nipped-in waist and just-right swell of hips and breasts were perfect without the benefit of undergarments; actually more perfect.
    He vividly recalled the feel of her as she’d leaned against his chest and thighs. He’d felt the pulsing warmth of her skin through the fine muslin material of her nightdress. Her lips had been as sweet and eager as a besotted bride’s. But more disrupting to Lucien’s peace of mind than all these luscious physical delights was the unbelievable fact that Anne Weston supported Renard’s cause with the sort of dedicated fervor most females saved for picking out a new bonnet or parasol. She’d been quivering with excitement last night because she was glad the slaves were escaping. Anne had fire and substance. She was an idealist. So far, she was damned near perfect.
    And he must leave her alone. Lucien had no time for such foolishness. He had a masquerade to play out, and he didn’t need such a tempting wench distracting him from his purpose.
    She was watching him as he walked across the saloon toward the unoccupied table near theirs. For a panicked instant Lucien imagined she recognized something about him that might connect him to Renard. He gave her a sly smile and winked. She looked annoyed and turned away. Success, but at a price.
    Before Anne Weston came on the scene, Lucien had actually taken a certain wicked enjoyment in his masquerade, amused by how easily he controlled people’s opinions of him with a little playacting, a few careless, selfish remarks, and prideful allusions to wenching and gambling. But fooling Anne was a bittersweet triumph indeed. With her, Lucien wanted desperately to be himself.
    “Will this do, Bodine?” Lucien gestured toward the empty table.
    Bodine squinted and snarled, “There’s too much sun, but I suppose it shall have to do since it’s the only available place to sit.”
    Lucien knew they were the center of the room’s attention, but he only cared about the presence of the young woman who watched from the nearest table, and the scrutiny of the bluest and most clear-sighted pair of eyes. Bodine plopped into a chair without glancing around him, propped his elbows on the table, and cradled his head in his hands.
    Before sitting down himself, Lucien took the time to briefly visit the surrounding tables. He kissed several hands and got several saucy looks and coy smiles in return. One young girl blushed to the roots of her hair and ducked shyly behind her fan. Having done his roguish duty, he at last approached Anne’s table and bowed low.
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