Guarded Heart by Jennifer Blake Read Free Book Online Page A

circumstances, perhaps, but he intended to do that very thing.
    Nothing whatever could prevent him.

Five
    â€œ M on cher! How early you are out and about. Have you eaten? Do you care for coffee? Solon, another cup for Monsieur Blackford.”
    Gavin surveyed Maurelle with a satirical smile since it was midday. He was fully able to appreciate the rakish picture she made, however, dressed en déshabille with one of the soft Oriental turbans so fashionable this season covering her hair and an exotic blouse volante, or Mother Hubbard, flowing in copious amounts of russet and gold silk around her lush form. “I trust I am not disturbing you, chère madame, ” he said at his most ingratiating. “Time is a slippery beast—I thought it later as I’ve seen half a dozen clients already this morning.”
    â€œSuch energy and stamina, particularly on a gray morning that is perfect for lying abed.” She shuddered while watching her butler place a cup for him and pour twin streams of hot coffee and hot milk into it. “And after a late evening, too. So heathen of you, cher. Have a roll to sustain you while you tell me why I am being honored with this visit.”
    Gavin waved away the roll, but took the café au lait and sipped from it before making an indirect reply. “Madame Faucher lingers among the sheets still?”
    â€œThat one? No, no, she is nearly as mad for morning light and rain as you. I am told she and my maid Adele are out making a round of the shops. Her own maid remained in Paris, you realize, being positive she would be menaced by wild savages should she venture across the water. I believe dear Ariadne mentioned something about an ensemble appropriate for fencing lessons, but I was half asleep at the time. You wished to see her?”
    â€œBut yes, and at any time,” he answered in the prescribed formula, “though it suits me to speak with you alone. Have you any idea why she wants to carve the guts from some poor devil and serve him up with an apple in his mouth?”
    Maurelle, apparently startled in the middle of a smiling approval of his pale yellow cravat held by a turquoise pin, lifted her eyes to meet his quizzical gaze. “What makes you think she might?”
    â€œBeing attacked in the gentleman’s stead. I don’t regard sundry sword cuts in the midst of fevered play, but would prefer they be expected.”
    â€œShe didn’t!”
    â€œNo, though she tried. Perhaps you can tell me whether aiding her is a matter of mercy or folly.”
    â€œShe cannot have thought she could best you.”
    â€œIf she did, she does so no longer.” He paused a moment, frowning at his inability to say with any exactness what Ariadne Faucher did or did not think. She should not have remained such a mystery after their short bout. It was annoying that he had not been able to tell what drove her or the lengths she was capable of going to achieve her aim. Sheer surprise at her ferocity had wiped all else from his mind during those few seconds of play. That riled him even more. “So, should I wear my padding back-to-fore?”
    Maurelle touched a languid hand to her temple. “Please, cher, do not be obscure so early in the morning for I’m not up to it. If you mean to ask is she mad enough to stab anyone in the back, the answer is no. No indeed. She’s quite sane.”
    â€œOnly enraged past all bearing. Why?”
    â€œI’m sure I don’t know. She presented this fencing arrangement to me as a whim or perhaps a small attempt at setting a fashion.”
    He leaned back in his chair, his gaze watchful as he toyed with his cup. Maurelle was avoiding his gaze now, and he would swear she had grown pale about the mouth. “If you suspected more, you would not tell me?”
    â€œNow, mon cher. ”
    â€œWould you?”
    She put a hand to her turban, pushing it into a more becoming drape before reaching for a roll.