Louisa Rawlings by Stolen Spring Read Free Book Online Page A

touched the pillow.  
    She dreamed of winter at Sans-Souci. It was cold. She shivered. Her legs were cold. Why had she come out without her stockings? Someone was throwing snow at her, soft puffs that brushed her cold legs, her cheek. Her breasts. Her breasts ! She opened her eyes. Someone was bending over her bed, fondling her breasts through her thin night shift. She started to cry out, but a hand clamped over her mouth.  
    “Hush, my sweet. ’Tis near four of the clock. You’ll wake every courtier in the palace!”  
    She felt her blood run to ice. Arsène. In her bedchamber. In the dead of night! She was aware that the coverlet had been stripped from her, and that her night shift was up above her knees.  
    Arsène laughed softly and sat on the edge of the bed, his hand still covering her mouth. “You played the game to perfection, my charming coquette,” he said. “The pouting lips, the frown… And oh, how beautiful, how desirable you are when you frown! You did everything but stamp your pretty little foot.” His free hand began to play with the curls at her temples. “But, on the chance that you truly were tired, or addled from the wine, I thought to let you sleep for a few hours. You were worth the wait. The anticipation. And now…” He lifted his hand from her mouth and leaned forward to kiss her.  
    Her eyes were growing accustomed to the darkness. She saw that he was clad only in shirt and breeches, his wig put aside to reveal his own dark hair, close-cropped. Even in the gloom, she could see that he was smiling as he bent to claim his prize. Damn him, she thought. Damn him! She turned her head aside, evading his kiss.  
    He cursed under his breath. “Will you still be coy?”  
    She threw caution to the winds. She struggled to sit upright, pushing him away from her. “You blackguard,” she hissed. “You villain! By my faith, if you don’t quit my room this instant, I’ll set up a cry as shall wake the dead! I promised you nothing! How dare you come to my room in this fashion? How dare you presume to take what is not freely given?”  
    He held her shoulders. “Then give it, you tantalizing witch!”  
    Her voice shook with fury, her anger greater than her fear. “Out! Upon the instant! Or I’ll scream. My father has been known to skewer greater men than you! One cry from me will bring him running.” A bluff, she knew. In all likelihood, Tintin was spending the night in another bed.  
    Thanks be to God, the bluff worked. Or Arsène began to doubt her feelings. He rose. “Marie-Rouge…” His voice was soft with bewilderment.  
    “Out!”  
    She heard the sound of the door opening, then closing softly. Trembling, she sagged against the headboard of the bed, horror and relief washing over her in equal measure. Her door had a lock. She resolved to seek out a footman in the morning: there must be a key for that lock! The first birds were twittering outside her window before she felt secure enough to go back to sleep.  
    In the morning she debated with herself, wondering whether she ought to tell Tintin. But he seemed so happy, extolling the virtues of his new love, the widow, with whom he was to spend the afternoon; Rouge hadn’t the heart to cast a shadow on his day. She saw Arsène from a distance, twice in the course of the morning; both times she managed to hurry away before he could overtake her. He found her at last in the garden, where she had gone to read, sitting in a secluded grove next to a reflecting pool. At sight of him, she closed her book and stood up, meaning to seek the safety of a group of strollers beyond the pond.  
    “Wait,” he said, taking a step toward her. “Mademoiselle de Tournières. I most humbly beg your forgiveness. I must have been mad to think…”
    She stopped. She was sorry, too. Sorry that what had begun in so promising a fashion had turned ugly. “I told you before” (was it only yesterday?) “that you are too hasty. A woman is a fool who