Louisa Rawlings by Stolen Spring Read Free Book Online Page B

gives herself in a spendthrift manner. I gave you no cause to think I didn’t mean what I said. I allowed you to kiss me last night. It was, I see now, unwise of me. Governed by your lustful desires, you chose to take it as a promise of more. I had no such thought in mind.”  
    He scowled and turned away. “I seem to have earned your contempt and scorn. I have no defense, except a heart that was too fond. A poor excuse for my unchivalrous behavior.” He looked at her, his intense eyes burning with a blue fire. “Is it too late for me to begin again? May I not show you the tenderness of a gentle lover? Of a repentant heart?”  
    She hesitated, then held out her hand. “I pray I’ll not regret it.”  
    He smiled and brought her hand to his lips; his kiss barely brushed the soft flesh. “Will you dine with me today?”  
    “Weren’t you going to the king’s petit couvert ? To win his favor?”  
    “Your favor is a greater prize. Take dinner with me.”  
    She was almost ashamed of her practicality. She would be safeguarding her virtue and feeding Tintin at the same time. “Only if I may bring my father.”  
    He nodded. “Of course. I’ll send my calèche at half after twelve to bring you and your father to my hôtel. Will that please you?”  
    “You promised once to respect my virtue. It would please me more if you remembered to honor that promise.”
    “Lady,” he murmured, and saluted her with a deep bow.  
    Having lost heavily at cards the day before, Tintin was delighted at the prospect of a free meal. And the opportunity to see at close hand Rouge’s cavalier.  
    Arsène de Falconet’s hôtel in the town of Versailles was splendid, a beautiful, three-storied townhouse with an enclosed garden. He was obviously a man of property. And no expense had been spared to see to their comfort. They were served a delicious meal on fine gold plate, with servants to wait upon their every need. True to his pledge, he treated Rouge in the most deferential and respectful manner. Indeed, when Chrétien begged leave to depart for his afternoon’s tryst, Arsène suggested that it was wise for Marie-Rouge to leave as well, so as not to compromise her reputation.  
    For the next few days, he was all that Rouge could have wished for in a suitor, sending her little tokens of affection—flowers and perfume and love sonnets—until she almost forgot that dreadful night in her room. It had been a bad dream, an unfortunate lapse of his good manners. Nothing more. She began to let him kiss her again, chaste kisses that were pleasant, without offering more than she intended. If he chafed at the pace of his suit, he gave no indication of it, seeming to find contentment in her company and asking for nothing more.  
    Until one sunny afternoon.  
    They had gone for a ride along the Grand Canal of the Versailles gardens, enjoying the view of the spring flowers from one of the gondolas that had been a gift to Louis from the Republic of Venice. At the western end of the canal, they had been met by one of Arsène’s servants; he had helped them alight, then led them to a small grove of trees where a picnic had been laid for them.  
    “The sun is warm,” said Arsène, removing his coat. “Come and sit here beneath the tree.” He smiled and put his hand to his wig. “If you’ll not be offended…”  
    She sat down on the cloak that the servant had spread. “Of course not. I should think that a wig is a terrible bother.” She watched him with curiosity as he pulled off the long black hairpiece. Unlike the curly wig, his own black hair was quite straight, and cut short. She rather liked it. His head and ears were finely shaped; far too nice to hide under a wig.  
    She leaned up against the trunk of the tree, removing her high scarf and baring her neck and bosom to the cool breeze. “How artificial you men are,” she teased. “Hiding under your wigs.”  
    He stepped closer, looming above her. His blue eyes