What should he do about Chloe's proposal? Marry her to secure her estates? The idea, which had at first seemed ludicrous, now held a certain appeal. Especially in the quiet of this garden, next to the pond.
Stretching out on the soft grass, he rested his head on the pillow made by his folded arms. The light wind riffled his hair, cooling the back of his neck. The sound of the lapping water soothed him, and he felt himself relax, becoming drowsy.
What should he do about Chloe's proposal?
It was not gardens or estates he thought of as he drifted off to sleep. In that state between waking and dreaming, the lapping water became waves of red hair floating toward him. In his mind's eye, he saw himself reach out simply to touch a tendril of hair before it floated away, and instead found himself wrapping the strand securely around his fist.
There was no way in hell he was going to let it slip by him.
John was lying prone on the grass, fast asleep.
The classically handsome face turned toward her was almost completely hidden by his loose hair. Black breeches molded muscular buttocks and powerful thighs.
He looked too beautiful by half.
Chloe shook her head. John could fall asleep anywhere. She supposed it would be a necessary trait for a rake to possess.
She sat next to him on the lawn. Watching him. There was a silly little grin curving those sensual lips, and he seemed inordinately pleased with himself. The arm his head was resting on had a clenched fist.
I wonder what he's grabbing. She could just imagine the sordid exploits the rogue was dreaming about! Chloe sighed. It was going to be difficult to reform him.
But not impossible.
She knew just what she had to do in order to achieve her objective. Chloe was going to give him enough tether in the rope she offered to him so that he might hang himself. Metaphorically speaking.
How can such a wicked man look so innocent when he sleeps? She rolled her eyes at the preposterous picture he made. An innocent Lord of Sex. Ha! Trying not to laugh outright, she leaned forward to gently smooth back a strand of hair from his face.
John was worth reforming.
There was something extremely likable about him; everyone who met him saw that at once. Still, Chloe had always believed there was more to John than simply his easygoing, likable, rapscallion self.
Indeed, throughout her life he had given her glimpses of so much more.
The truth with John lay buried deep within: a heart of gold imprisoned by the walls he had erected. Chloe hoped with all her being that she was the key to unlock it.
Undeniably, from the moment they met, he was hers. Oh, not in body, to be sure, but definitely in spirit. It was something she had always sensed: they belonged to each other.
They always had.
And they always would.
It was up to her to make the dunderhead see it. Then admit to it.
There was the rub.
How does one bring a six-foot-two-inch rogue to heel? Well, she was about to find out and write the book. She took a deep breath. I can do this… I know I can. It was Chloe's once-in-a-lifetime chance and she was going to reach for it. Snapping off a blade of grass, she bent over him and lightly ran the tip across his lips. John's green eyes opened a fraction. As she suspected, he was very sensitive to physical stimuli.
"Mmm, hello, sweet," he whispered sleepily.
Trusting as a babe, she thought with a snort. At least until he regained full wakefulness. "Had a hard night, did you?" she goaded him.
He rolled over onto his back. Several buttons on his white shirt were undone; Chloe got a very nice glimpse of taut, golden skin and a flash of a gold chain before it slid under his shirt.
Lacing his hands behind his head, he gazed up at her, eyes sparkling with humor. "I rode like hell to get here and you know it."
"Yes, I suppose…" She glided the blade of grass across her lips in a seemingly unconscious action. His gaze fell instantly to her mouth.
Chloe knew the exact moment he realized it was the same blade that had just run across his own lips. His eyes darkened. She was thrilled. It was a very good sign. In fact, he seemed to have made a decision of some kind.
"Come lie down here with me." He spoke quietly as he held his hand out to her.
Chloe swallowed. She had wanted a reaction, but not this strong of a reaction. "Wh-what for?"
John raised an eyebrow. "So we can discuss the English economy. What do you think 'what for'?"
"I—you—you can't be serious!"
"You were the one who said you wanted to improve your technique. Well, I'm in an 'improving' state of… mind." He patted the grass beside him.
The reprobate! That was not what she had said! She bit her lip. It was what she had said…
However, it was not what she had meant! "That was not the entire package. If you recall, I proposed an agreement with you regarding marriage."
John had already decided to accept her proposal. Not that he was ready to tell her yet. He wanted to see if… There it was. Chloe's bow mouth pouted. It always did when she was forced to wait for an answer she might not like.
John smiled to himself, then observed something different about the facial expression. How was it that he had never noticed how lush and full her lips were? He stared at her mouth, captivated. Once the image of that enticing mouth was brought to his attention, he couldn't seem to let go of the sight. What would those soft, full lips feel like beneath his own?
Chloe's lips.
Opening for him, inviting him inside…
The unbidden image almost caused him to groan out loud. Fortunately, he was able to stop himself in time.
John blinked; he had never even thought of Chloe in that way before. Be that as it may, now that he had imagined it, he intended to investigate. Fully. The very idea suddenly made him hot. Red hot.
He would have to pounce, of course.
The situation called for nothing less. So John rubbed his chin as if still mulling her words over.
Chloe watched him, alert as a hawk.
Almost time, he told himself, but not yet…
Sensing John was close to telling her his answer, Chloe held her breath and leaned forward.
"I agree, then, Chloe; I'll marry you." Now!
Chloe released the breath she was holding, only to choke on it when his hands quickly came up to clasp her shoulders and tug her down on top of him.
"John!" She squirmed in his hold.
"First I want to have a taste of what I'll be getting." Strong arms encircled her, bringing her close. He dipped his head toward her.
Chloe gasped and tried to pull herself back. What had gotten into him? He had seemed so docile a minute ago… Yes, like a sleepy-eyed tiger! she admitted ruefully. There was no way she could allow this! As far as it went, she must remain off-limits to him until after the ceremony.
For one thing, he was far too experienced for her even to think she could control him; she would never be able to stop him from taking her. For another, if he found out how inexperienced she was, he would be off to London in two shakes of a rake's tail.
As his lips descended she instantly put her hand up in front of her face to stop the contact.
"Whaf ar you doin?" he mumbled against her fingers, voice muffled.
"No, we cannot." She spoke succinctly so he would understand her.
His arms tightened around her waist. He turned his mouth slightly so he could speak. "What do you mean, we can't? Of course we can. You said yourself you—"
Chloe shook her head. "It is a—a tradition with the Fonbeaulard women. We never anticipate the marriage bed." That part was true, as far as she knew. It seemed like a good excuse, too.
"Tradition?" He looked as if he had never heard the word. "What do I care for some ridiculous tradition? Don't be silly, Chloe, let's—"
"No. I mean it, John. Not until after the wedding."
So that's what a frustrated rakehell looks like, she marveled. Must be a new look fo
r him.
John was irritated—more than he cared to admit. What did she mean, no? "I don't understand this. You've already—"
Chloe swallowed. Courage. "That's different. You are to be my husband. According to the tradition, we have to wait." There. That sounds perfectly reasonable.
He observed her intently. "Hmm."
Was he getting suspicious? Chloe decided she needed to change his line of thinking.
"I mean, if you were anyone else, why then, it would be fine." She peeked up at him from under her lashes.
He seemed somewhat flabbergasted.
"Are you—are you saying you would be with someone else but not with me?" he choked out.
"Yes, of course. In fact, our agreement doesn't have to go into effect until we are actually wed, so…"She let the thought trail off meaningfully.
He just stared at her, dumbfounded.
This was a gamble, but one she had to take. "We could both be free, so to speak, until then. That is, if you wish it." She nodded enthusiastically to nettle him further.
It proved effective when that muscle in his jaw began working.
Please don't do it, John. Chloe waited for his answer on pins and needles. Why doesn't he say something?
"As far as I am concerned," he finally bit out through clenched teeth, "the agreement is in effect. We'll wait. Both of us."
It was all she could do not to hug him. Instead, she feigned a nonchalant attitude, shrugging. "Whatever you wish."
Her capitulation mollified him somewhat, even if he still seemed a bit disgruntled. "Does this mean we cannot even kiss till then?"
"Better not," she intoned. "I can never seem to stop myself with just a kiss, John," she confided to him.
The jade eyes narrowed.
Chapter Three
Maurice Bags a Viscount
"John and I are to be wed."
Stunned silence filled the room.
Chloe had decided to announce the momentous change that was about to take place in her life as soon as they were all gathered together in the drawing room after the evening meal. The "rope" had been looped about the rake's neck, and she surmised this was a good time to give it a yank.
John glared at her.
Well, what did he expect? She returned his look with a catlike smile. Sorry, John, no reprieve for you.
Grandmere had just finished commenting on the conditions in France, saying that nothing had been the same since the Parisian mobs had pulled that red bonnet over the ears of Louis. At Chloe's announcement, she sat back in her chair, her hand coming to her throat in a gesture of shock.
Apparently the Terror could not hold a candle to this bit of news.
Deiter grunted and Schnapps showed a tooth.
Maurice was the first to recover. Eyes gleaming with an unnamed satisfaction, he gave his nephew a knowing look. "Ho ho!" John shifted in his seat, refusing to meet his uncle's eye. He seemed to take an unprecedented interest in the pastoral scene depicted on the wallpaper to his left.
Maurice began to hum the same tune he had earlier regarding the mouse and the cat.
"Mon Dieu, is this true, John?" Grandmere finally found her voice.
John leaned forward in his seat, elbows resting on his spread knees, hands linked together between. He'd best try to explain this. And he would… as soon as he figured it out for himself. How had Chloe managed it? He had been wondering that all afternoon.
"Well, you see, Countess—"
"You haven't!" Grandmere turned pale. "But you have only been back a few hours, John. Mon Dieu, tell me you haven't debauched her!"
The countess looked back and forth between the two of them. John seemed ill at ease, while Chloe looked like… like a mouse who had just swallowed a cat.
"In my village, men who take such liberties are tied to the side of a barn for four weeks." Deiter always had an anecdote involving the mysterious village in Germany where he supposedly grew up. The tales never seemed to make much sense, but Chloe thought they were deliciously lurid.
That was, when he managed to finish one without falling asleep.
"We are not talking of barns, Deiter; we are talking of our little Chloe being ruined!" The countess whipped out her lavender-scented lace handkerchief and began dabbing at her eyes. The handkerchief afforded her the shield she needed so she could flash a secret smile to Maurice.
Maurice covertly winked back at her.
John frowned. "No. If you just listen to me—"
"I think it is very romantic." Maurice shrugged in a typically Gallic manner. "It is spring, is it not? The season for amour."
John tried again. "This has nothing to do with—"
"… Such men are left without food or water," Deiter continued inexorably, his black eyes taking on a strange glint. They always glowed when he was getting to the fiendish part of the tale. "Soon they begin to howl at the moon—"
John rolled his eyes. "For God's sake, man, will you let me finish what—"
Seated on Deiter's lap, Schnapps began baying right on cue, lending atmosphere to his master's words.
John threw his hands up in the air. He turned to Chloe, who had started the whole mess.
She was sitting in her Chippendale chair, looking as innocent as a lamb. Except for those violet eyes. They were flashing with deviltry and something akin to satisfaction.
"Feel free to aid me at any time, Chloe," he said dryly.
"Oh no, I think you're doing splendidly, my lord." She gave him a gleeful grin.
Damn, but she is enjoying this. John rubbed the side of his forehead. Somehow he knew this was only the beginning.
He faced the countess again. "Chloe has asked me—"
"Chloe has asked you?" the countess echoed incredulously.
"You see, she feels… she feels…" John wasn't sure how to proceed.
"I feel, John?" Chloe prompted.
He leveled a menacing look at her. He couldn't just tell them about Chloe's proposal and their strange bargain.
Maurice frowned. "Are you saying you have not seduced her, my boy? Mon Dieu! How disappointing are the youth of today!"
"They begin to foam at the mouth…" Dieter pierced John with his eyes, locking him in his sights. Schnapps growled low.
That was it. John stood and shouted to the room at large, instantly rendering everyone silent again. "We are to be wed and there is the end to it!"
It was all he intended to offer for an explanation. Let them piece it together in whatever fashion they wished.
Once again it was the marquis who recovered first. "Ah yes, we understand, John; you do not have to explain to us."
He narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean by that?"
Maurice only shook his finger at his nephew and began to hum the same tune again.
John faced Chloe. "What does he mean by that?"
Chloe shrugged her shoulders. John noted she had a very suspicious look on her face.
"When is the wedding to be?" Grandmere asked prosaically while returning her hankie to her pocket.
John noted that her eyes were suspiciously dry. It did not pass by the viscount that his uncle and the countess seemed to accept this match all too eagerly. In a moment of honesty, he admitted to himself that they were accepting for his sake, not Chloe's. It was painfully obvious that the chit could have anyone she wanted. Why she chose him—the most notorious rake in England—must be a puzzle to them all.
Yet they had accepted it.
Such acceptance spoke highly of the nature of the bond between the marquis and the countess. Added to the fact that the countess had always adored John and treated him like family. John's brow furrowed.
But as so often happened when John came upon a facet of emotional revelation, he immediately sought to squelch the troublesome concept.
Shield firmly back in place, he walked over to the Sheraton sideboard and idly poured himself a glass of Hock.
As he brought the drink to his lips, he happened to gaze into the wall mirror facing him.
Chloe sat in profile to his view. The firelight reflected off her delicate features, gilding her red hair with highlights. Something about the scene struck him, and he found himself staring at her in the mirror while she was unaware of his perusal.
Who was this self-assured woman?
Oh, she was still his little Chloe, but she was something more now…
Maurice interrupted his reflections. "Well, my boy, we have not heard from you; when is the wedding to be?"
John hesitated. The season was stalling and he supposed it could wait until after that. It wasn't as if he were in any hurry to get married.
His gaze lifted to the mirror again. A spark from the fire illuminated Chloe's bountiful decolletage. The rake's sights riveted there. Chloe was beautifully formed, he realized. His hand would just cup…
"As soon as we are able," he found himself saying.
Chloe looked over at him in surprise. She had expected to have to battle him on this issue.
Realizing what he had said, he quickly amended, "That is, after the season, of course."
Chloe pursed her lips. The reprobate! If he thought she was going to let him harry off to London for months to do God knew what, well, he had better think that one over again. Your days of being out and about are over, John. Over.
She readied herself for a contest of wills but, surprisingly, Maurice came to her rescue.
He shuddered theatrically. "How well I remember the agony of waiting in my youth." Maurice was ever the Frenchman. And to a Frenchman what could be worse than the horror of delayed desire?
The countess raised her eyebrow. She couldn't recall the marquis in his younger years ever waiting… for anything. He had always been a most impetuous and daring lover. She wondered what the old fox was up to.
It was no secret that he had despaired of John ever marrying. Many times Maurice had mourned the fact that there would be no heir to their family, since he and John were all that was left of the Chavaneau line. Technically, John was not a Chavaneau, as Maurice's father had married John's grandmother, an English widow who had a little girl. That little girl was John's mother. Maurice was born of their union.