Their journey along the Rhine filled Meg with promise. After a morning fraught with tension, they left cool spring behind, and warm summer stealthily crept in, blooming in a beautiful spectacle of nature and new life.
She spent the majority of the day at Lucien’s side. And as the hours passed, she was glad to discover that he wasn’t the typically condescending man she was used to encountering. Even though he was rather arrogant at times, there was something humble in his nature, too. It was in the way he always asked questions as if driven more by a need to understand than to judge or to be right.
She admired that about him. Which was rather convenient. After all, one would prefer to like the company of the person who’d reawakened one’s heart.
Of course, the book was still a bone of contention. However, she was hoping to convince him that there was more between them.
She knew how peculiar the Stredwick certainty sounded to those who had not been raised on tales of it. The notion of fate and certainty and finding your soul’s counterpart was too far-fetched for most. But she’d thought that if anyone would understand her fanciful family legend, it would have been a man with his own.
He hadn’t.
That didn’t mean she was giving up, however. In fact, she was now on a mission to prove it existed.
As evening washed over them in hues of orange and violet, she still hadn’t come up with a plan. So she asked herself, What would Lady Avalon do?
The answer was simple: Lady Avalon would do whatever she wanted to do.
So when the boat neared the dock, Meg boldly slipped her arm through his and leaned close. She heard his intake of breath, felt his arm tense as he secured her closer still. For all she knew, he might have been ticklish and she had triggered a reflexive response, and taking possession of her arm was only a matter of protecting himself from a spirited attack. Either that or he simply wanted to feel her against him.
Whatever the reason, she liked the way he was looking down at her, his eyes intensely dark, his mouth curled in a quizzical grin.
“Fireflies,” she said and pointed over the railing to the tiny flickering lights that winked drowsily from the shore. “When I was young, I called them fairies and pretended that they were gathering for a merry ball in the tall grasses.” Then, remembering their previous conversation about butterflies, she gave him a playfully arched look. “Though, I suppose you’re about to tell me that their flashing lights are not indicative of happiness at all.”
“It is true that the purpose of the glow is merely to attract a mate. The male flies overhead, flashing the luciferin compound in his abdomen while the flightless female decides whether she’s interested in his companionship. If she is, then she’ll light up, too. In that regard,” he said with a teasing lift of his brows, “I would imagine that at least a few of them are quite content, if not happy.”
His audaciousness startled a laugh out of her. He could be so grim and intellectual at times, but there was also a roguish side to him. And when he lifted his hand, his knuckles curled to brush her blushing cheek, she hoped there was enough mischief in him to steal a kiss. Or two.
But then their captain started shouting out orders to the crew as they neared the dock, and the moment was lost.
They arrived at their hotel in Mainz late in the evening. And after spending the entire day in his company and coming to know him better, it was almost impossible to bid adieu.
“We had a lovely time, Your Grace,” Maeve said as he handed her down from the carriage onto the courtyard flagstones.
Following close behind, Myrtle waggled her finger and winked at him. “It will be difficult for you to improve upon such a day. If you cannot, I fear we’ll have to venture somewhere thrilling without you on the morrow.”
“And just so you know, cousin, I will abandon you and go with them in a trice. After all, they keep me well fed,” Lord Holladay interjected, patting his flat abdomen beneath the buttons of his paisley waistcoat.
“I would say they could have you, but I wouldn’t wish you on anyone,” Lucien replied, and when Pell stepped up to hand Meg down, he nudged him out of the way. Taking possession of her outstretched fingers and drawing her down, he said to her in a low voice, “As for you, I believe I’ve already promised not to let you out of my sight.”
She knew that he was actually referring to Lady Avalon, and she would settle that matter sooner or later. But for the moment, she decided to take the warm glow in his gaze as a promising sign.
* * *
The following morning, she dressed and went down to join the aunts at breakfast. Her steps were light and quick, but they faltered with pleased surprise when she saw Lucien at the bottom of the stairs.
“Good morning, Merleton,” she said with a smile. “Waiting for someone in particular?”
“You,” he said without hesitation, and a thrilling effervescence filled her veins. And he looked quite dashing in his green riding coat and fitted buckskin breeches.
As she neared, his thorough gaze swept from her head to hem and back up again, darkening behind his lenses with something that looked like hunger. Her stomach performed a queer little flip, and a warm flush traveled over her skin.
She tried to catch her breath before responding. “Oh?”
“I thought I might escort you to your aunts’ table in the common dining room, and we could discuss our itinerary.”
He proffered his arm, and she casually curled her hand over his sleeve as if the words our itinerary didn’t make her feel a bit giddy with promise.
“I’m afraid I have regretful news,” he continued grimly. “The captain is unwilling to negotiate another private tour. Today is his usual day of business, you see. And there are other passengers who’ve purchased tickets for their voyage.” He hesitated and his eyes met hers, his brows lifting in an uncertain query. “Then again, you might be looking forward to the conversation of others.”
“Conversing with the others holds little appeal for me. I should have preferred a private tour with you, I think,” she admitted honestly. “Along with the aunts, of course, and your cousin.”
“Of course.”
Bemused, she watched as his expression softened. He even smiled. Well, almost. There was a slight shift at the corner of his mouth. But it was just enough for her heart to flutter with the hope that something had altered in him as well. That, perhaps, he realized there was something more between them than just a book.
“It will be late again when we arrive at our next lodgings,” he continued. “However, the day after, I wonder if you would like to join me on a tour of the village. Through research, I’ve learned that they have an exceptional market, as well as many architecturally pleasing churches and estates that you might enjoy sketching.”
A rush of warmth filled her chest, his suggestion indicating that he recalled her penchant for drawing. “I would have to speak with the aunts.”
“I’ve already invited your companions, and they are amenable.”
Oh, the aunts were likely more than just amenable. No doubt they were bursting with wedding-breakfast plans. Meg would have to remind them, again, that this was a holiday flirtation.
And yet, even to her, it was starting to feel like more.
“I look forward to it, then,” she said.
He inclined his head. “In the meantime, I’ve asked the kitchens to prepare a wide variety of scones for our picnic on the boat this afternoon.”
“Heavy on the arsenic?”
His elusive dimple flashed. “But of course.”
* * *
Over the next few days, their peace treaty continued. They drifted along the river, picnicked and visited markets, all the while enjoying each other’s company.
There were no more tense discussions about the book or their family legends. Their exchanges usually revolved around their current likes and dislikes, scientific observations and questions about each other’s childhoods and daily life.
However, Meg’s responses were carefully edited, leaving out the details that would reveal her family name. And Lucien’s were brief, as though it pained him to speak of his past. So she tended to keep far afield of those topics. Her primary desire was to be with the man he was in that moment. Nothing more.
While they were usually in view of her chaperones, there were times when Maeve and Myrtle needed to pilfer a new recipe. The aunts would make their excuses, citing old age and a need to rest, while they encouraged the duke and the viscount to escort their charge to the next shop. And sometimes Pell would wander off, too, leaving her alone with Lucien.
Meg liked being alone with him. It felt so natural. She didn’t even mind his pet name for her any longer. There was something fond in the way he called her ma petite louve.
Her designs had altered, as well. Instead of putting on a pretense of employing the three Fs, she was flirting in earnest and hoping to gain every possible foothold into the duke’s affections.
Yet, for some reason, the more she flirted, the more he began keeping his distance. It was thoroughly disconcerting. Not only that, but her inner Lady Avalon didn’t utter a single syllable of advice.
Meg’s outings with Lucien always began with ease and playfulness. But the more time they spent together, especially alone, the grumpier he would become.
Countless times, she’d caught him looking at her in a way that made her breath quicken, his eyes dark and hungry. She’d been almost certain that he wanted to kiss her . . . but he never did.
Meg decided to take matters into her own hands.
However, when she attempted an embrace—by way of polishing his spectacles and replacing them on his countenance—he’d remained perfectly still, as if he’d turned to stone. He hadn’t even reached out to steady her as she’d teetered forward and accidentally pressed her torso against his. Instead, as the heated rush of his breath tangled with hers, he slowly drew her hands away from the nape of his neck. Then he stepped apart, cleared his throat and growled a good-night.
Clearly, she was doing something wrong.
“I do not believe the three Fs are working for me,” she’d complained to the aunts on the morning of their final day in Germany. “Just when I think the day has been absolutely perfect, he turns quite unexpectedly surly. Is there another F I should be employing?”
The sisters exchanged a look, a dusting of color saturating their powder-soft cheeks. The question seemed to render Maeve mute.
“I’m sure you’re doing everything splendidly,” Myrtle said with a conciliatory pat on her shoulder. “The only advice I can offer is this. When I was a girl, the vicar’s son took a fancy to me and I to him. On Sundays, when the congregation gathered to picnic on the village green, we would slip away to take a turn around the park. I remember when he became particularly cross, and the only thing that would set his mood to rights was to”—she hesitated with a faraway look in her eyes and drew a breath as if to hold onto the memory—“press my hand to his. Without any gloves between us. It was quite thrilling.” She expelled a wistful sigh, then smiled. “Perhaps that would set matters aright with your duke.”
Now it was Meg’s turn to blush.
Since she had already kissed him and, in retaliation, he’d done more than simply hold her bare hand, she wasn’t certain that was the answer. But she was willing to try anything to be in his arms again.
* * *
That afternoon, Lucien and Pell escorted her to a local carnival. The aunts decided to remain at the hotel and assist the maids with packing their trunks.
The village square was host to circus performers in brightly colored garb, juggling, spinning plates and performing acrobatics on the cobblestones. Merrymakers visited the half-timbered shops and the clock-tower tavern, along with huts and tents filled with various foods and games.
Beyond the fountain, Meg saw a stall where a burly, bearded man was challenging others to prove their skill by knocking the cuckoo from its perch.
“Let’s try that one next,” she said, tugging on Lucien’s arm.
Thus far, he’d proven that there was no such thing as chance in the games of chance, his sense of logic besting the puzzles set before him. He’d received angry glowers from the carnival men, but proud and beaming smiles from her.
“Your aunts are correct—you are far too exuberant today. No wonder they begged Pell and myself to escort you here. You’re a veritable Volta battery.”
He looked down at her with a falsely disapproving expression. But he couldn’t fool her. She knew the exact dimension of his true frown, and this was only a paltry imitation.
She stopped and shrugged. “Very well. Take me back to the inn if you cannot handle my enthusiasm. I’m sure to find a younger man who’ll escort me and prove his manliness in these tests of skill.”
His brows rose dubiously above the brass rims. “Knocking a tiny wooden cuckoo from a perch with a little wooden ball is your notion of proving manliness?”
“Oh, it most definitely is,” she said with unquestionable sincerity. “I would likely reward him with a kiss, as well. Therefore, you may deliver me back to the inn without delay so that I can find this masculine specimen.”
When she turned and took a step, he held fast to the arm curled around his, cinching her to his side.
He growled, “I accept your challenge.”
She had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling as he hauled her to the game.
After three attempts, however, Lucien was unsuccessful. Even though the ball had struck the cuckoo, the bird never fell from its perch.
“The density of the ball is obviously insufficient to unseat the bird. I have struck it three times, and thrice it has remained. I conclude that it is clearly fastened to the perch,” he accused, shoving his spectacles up the bridge of his nose.
The bearded man grinned as if being called a cheat was the highlight of his day. With a supercilious lift of his hand, he flicked the cuckoo from the perch with the tip of his finger to show how easily it could be done. Then he put the bird back in place, set the ball on the rail in front of Lucien and crossed his arms over his chest, daring his customer to try again.
Beside her, Lucien seethed through his teeth and reached into his pocket.
Meg put her hand on Lucien’s arm, staying him. “There’s no need to spend any more coin on this bit of foolishness. This man has likely made a fortune on the game when there isn’t any possible way to”—dismissively, she swiped up the ball and sent it sailing through the air—“best it.”
Just as the last syllable left her lips, the ball connected with the cuckoo.
The bird fell.
Meg instantly squealed with delight, clapping and bouncing on the balls of her feet. “Did you see that, Lucien? Did you . . .”
Her words trailed off when she saw the muscle along his jaw twitch.
He set the coin down crisply on the rail, then took her hand and started to walk across the cobblestones.
“I’m certain it was just luck,” she said, trying not to laugh. But really, this was too amusing.
“There is no such thing as luck.”
She quickened her step to keep pace with him, not bothering to hide her grin. “Then, it was likely the arc I was able to achieve from my height. If I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a thousand times, you are simply too tall.”
“My height had nothing to do with it.”
“Then, it must have been the size of your hands. They are simply too large.” She thought she saw the corner of his mouth twitch, but she had to turn her attention away as he took her up the steps of the church and through the wide oaken doors. “Of course, it couldn’t have anything to do with my skill.”
The door swung closed behind them just as she giggled, the sound reverberating through the cathedral. The few villagers who were there admiring the stained-glass windows and the vaulted ceilings turned to glare at them. One even shushed her.
Meg barely had time to paste on a contrite expression before Lucien abruptly pivoted and stalked toward the archway on the far side of the vestibule, hauling her with him.
There, he led her through a narrow door. Inside was a steep set of stairs, the walls of the tower curving around every side. She looked up and up and up and saw the bell hanging overhead.
“Lucien,” she whispered as he closed the door behind them, “why are we in the bell tow—”
She didn’t have the chance to finish.
In an instant, he had turned her in his arms and lowered his mouth to hers.
Her eyes widened. Then she smiled as understanding dawned. She hadn’t been wrong about those heated looks, after all. And this was so much better than holding hands.
But she barely had time to slide hers to his shoulders before he lifted his head and looked down at her. Lips parted, he panted, “Is this . . . acceptable?”
“Yes, yes.” She nodded and tried to pull him closer to her once more. But he solved that problem by gripping her waist and setting her on the first step. “Even better.”
He captured those syllables with a burning kiss. His body was so close that she could feel the heat of it through layers of linen, wool, muslin and cambric. Feel the last vestiges of his carefully controlled desire go up in flames as he held her face and took complete possession of her mouth.
This was different from the first time. That had been all stillness—a shock, a breath, a press and release. And, truth be told, she’d known little else about kissing. But this was so much more. All movement—lips parting, hungry sips, tongues sliding in delicious wet friction. And he didn’t even seem to mind her untutored enthusiasm, like the way she raked her teeth over his bottom lip or suckled his tongue deeper into her mouth in an attempt to satisfy this new craving for the taste of him.
He growled, pulling her flush. But his glasses slid down the length of his nose. Frustrated, he shoved them back in place, then wrapped his arms around her, nudging her lips apart with his own . . . only to growl again when the saddle slipped.
“Take them off. Take them off,” she said urgently, helping to dislodge the earpieces as her fingers threaded in his hair. A mewl of impatience escaped her when his mouth strayed from hers, but he quickly returned as if they were two magnets drawn together.
Dimly, she heard the faint clatter of something falling to the floor. But it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered in this moment as he held her tighter, and she twined her arms around his neck.
“Why didn’t you start with this?”
“What? This?” he asked, kissing her again until her toes curled.
She nodded, their chests rising and falling in a tandem crush, stomachs pressed. “You should have started right here.”
“You expected me to bypass the carnival, march across the cobblestone and drag you into the bell tower?”
His mouth opened over her throat, sucking gently on the vulnerable pulse, his splayed hand descending lower on her back, drawing her closer.
“Yes, yes and yes.” She arched her neck, eyes closed, lost in pleasure. “You wasted far too much time being surly these past few days.”
He smiled against her skin. “All was going to plan until that bloody cuckoo tipped me over the edge.”
Then he took her mouth again. Gripping her bottom, he lifted her higher against him until her slippers were balanced on the edge of the step.
The solid feel of him distracted her thoughts, and she wasn’t sure she’d heard him correctly. “Hmm?”
He answered with a hungry sound as he nudged her lips apart with tiny sips that beckoned her to do the same. It was like they were feasting on each other, licking and tasting until the kiss transformed into something new and urgent. His grip brought the apex of her thighs against a thick shape. Reflexively, her hips tilted against the imposing hardness, gauging, testing, until something of a purr vibrated in her throat. A guttural grunt left his, the sound tunneling deep into the pit of her stomach.
“This is madness,” he rasped, pausing to gaze wonderingly down into her face, his eyes blazing and dark. “You’re positively irresistible and clever and witty. I never stood a chance, did I?”
She shook her head, grazing her lips across his as her heart rejoiced. “There’s something between us. I’ve known it from the beginning. I didn’t want to accept it then, but now there’s no way to turn my back on it.”
“I know.” He closed his eyes and kissed her softly as he lifted a hand to cradle her face. “With that book standing between us, it complicates everything. But it doesn’t have to be that way.”
“What we have is greater than any book. Something deep and lasting. We were brought together for a reason.”
During these past few days, Meg knew that her Stredwick certainty had finally found her soul’s counterpart. She’d thought the Fates had given her Daniel, but he’d never made her feel this way. Her tender feelings for him were nothing compared to this burning passion.
Lucien smiled as he smoothed the tendrils from her temple. “Yes, I know, and the reason was thievery. But I’m not angry about it any longer. I just want it returned to me, and then we can explore more of this. And I must confess, I’ve quickly become completely obsessed with your mouth,” he said, nibbling at the corner.
She closed her eyes, absorbed in the pleasure of the moment. Yet, something niggled at the back of her mind, and she slid her hands to his chest.
“You said ‘all was going to plan’ a moment ago. What did you mean by that?”
“Precisely what it sounded like. I had everything under control in this game of ours. I was going to hold firm and not give in to your clever seduction. But when you picked up that little ball and knocked the cuckoo from its perch, all the while gazing at me with those fathomless eyes, madness took over. I couldn’t stand it a moment longer. I had to surrender.” He grinned at her, that damnable dimple winking. “Just tell me what I have to do to reclaim it. Name your price. I’ll give you anything.”
“Are you still talking about the book?”
“Of course,” he said, his tone fondly teasing. “You were absolutely right when you left that note telling me that I’d met my match. I have, indeed. And I’m eager to put aside what is between us.”
“And I wasn’t referring to the book just now, but to fate,” she clarified, as his smile fell and his brow furrowed.
He shook his head in confusion and lowered her to the step. Putting space between them, he raked a hand through his hair. “That’s ludicrous. This is nothing more than passion. Desire. We both feel it. We both want to give in to it. I thought we were ready to bargain like two sensible adults. Apparently, I was mistaken.”
“Like two sensible—” She stiffened, seething. “I should like to return to the inn now, if you don’t mind.”
He issued a curt nod and pulled on the hem of his coat.
Smoothing her hands over wrinkled muslin, she stepped down . . . and heard a crunch beneath her shoe.
His spectacles.
* * *
Lord Holladay stayed behind to enjoy the clock-tower tavern, leaving Meg and Lucien alone in the carriage. With every jarring bump in the road, the silence and tension grew into a splintering wall, as if they were dropping stacks of firewood between the benches.
By the time they reached the inn, she had built her ire into a flaming conflagration surrounded by sharped-tipped spears. If he dared utter a single syllable more about that book, she was going to unleash every one of them on him.
And yet, she knew the anger was only protecting the vulnerable opening of her newfound feelings for him.
It wasn’t love. Or at least she didn’t think so. But she knew that she couldn’t feel this way, this constant need to be with him, the ache when she wasn’t, if there was nothing between them.
Dismally, as they neared the inn, she realized things would have turned out differently if she’d remembered to act like Lady Avalon. An adventuress. A woman who seduced men for her own gain . . . And a shield for someone who’d merely wanted to experience one grand flirtation.
Meg drew in a deep breath. “I am glad that you’ll never know how it might have been between us.”
“I’m certain I can imagine,” he said, but she saw the way his throat tightened as he swallowed. Behind the rims of his broken, single-lens spectacles, his eyes were heated and hungry, the way they had been in the bell tower when he reluctantly admitted that he found her irresistible.
A surge of feminine power filled her.
Embracing her role as infamous book thief and vixen—at least as far as she could manage whilst knowing virtually nothing about either practice—she slowly removed her gloves. Then she crossed one leg over the other and leaned forward to adjust a twisted stocking, lifting her hem a few inches above her trim ankle. She peered up at him through her lashes and saw him follow every movement. Excellent.
Finished with the task, she situated her skirts and eased back against the squabs on a satisfied hum. A muscle ticked along his jaw, his hands flexing over the edge of the bench. Then, when he darted a glance to her lips, she wet them with the tip of her tongue and heard his quick intake of breath.
Her pulse thrummed hotly, triumphantly. “Whatever you’ve imagined isn’t even close to the truth. I have a certain, shall we say, aptitude for pleasure.”
“Aptitude?” His voice cracked. A slash of red painted the crests of his cheeks and across the bridge of his nose. “As in—”
“Talents. Skills. Surely, a scholar such as yourself does not require the definition.” She lifted her shoulders in a delicate shrug that drew his attention to her breasts as the carriage rocked to a slow stop in front of the inn. “Needless to say, I can do things that no ordinary woman would even think of, let alone be bold enough to try. And it pains me to think of what might have been. And I’ve no doubt you’d have wanted to research all the ways that I can—”
As expected, the efficient porter opened the door and lowered the step. And she didn’t bother to finish, because it was obvious by Lucien’s one fogged lens that she’d already made her point exceptionally well.