Page 43 of The Rebellious Lady and the Phantom Lord
“For protection! Did you think I was going to wait to see what malicious plot you next had in store for me?”
To her astonishment, he smiled, the expression half-rueful, half-incredulous. He covered her hand where it rested on the bed with his own. “Phaedra,” he murmured, shaking his head.
She stiffened. “Don’t touch me. And don’t you dare use my name that way.”
But he made no effort to draw his hand back. “Phaedra,” he repeated. “Look at me.” When she refused, he caught her chin, gently forcing her to gaze up at him.
“Considering what our past relationship has been, the suspicion and the mistrust, I know this will be difficult for you to believe. It was not I who locked you in with Arthur Danby.”
“Then I suppose it was mere coincidence you just happened along with my grandfather.”
“Yes. It was his idea to see the paintings, not mine.”
Phaedra squirmed, feeling more uncertain of her position by the minute. But she continued to argue. “You were the one I heard suggesting that you examine the Titian in the Gold Room.”
“I like Titian,” Armande said. “We share the same failing-a weakness for tempestuous red-haired women.”
He exhaled his breath in a long sigh. “You are an impulsive woman, Phaedra Grantham, with a distressing habit of leaping to conclusions. You sent me to hell and back today.”
Phaedra studied him, still not certain if she believed his denial about Danby. But he was not lying about what she had put him through. She could see it in the fatigue etching his eyes. “You couldn’t have possibly been frightened when you were arrested,” she said. “You said yourself you never were in any danger.”
“No danger except for that of encountering old ghosts that I thought to have put to rest. I knew a man once, a friend who was imprisoned.” It was the first time Armande had ever volunteered any information about his past.
“And this friend of yours. He died?” she asked quietly.
“Oui.”
“At Newgate?”
He stared at her. Phaedra could almost see the walls going up.
“Non. In France, in the Bastille.” He gave her a disarming smile, and Phaedra knew he was about to turn the subject. “I suppose there is no point in my asking what you were doing in the Gold Room with Arthur Danby.”
“I was not making love to him, if that’s what you mean.” She flushed, then wondered why she had said that. She became uncomfortably aware of just how intimate it was to be sitting with him upon this bed.
“I didn’t suppose you had followed Danby out of any amorous intent,” he said. “The man is a dolt. I hope you will be wise enough to place no credence in anything he might say.”
Armande moved closer, his fingers tracing the curve of her jaw. “I wish the mistrust between us could end.”
“If only you would not be so secretive,” she murmured, knowing she ought to draw away. How easy for her to forget all that had passed between them, to become ensnared by that silken voice.
He pressed soft kisses against both her eyelids. “If only you would not be so inquisitive. If you could trust me enough to believe that I have no desire to harm you.”
He laid such peculiar stress on the last word. Then who did he want to harm? The question was swept from her mind as his lips found hers, the contact spreading warmth through her veins. A voice deep inside her cautioned that this could be butanother ploy of Armande’s. When all else fails, try seduction. Yet despite the gentleness of the kiss, she could sense his longing. For whatever reason, by design or misunderstanding, both of them had journeyed to hell and back today. It was as though he kissed her now to offer comfort, as well as to seek it for himself.
Phaedra ran her hands along the nape of his neck, her fingers caressing the silken ends of his dark hair. When she melted against him, he needed little urging to deepen the kiss, his tongue exploring her mouth with a kind of lightning-hot sweetness. What had been warmth became fire. He tumbled her back onto the bed, never breaking the contact of their lips.
“Lady Phaedra.”
The sound of Lucy calling her struck Phaedra’s like a dash of cold water. She felt Armande freeze. In another moment Lucy would enter the garret and find them thus. As Armande wrenched himself away from her, she scrambled up from the daybed, flying over to the door. She held her weight against it as the doorknob turned.
“Milady?”
“Aye, Lucy?” Phaedra asked, trying not to sound as breathless as she felt. “What do you want?”
“Your grandfather is demanding to know what has become of you. He sounds most dreadful angry.”
“Tell him I will be down at once.”
