Page 17 of Cursed
“Do you remember that man who came to your father’s house, saying he was traveling through the area?”
“Yes.”
“You gave him a meal—and he kept staring at you. You told me he made you uncomfortable.”
She laughed. “Oui. I wondered what he wanted.”
“I am sorry I distressed you, chere. But he was the artist who painted these portraits. I needed him to see you, so he would understand your beauty for himself. So, I sent him into the bayou. You should have heard him complain about having to travel to the backcountry.”
“Oh, Andre.” She stopped, overwhelmed with emotion, needing to clear her throat before she continued. “You went to a lot of trouble for me.
“I wanted to give you a present that would mean something—to both of us.”
She closed the cover with regret, then stroked her thumb over the shiny surface. “My father would never let me wear this. I’d have to hide it from him.”
“I know that. Until I get his permission to court you, you can wear it under your dress, next to your silky skin.” As he spoke, he took the locket from her suddenly stiff fingers, reached around her neck and sprang the catch before carefully fastening the clasp. He looked for a moment at the locket resting against her bodice. Then he gravely opened the first two buttons and slipped the locket inside. It was hot against her skin, hot like his touch, as he opened two more buttons, just that simple act sending currents of heat through her body.
“Andre,” she sighed out as he leaned down, then stroked his lips gently against the tender skin below her neck. “Oh, Andre.”
“I will have you for my wife,” he whispered.
She wanted that to be true. So much. At night, in her narrow bed, she longed to reach out and find herself in a wider bed—with him beside her. But she didn’t think it could ever happen. He was like the lord of the manor. And she was one of the peasants. If she was going to have anything with him, she must grab what she could—while she could. Well, not everything. Only what wouldn’t get her in real trouble.
When he opened his saddlebag, she looked at him questioningly. He only smiled at her and led her farther into the bayou.
They came to a place under a spreading oak tree, where she saw he had gathered leaves and moss into a soft pile. And whenhe opened the saddlebag, she saw that he had brought a coverlet with him.
Her pulse was pounding as she watched him spread it on the leaves, making a bed. When he turned back to her, his face was grave. “I want us to be comfortable when I take you in my arms.”
“I …” She had been bold in kissing him, letting him touch her in forbidden places. But lying down with him was something she knew went too far.
“You are thinking we shouldn’t do that,” he said.
She could only nod.
“I know why it’s a bad idea for you. But chere, I would never hurt you. Never do anything we shouldn’t.”
They had already done things they shouldn’t, if she were strictly honest with herself. Yet when he sat down and held out his hand, she took it and sat beside him, feeling her back stiffen as she tried to keep from shaking.
And she knew he could feel it, too.
“You’re right to be nervous. But you never have to be frightened of me. I respect you too much to hurt you.”
“Respect? How can you respect a woman who is sitting on a bed under an oak tree with you?”
“Because I love you,” he said again. “Je t’aime,” he repeated.
“Oh, Andre!”
“I’m not saying that because I am going to force you into anything,” he added hastily.
“I know.” She dragged in a breath and let it out in a rush, then said the words that had been bottled up inside her since the first afternoon they had met out by the old fallen tree. “I love you so much.”
“My love. My angel. I ached to hear that. Thank you for being brave enough to tell me.”
“I shouldn’t …”
“Oui. You should. I live for the time we can be together—as man and wife.”
