Page 46 of To Tempt a Rebel (The Scarlet Chronicle 4)

“And what will you do when you’ve divested me of it?”

“You’ll have to wait and see.” He pressed his lips to the swath of flesh he’d revealed and she made a small sound in the back of her throat.

“There’s something else you might want to know about this garment.”

“I don’t care that it’s hand sewn.”

“That isn’t it. It’s about the buttons. There are only five.”

He looked at the material again. There were a least twenty buttons, but now he saw that some of them were decorative. He’d opened three and had already revealed the valley between her breasts. “You actors are a wicked lot.” He unfastened the next button and revealed a section of pale abdomen. His fingers trembled as he reached the last button and unfastened it. The heavy garment didn’t open, so he took both sides and parted it slowly.

Her breasts were small but round and firm. The nipples were hard and dark red and just slightly tilted up as though waiting for his mouth to claim them. He pushed the doublet off her shoulders and let it fall to the floor. She was so slender and delicate. He was almost afraid to touch her.

She took his hand and brought it to her mouth, kissing the palm and then each of the five fingers. His breathing sped up as she tilted her head back and trailed his hand down her neck and between her breasts. Her heart pounded under his palm, cushioned by the round weight of her. He couldn’t stop his fingers from tracing that curve. She shivered and lifted his other hand. When she kissed the palm, he bent and ran his lips over her flesh, settling on the dark nipple and taking it into his mouth. She drew his finger into her mouth, sucking hard, and he had to sink to his knees to keep them from buckling.

His hand skated down her body taking her plump flesh in his hand and kneading it while his lips slid over her abdomen.

“I think you should take your clothes off.”

“Yes,” he said. “But first I want to see what you’re wearing beneath these breeches.”

His hand dipped to the placket, loosened it, and slid inside.Mon Dieu. She truly wore nothing. Her hot flesh all but seared his hand, and he knew if he dipped into the dusting of blond curls she would be warm and wet for him.

He kissed her lower abdomen, wondering if she tasted as good as she smelled, and then he felt her stiffen. Before he could ask why, he knew the reason. He heard the sound of horses’ hooves on cobblestones that could only mean one thing.

A carriage was approaching, and only high-ranking government officials would be out after curfew. She stepped back and went to the window, standing to the side and parting the curtains ever so slightly. “A black carriage with four unmatched horses. I can’t tell much more from here.”

Tristan handed her the doublet and took her place while she tugged it on. “It’s Robespierre,” he said, recognizing the conveyance immediately.

“And he’s coming here?”

“More than likely.”

She paused in the act of buttoning the doublet. “I can’t climb out that window. He’ll see me. What if you were to undress? He will think he’s taken you from bed with me. It’s not far from the truth.”

Tristan shook his head. She didn’t know Robespierre like he did. The leader of the Jacobins would not see her as some faceless, nameless woman. He would want to know who she was, and the closer he looked at her, the worse it would be for both of them. But he didn’t have time to explain all of that. “No, he must think I’m alone. Hide in the bedchamber and don’t make a sound.”

She gave him a dubious look, but gathered up her cape and retreated, still fastening her doublet. She didn’t trust him, and he could not blame her, but he would have been a fool to turn her over to Robespierre. They would both go to the guillotine. And if Robespierre found her here, they might still.

Footsteps sounded on the stairs, and Tristan went to his desk and opened a compartment, pulling out several documents just as the knock thudded on the door. Tristan opened it immediately. “Citoyen,” he said with a slight bow. “I heard your carriage and hoped you might be coming to see me.” Tristan opened the door wider to admit the short man into the main room. He was careful not to look back at the door to his bedchamber. He had to trust Alexandra Martin was well hidden.

“I am glad you are awake, citoyen,” Robespierre said, looking about the room with a keen eye. “I see you are still working.”

“Not work, really. I was reading this essay by Voltaire.” He lifted the paper from the desk to show Robespierre.

His superior glanced at the paper. “A worthy use of your time. May I sit?” He indicated the table.

“Of course. Would you like wine?”

“No, thank you.” Removing his hat, he looked about again, his gaze pausing on the bedchamber. Tristan gripped the back of the chair to keep from following that gaze.

“I like how you live, Citoyen Chevalier. You are a frugal man.”

“Thank you, citoyen.”

Robespierre lifted a hand. “I realized tonight that I had not seen you all day. Not until you came to request permission to go to the Temple prison.”

“I was unwell, citoyen.”

---