Page 52 of The Rebellious Lady and the Phantom Lord
If she ever did see Armande again-
Phaedra was startled by the snap of a twig. She tensed, glancing about her, but the copse was silent, the only movement the rustle of a leaf. All the same, she had the uncomfortable sensation of being spied upon.
Without making obvious her nervousness, Phaedra reached for her clothes. She scrambled into her petticoats and was lacing the corset across her bosom when she heard another snap, followed by the crunch of boots. Someone was there.
Phaedra whirled around, clasping her gown in front of her breasts, preparing to scream for help if necessary. She tensed at the sight of the tall man stalking past the bushes. Her lips rounded into a weak oh.
She gaped at Armande, attired for riding in a plain brown frock coat and tan breeches protected by spatterdashes. His silky dark hair was back in a neat queue. Her heart set up such a hammering, she could do little more than stare at him. “I-I thought you’d gone.”
He dug the toe of one boot into the ground, avoiding her eyes. Never had he looked less the picture of a polished marquis. Fingering the brim of his cocked hat, he said “How could I-after we parted so abruptly? We never truly said farewell.”
She thought they had said nigh everything there was to say. He swore he didn’t want to hurt her, yet he seemed determined to prolong this parting and make it as painful as possible.
He moved to the edge of the pond, staring moodily down at his own image, the reflection as mysterious and elusive as Armande himself. Phaedra turned her back on him. With unsteady jerks, she strove to finish lacing the front of her bodice.
“How long have you been watching me?” she blurted out.
“Too long for my peace of mind,” came his strained reply.
“Damnation!” She had tangled one of the lacings, snarling it into a hopeless knot. She yanked on the ribbon, tearing the delicate silk. Whipping around, she said, “Why did you have to come looking for me? Why didn’t you just go!”
He glanced up at her, his eyes rife with misery. “I can’t,” he said hoarsely. “I think I am falling in love with you.”
He spoke with such quiet simplicity she could not doubt he meant it. The words seemed wrung from the depths of his heart. Something he had said the first night they had met echoed through her mind. She replied a shaky laugh, “How amusing. I was thinking the exact same about you.”
Phaedra never knew how her trembling legs carried her across the clearing, but suddenly she was flinging herself into Armande’s arms with a force that nearly tumbled them both into the pond.
“Phaedra,” he groaned, burying his face against her neck. “What a selfish bastard I am. I tried to tear myself away. I swear, somehow I will manage to make sure you never have cause to hate me.”
“Hush, love.” Her fingers tangled in his hair. “Everything will be all right.”
It was a rash pledge to make when she had no idea what everything was. But nothing mattered to her except that he would not vanish from her life. At this moment, she could imagine no greater pain than that.
His mouth burned against hers as they sank down and tumbled into the grass. There was no hint of the accomplishedlover in the way Armande fumbled with her clothes. He nearly tore her petticoats in his haste to disrobe her, she nearly doing the same to his cravat and coat. Their bodies bared, they came together, flesh to flesh, in a kind of fierce desperation. It was as though they were both aware of how close they would always be to losing each other, forever hovering on the brink of some dark calamity. They had to seize what precious moments the begrudging fates would allow.
Their passion rose and swelled in a heated rush, leaving them spent with exhaustion. Even then, Phaedra held Armande inside her for as long as she could, as if drawing back would allow all the shadows of secrecy to creep between them.
“Phaedra,” he murmured. “How have I ever managed to live without you? I feel like a man who has been lost in an endless winter. And you are the blazing sun.”
He rolled onto his side, still holding her against him. She gazed up at him “I have never been anyone’s blazing sun before.” She laughed. “Although Grandfather complains most fiercely about the color of my hair.”
“He’s a fool!” She was startled by the harshness of his voice when speaking of Sawyer. But he smiled, softening his tone as he slipped back into his French accent, “Your hair is glorious,ma belle. You would have driven Titian mad with the longing to paint?—”
She laid her fingers across the curve of his lips, stopping him. The love they dared speak of was yet new. But Phaedra knew with dread certainty, two things which would put the tenuous bond between them at risk.
“I want to exchange a promise with you,” she said solemnly.
Despite the tender light in Armande’s eyes, one brow shot up in an expression that was as wary as it was questioning. Nonetheless, she continued, “I promise to ask no more questions that you cannot answer if you will pledge?—”
She felt Armande tense.
“You pledge that there will be no morema belleorma chere, no more playing the French marquis. Not when we are alone together-like this.”
For one moment, she feared he would refuse her even that much honesty. Then, he relaxed. “Very well. My beautiful Phaedra.”
He laughed and pulled her close for another long and satisfying kiss that set the seal to their promises ... promises that could never be kept.
Phaedra slipped backto the house much later in a far different mood than when she had fled from it earlier. She sought out the backstairs, humming snatches of outrageous Irish ditties she had learned from Gilly-songs no lady ever ought to know. But then, she had never looked less like a lady than she did now. Anyone who saw her would guess what she had been doing in the sweet smelling grass by the pond.
