Page 39 of The Secret of Flirting
“It’s not absurd, damn it!” Without warning, he caught her by the arms as if he wanted to shake her. “You were nearly killed, for God’s sake!”
The genuine distress in his voice shook her. “But I wasn’t.”
He merely clenched his hand in her sleeve, the very one whose holes had so disturbed him earlier. “You were lucky, that’s all. You might not be so lucky next time.” His jaw tautened. “At least consider thepossibilitythat you were the target, and let me try to get to the bottom of what happened today. Come to Canterbury Court while I arrange for my people to do some digging into who might want the princess—you—dead.”
Her breath was coming as quickly as his now. “I don’t understand why you care so much. You think I’m some impostor—”
“All the more reason to care what happens to you. No one should have to die for another without first agreeing to the sacrifice. And you have not. I daresay you had no idea what this was really about when you began it.”
The truth of that remark hit home, sticking in her brain like a bit of childhood doggerel. “I—I don’t know what you mean.”
“Yes, you do. In your heart you know those bullets were meant foryou... or rather, for Princess Aurore.”
She scowled at him. “IamPrincess Aurore.”
“Fine.” Gripping her shoulders, he growled, “Maintain your role. Play the princess if you must. But at least let me keep you safe while you’re doing it. Come with me to Canterbury Court, where I can look after you.”
The fervency of his words stirred an unruly need deep in her belly. And the way he was staring at her...
She couldn’t look away, but she was equally afraid to fall into those deep blue eyes. “I—I don’t know if my uncle will allow it.”
“If you’re the princess,” he said hoarsely, “then you damned well have the right todemandthat he allow it, don’t you?”
She gave a shuddering breath.
“Monique—”
That sparked her temper. “Aurore,” she said firmly. “I told you never to call me Monique again.”
Something unholy and dangerous flickered in his eyes. Then he said in a guttural rasp that made the words sound more like a prayer than an appellation, “Your Serene Highness.” He moved his hands to clasp her head. “Please, I beg you, let me protect you. I cannot bear the idea of your being hurt if I can prevent it.”
She caught her breath. It was a supplication, not an order. And the raw emotion in his features sent a shiver of anticipation along her nerves. Because she could tell he meant every word.
As if realizing he’d exposed too much of his true feelings, he stiffened and added, in a dryer tone, “After all, it would be disastrous to my career to have a princess die on my watch.”
But she was having none of that nonsense. He’d gone too far, and she knew this wasn’t about his career. She could see it in the stark fear for her that glimmered in his eyes.
He started to draw his hands from her head, but she caught them, covering them with her own. Then she stretched up to brush a kiss to his cheek. “All the same,” she said softly, “thank you for caring. And for quite possibly saving my life.”
A harsh breath hissed out of him before he drew her head back to him so he could lower his mouth to hers. As his lips hovered a scant inch away, he murmured, “You’re welcome... Princess.” Then he kissed her.
And the world exploded into a million colors. Unlike their last kiss, this one was fierce and all-encompassing. His mouth took hers over, possessing and commanding it until her legs began to wobble and her heart to race so much that she had to grip his neck to keep from collapsing.
God, the man could kiss. His tongue drove hard and deep as his fingers buried themselves in her hair, threatening to dislodge her hairpins.
That should have alarmed her, made her see sense. Instead it drove her to tangle her tongue with his, to see if she could arouse him the way he was arousing her. Apparently she could, for he moaned low in his throat and dropped his hands to her waist to pull her against the thickness in his trousers.
She might be chaste, but she knew whatthatsignified. She’d spoken of it in the sly words of a play, heard actresses jokingly comment on its power in their lovers, even felt its presence in the few men who’d dared to grab her and try to bend her to their will.
But never had the feel of it sent an unchecked thrill through her. Never had it sparked a heat that threatened to set fire to her blood. Never had it made her want to lift her skirts just to get closer to the promise of it.
That was dangerous. Which was why, no matter how much pleasure it gave her, she must put a stop to things before they went too far.
Nine
Gregory growled a protest when Monique pressed her hands against his chest to put some distance between them, though he knew that what they were doing was wholly unwise, especially with her great-uncle on the other side of the door.
“Lord Fulkham—” she began.
