'Simon?'
'Let me watch you,' he whispered, stroking rhythmically. 'Keep your eyes on me.'
She whimpered as her womb tightened again, her muscles tensing, her cheeks flushing from the heat of the water and the added heat of the fire he sparked within her.
He purred. 'You feel like the softest silk,
She was completely exposed, pinned by his gaze, her lips parted on desperate pants as her body grew taut as a bow, tightening in anticipation of climax.
The water began to slosh in measured waves, spurred by the movements of his hand at the most private part of her. Over and over, circling around and across the source of her torment. Her head fell back against the tub rim, her hips rising, her body instinctively working toward that blinding release of pressure.
'I wish you were in me,' she gasped, feeling her sex grasping for him, reaching for him.
'Come for me,' he crooned, pushing a finger gently inside her and thrusting shallowly. 'Let me feel how much you need me here.'
Arching, she climaxed silently while he watched her, the moment so intimate she felt as if there were no secrets between them.
She turned her head, offering her mouth to him with a breathless plea. 'Kiss me.'
He accepted with a groan, his head angled to create the perfect fit between them. This time, she took all that he had taught her about kissing and gave it back to him, her tongue stroking into his mouth until he wrenched away with a curse, breathing heavily.
Pushing to his feet, Simon held his hand out to her. 'We must dress you and return you before the hour grows any later.'
His groin was eye level and she could not fail to see how much her passion inspired his. If he cared for his own pleasure, he could have her again now. Whether she returned home or not did not affect him at all. Aside from de Grenier's wrath, he would incur no penalty. Her father would not insist Simon wed her, because he was unsuitable.
Therefore, the desire to see her home swiftly was for her benefit. Another display of his concern for her well- being.
Lynette dressed swiftly, as did Simon. Her hands shook slightly when she saw the tear in the placket of the borrowed breeches. That she inspired such a primitive response in him awed her, but not nearly as much as the thought that he tempered such fervency. For her.
Heavy-hearted, she followed him down to the front door and exited out to the chilly night air. The sky was dark; the streets mostly quiet, aside from a few eager vendors preparing for the soon-to-dawn morning. Piotr waited by the curb, the reins of their horses held in his hands. Simon's mount was there, too, the one she had espied him upon the night she arrived in Paris.
He assisted her up, then mounted, sitting tall in the saddle, his hand loosely resting atop the hilt of a small sword. His gaze was sharp, though his posture was relaxed. A hunter in disguise. She stared at him, finding it nearly impossible to believe that so formidable a man had been quivering in her arms.
They rode in silence back to Solange's home, Piotr falling deliberately behind them, while they traveled side by side. Although she had been overly hot during the ride to Simon's, she was now shivering on the journey home, the chill starting from the inside and working its way out.
When they reached the alley and dismounted, Piotr hurried to the stables with the two horses. Simon stood with her, eyes bright and frame stiff with tension.
'I will send word to you and the vicomtess,' he said, 'if I learn anything of note. I trust that you will heed my warning and leave Paris as soon as possible. Until then, stay out of view, I beg you.'
Lynette bit her lower lip and nodded, her chest tight with an emotion akin to grief.
Simon cupped her face with both hands and pressed a far-too-swift kiss to her trembling mouth. 'Thank you.' His hands shook as he held her, then he backed away. 'Go inside now.'
With dragging steps, she headed toward the stables, where her clothes waited. She glanced back at him once and found him staring after her, hands behind his back. Her vision blurred with tears and she looked away, departing the alley with silent sobs.
It was a painful crick in his neck that pulled Edward from the depths of dreamless sleep into waking. He groaned and straightened, discovering that he had slept for hours sitting up in Corinne's bed. He straightened away from the headboard, rolling his shoulders, glancing to the side to see where she had gone to.
She lay curled atop a pillow on the far side of the bed, watching him with eyes so ravaged by illness they looked bruised.
He stilled, wary. 'Good morning.'
'Are you drunk?' she whispered.
A smile threatened, but he restrained it. 'I am afraid that smell is you. You were feverish and we needed to cool you.'
'Why are you here?'
'I have been asking myself that question for three days.'
Leaving the bed, Edward stretched his arms wide and glanced at the clock. He would have to leave for work shortly and, perhaps, not be allowed to return.
He reached for the pitcher and glass on the nightstand, and poured a small ration. Rounding the bed to the other side, he deliberately moved without haste so as not to aggravate the high tension he sensed in her. She rolled with him, facing him.
'Can you sit up?' he asked.
Corinne blinked slowly, wearily. 'I think so.'
'If you require assistance, you have only to ask.'
She struggled to a seated position on her own. 'Where are the Fouches?'
'Most likely preparing for the day. They are old,' he pointed out.
'Thierry is not.'
'Madame Fouche was disinclined to have him tend to you.'
Holding out her hand, she accepted the glass. She looked like a child in the big bed, so small and delicate. 'But she had no objection to you?'
'Her age gave her little choice, and in the end, she felt a lover would be more acceptable to you than her son.'
Corinne choked on her first swallow and he thumped her carefully on the back.
'A lie, of course,' he pointed out, in case she thought more had happened to her while ill than she knew.
'You are impossibly arrogant,' she gasped.
'Yes, that is true.' He straightened. 'I must prepare for work now. Would you allow me to visit you tomorrow in the evening?'
She stared at him.
He waited, knowing that he would think of her all night.
However, tonight would best be spent in study of Quinn, a mystery that niggled at him relentlessly over the last two nights. Tomorrow he was free of any duty and he could catch up on missed sleep, enabling him to return to Corinne refreshed and perhaps armed with more information. It also gave her time to rebuild her strength. He knew she felt vulnerable now, which would only make her ill at ease and defensive. One wrong move could ruin everything.
A knock came to the door, and shortly after, Madame Fouche bustled in, huffing from the journey up the narrow servants' staircase. She paused upon seeing Corinne awake and curtsied. 'Good morning, Madame Marchant.'
Corinne frowned. 'Good morning.'
She still did not respond to Edward's question and he reluctantly took that as an answer in the negative.
'She will need plenty of fluids,' he said to the housekeeper. 'Beef tea and vegetable stock, both salted lightly. Lots of water.'
'Yes, sir.'
Edward held out his hand to Corinne and she placed hers within it. The skin was paper-thin and lined with thin blue veins. So fragile, yet she was so strong in other ways. He kissed the back and withdrew.
