Forever His(60)

Had he misjudged her from the beginning?

“Gaston, are you sure it’s safe to have a fire out here at all?” she whispered sleepily. “I mean, there are wolves, and maybe bears. In fact, I think it was awfully dangerous of you to come after me alone—”

“Is that concern I hear in your voice, wife?” he asked softly.

She opened her eyes, and for a moment he was certain she would deny it. But she did not. “I just don’t think you should take unnecessary—”

“You should be more concerned about your own health, ma dame, wandering through the forest alone.” His voice dropped to a husky note. “Defenseless against wolves ... and other predators.”

She did not seem to catch his meaning. “The wolves won’t bother me—it’s you I’m not so sure about. How did you find me all the way out here, anyway?”

“When I came to your chamber this morn, I found Royce asleep. He explained what had happened. Your tracks were clear at the edge of the wood.”

“You came looking for me this morning?” She lifted her head from his shoulder and gazed at him in surprise. “Why? You swore you weren’t going to have anything more to do with me.”

Gaston stiffened, chastising himself for speaking so heedlessly. It was all too easy for her to make him drop his guard. In truth, he had merely wanted to see her, just see her, even for a moment. He had thought it best to do so while she was still asleep.

But how could he possibly explain his irrational behavior to her when he could not explain it to himself?

“I rose early to see how Royce was faring,” he lied. “It appears I cannot trust my men to guard you. I am the only one who recognizes you for the enemy that you are.”

“I’m not your enemy,” she said through gritted, perfect little white teeth, “and I’m really getting tired of—”

“Do not annoy me further, ma dame. I am already most displeased that your disappearance forced me to interrupt my plans for the morning.”

“What plans?” she asked tartly. “Playing footsie with some little blond serving maid?”

He raised an eyebrow. “What is ‘footsie’?”

“It’s ... it’s what you were doing with that tavern wench a few days ago.”

The jealousy that sounded so clearly in her voice almost made him laugh. In truth, he had planned to spend the day with his hunting falcons, but it was better to let her believe what she wished to believe. “I had planned to spend the morning relaxing with several females.” He smiled wickedly. “But not one of them was a blond.”

He was not lying, exactly. His best falcons were females.

“Several?” She blinked at him in shock, then tried to get off his lap, a task made difficult by the tightly wrapped cloak. “Let me go. You are disgusting! Impossible! Absolutely unredeemable!”

“A sinner to my black depths, I confess.” He tightened his arms around her. “Cease your wriggling, Christiane.”

“My name is Celine. And I’m not wriggling, I’m getting away from—”

Suddenly her struggles brought her beautifully rounded derriere fully up against his arousal. The friction made him inhale sharply, though his leggings and the mantle separated them.

She tensed, blushing crimson, and her voice dropped to a squeak. “I knew this wasn’t a good idea.”

“Do not fear, little wife, I have no intention of attacking you,” he assured her darkly.

“How could you be so ... after you were planning to be with another woman—other women—just this morning ... and now you ...”

“It is a physical response, ma dame, common to all males when they have a female wriggling in their lap.”

“Is that so?” She gave up her battle to be free, apparently realizing that he was not going to let her run off into the woods a second time this night. “So it has nothing to do with me or any other woman. We’re all interchangeable to you. You’re just another typical male—hot and bothered at the drop of a hat.”

Her words made little sense to him. “You are far heavier than a hat, and it was the forcible way you dropped into my lap that caused the problem. I do have some measure of control, however. You are in no danger, Christiane.”

“Celine,” she corrected, recovering some of her ire. “I just don’t want to be accused again of trying to seduce you.”

“I cannot accuse you of that, because no seduction is taking place. Merely a physical response, which will no doubt subside as you keep chattering.”

“I do not chatter.”

“You do, and it is a most unappealing trait in a wife.”