Her
tear-numbed eyes adjusted, and she saw him in the doorway. It seemed he would
not take no for an answer.
“Shall I
inquire to Pierre why he was not escorted to the library, why we were not
informed of his presence? At this hour? Really it is not proper, mistress.”
“No, leave
us,” she ordered her nursemaid. The woman left the room, frowning. Fara pulled
her dressing sacque closer to her bosom and drew a hand across her eyes to stem
the flow of tears. She took a deep breath, aware that her heart was hammering
itself to death.
“I am sorry to
have caught you at a time like this. I know your uncle's death has been hard
for you.”
Recovering
from her emotional turmoil, she took a deep breath. “Oui.” She frowned.
“Capitaine Hill, it is unlike you to enter a lady's boudoir uninvited.”
“But can you
really know, chère, what I am capable of?”
“Perhaps not.
Yet there are rumors of your bedside manner…”
“Perhaps they
are only rumors then,” he said softly as he sat on a nearby chaise.
“Oui.”
Fara shook her head. “Why are you here, Grant?”
“That does not
matter. What will you do now without an escort, Mademoiselle?”
Oui,
her uncle was dead and she had no one to look after her. But, why should he
care about that? “Are you to fill the position, Monsieur?” she countered
with a grin.
“Perhaps with
your permission. Is it so funny?”
“Only that you
feel you must concern yourself with my affairs.”
“Have I not
done so since that first night in the harbor?”
“Oui,”
she replied. “But you are still in my boudoir--”
“Would you
have me leave then--”
“Without
permission…” she finished.
“Ah,” he
exclaimed softly. “Then, Mademoiselle, may I enter your boudoir?”
She considered
it, but with a smile playing on her lips, she answered, “No, Monsieur.
You may not.”
He stood quickly and approached her, lifting a hand to gently touch her cheek. “You are a tease, Mademoiselle. You like playing with men, I think.”
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