"And what is that smile for?" Chloe wagged her finger at him.
"The smile is because I see Baronne Dufond making her way over here to complain about something and I am about to leave."
"Oh no! Not her! John, don't you dare leave me to deal with—Come back here!" But John was already out the door and gone. "He'll pay for that later," she mumbled under her breath.
"Viscountess!" the nasal, whiny voice called out to her.
Chloe gritted her teeth, took a deep breath, and forced a smile on her face. "Yes, Baronne Dufond?"
The aggravating woman clung to the old fashions of the court of her king, Louis XVI. Her powdered hair was pulled up into a coiffure that was almost the same height she was. A model ship was perched precariously at the top, its tiny sails blowing in the light wind from the open doors.
"There is a problem with my room."
"I'm sorry to hear that; what is this problem you speak of?" Chloe peered at the ship at closer range, recognizing it as one Maurice had given John. Up until recently it was in his old room, on his writing desk. The model was a particular favorite of his. Oh dear.
She bit her lip. Perhaps John won't recognize it.
"The room is noisy in the morning!" the baronne complained, nose in the air. "I can hear the carriages arriving with the visitors and I cannot sleep!"
"I apologize for any inconvenience, but you see, because of all the guests, most of the rooms are taken. It would be very difficult to move you right now."
Baronne Dufond, whose father was a duke, stared down her nose at the viscountess with the haughty, pursed expression of acute displeasure mastered only by the crème de la crème of French nobility.
Chloe had been seeing the expression since the woman arrived. She was heartily sick of it.
Although the baronne wasn't exactly cockeyed, as some of the Cyndreacs had indicated, her beady eyes did have the unfortunate tendency to drift toward her nose when she was displeased. Which seemed to be most of the time. Her protruding bite added immeasurably to the intense façade she had perfected so well.
Chloe didn't know what to say. How could she appease the woman? There was nowhere to move her. She was saved by a most unlikely candidate.
Jean-Jules came up behind them, having overheard most of the exchange. "You may have my room, Baronne. It overlooks the east woods and is quite pleasant."
A startling change came over the woman. Her face almost took on an amicable cast. She nodded in a pleased way, fluttering her fan. "Merci, Count Cyndreac. You are the gentleman."
Chloe was surprised by Jean-Jules's gesture but not shocked. He had been defending the lady since before she arrived. It was puzzling. "I'll inform Calloway that your rooms are to be switched." She smiled reassuringly at the woman.
"Thank you, Viscountess Sexton." The baronne turned to leave, gliding toward the open French doors. Chloe swore she saw the little ship weigh anchor as it swooped the waves of hairstyle.
Outside, John, spying a Cyndreac near his wife, decided to make his way back into the room. As he was entering the house, he passed by Baronne Dufond in the doorway, his sights drifting idly to the ship sailing by his nose. He frowned absently at the odd hairstyle, continuing on.
Two steps later, he stopped dead in his tracks.
Slowly he turned, arms akimbo, squinting at the decorative headdress. "My model!" he mouthed under his breath.
His emerald eyes kindled with indignation. John instantly changed course and followed the towering hair out the door. He was after that ship!
Chloe watched John storm after the woman.
Her hand came to her mouth to suppress her laughter. She had no doubts that the model would still be perched on the baronne's head at the evening meal. John was about to receive the haughty Dufond glare.
"The hairstyle is most original," Jean-Jules said to her left, a teasing smile flitting about his well-shaped lips.
Chloe grinned at him. "You seem to be her champion, Jules."
"Do I?"
Chloe shook her head. "May I ask you something?"
He raised an eyebrow, and in that moment she caught a glimpse of the man he would become in ten years.
"Do you have a tendresse for her, Jean-Jules?"
He shrugged noncommittally. "She was kind to me one night in the prison."
Chloe raised her brow.
"Non, not that way."
"What happened?"
"I was very ill; I had contracted a fever there. One night, the worst night…" His cheekbones flushed a dull bronze in his uncertainty whether to continue the personal tale.
"Yes?" Chloe prompted him.
He took a deep breath. "She held my head in her lap and put her hand on my forehead. She told me I was too courageous to die like this in a filthy prison that stank of evil."
His gold eyes watched a bird hopping tree limbs. "That night the fever broke. I remember there was one moment of such profound joy that I was going to live. Then some soldiers came to escort the next group to the guillotine and it all fell into perspective. But she was kind to me that night."
Chloe watched the Count as he wrestled with his emotions. He was an impressionable young man, she thought, warmhearted and sensitive.
One night a condemned woman had found the decency within herself to be kind to a young man on the verge of death. She had given him a mother's touch.
It is the small acts of kindness that are remembered most, Chloe realized. Jean-Jules would forever overlook Baronne Dufond's annoying nature because in that one instant, she had risen to her best self and showed him her basic goodness.
"Thank you for sharing that with me; I shall always remember it."
Jean-Jules nodded briefly, somewhat embarrassed over the disclosure. He quickly excused himself, going in search of his brothers.
That evening at dinner Chloe noted that the model ship still hung gleefully from the Baronne Dufond's coif, while John sat at the head of the table, a disgruntled expression gracing his handsome face.
She was not overly surprised at the outcome. Poor John. He was just too good-natured. Half the guests were walking around displaying at least one item of his personal belongings.
Adrien Cyndreac, seated next to her, took the opportunity to move closer to ask about the fishing in a stream he had come across on the north side of the property.
There was so much noise in the banquet hall that she had to get very close to him to answer, speaking practically into his ear.
When she finished speaking, she glanced up, shocked to see two green eyes, narrowed and dangerous, boring into her from the other end of the table.
John clearly did not like the familiar rapport she had with all the Cyndreacs. Good.
Just to annoy him, Chloe smiled brightly at him from her end of the table, giving him a little wave of her fingers.
He contemplated her in an utterly stone-faced manner.
Chloe immediately turned to her left to engage the person sitting next to her in conversation.
Unfortunately, it was another Cyn.
Jean-Paul, seated to her other side, began regaling her with an amusing anecdote regarding a baker and a gypsy. The story captured her attention, and when Jean-Paul finally got to the end, only to have the punch line delivered by Adrien, she had no choice but to laugh outright at his exasperation with his younger brother. They were so engaging—
A hot chill raced down her spine. Chloe peeked John's way.
A small muscle ticked in her husband's jaw.
Bien! Chloe took a slow sip of her wine, supremely happy with the rogue's progress. Such a fixated expression surely meant he had some jealous feelings for her. Jealous feelings were often a cornerstone to other feelings.
She decided to encourage the Cyns a little by being terribly amused by them. John obviously felt something tender toward her.
At the other end of the table, John was debating on whether to get up and "tenderly" wring her dainty neck.
What did she mean, encouraging thos
e wild pups like that? Didn't she realize what she was doing? They were already after her like bees to a blossom, flitting around her day and night. All seven of them. He had to watch her every minute to be sure one of them didn't toss her over his shoulder and carry her off.
He was going to have to have another talk with his little wife. Apparently she hadn't understood how serious he was about the conditions of the agreement.
Picking up his goblet, he took a sip of his wine, narrowly observing her over the rim; he simmered.
Chloe felt that molten exchange right across the room.
Her hand went to her throat and she coughed, gagging slightly on her wine. Perhaps she had been overdoing it a wee bit? John appeared somewhat… furious.
Well, she supposed she had been shamelessly flirting.
Now what should she do? She needed to appease him quickly, for that night they intended to begin their vigil for the Black Rose.
He wouldn't be a very good traveling companion if he was still frothing with anger at her.
Chloe got an idea.
Standing up, she excused herself momentarily from her seat and made her way to John's end of the table. When she came over to where he was sitting, the viscount pretended he hadn't been watching her every move by taking another slow sip of wine.
Very good, John. As if I don't know that you haven't taken your attention off of me for one moment!
She placed her hand on his shoulder, leaning over to whisper, "I'm terribly sorry about your model, John. Perhaps I can find you another just like it?"
John's temper soared another notch. As if the loss of the small ship is the entire source of my mood!
He was not fooled by her token gesture for a minute. Putting his cup down, he turned to view her over his shoulder. "That's very kind of you, Lady Sexton," he intoned flatly.
Chloe reasoned the better part of valor was in the exit. She pivoted to return to her seat, hoping he would cool off on his own. A strong hand clasped her wrist.
He tugged her back to him, practically onto his lap.
"John! Everyone is looking at us!" Chloe braced her hand on his shoulder.
"Do you think I care?" He watched her from beneath heavy lids.
"John, stop this! It is embarrassing; what do you think—"
His other hand came up to cup the back of her head, pulling her to him. He kissed her soundly on the lips.
It was not a loving kiss.
But it was a kiss of ownership. And it was directed at the Cyndreacs.
Upon seeing their host and hostess so romantically engaged, the diners at the table banged on the cloth and clinked their glasses in good-natured joviality.
John released her abruptly. Turning back to his meal, he all but ignored her standing there, dumbfounded at his behavior.
Adrien Cyndreac caught Maurice Chavaneau's attention at the next table, winking at him before lifting his glass in a toast to declare to one and all, "The thing speaks for itself!"
John grimaced while everyone saluted him.
Serves you right, Lord Sexton, Chloe thought sourly. Staging a show like that simply to…
Chloe sucked in a breath. John had staked a claim on her! A possessive claim.
Stunned, she looked over at the rogue, but he wouldn't meet her eye, instead choosing to engage the Zambeau in an intimate discussion. Chloe was not happy about that; however, considering what he had just done, she was inclined to overlook it.
John had never been possessive over a woman in his life. Why had he done it? Was it simply to stake a territorial claim in the manner of the male beast or was there something else behind it? Their agreement was still in effect, so why did John feel… threatened. Did he?
She examined his profile, not even daring to hope.
A rake who felt threatened was… a… a… husband!
The Zambeau winked at Lord John, sliding her fan down his arm.
Well, half a husband. Apparently still half a rogue too. Chloe pouted. John was tugging at the tether.
A sudden horrible feeling assailed her. She could yet lose everything.
A light sweat broke across her brow. Feeling suddenly ill, she excused herself from the table and made her way back to her chamber.
Undressing quickly, she got into bed, sliding naked between the cool sheets. She wanted to be alone in the darkened room with just one candle—her thinking candle.
There was no need to feel this way yet. John was doing remarkably well and…
A wave of depression overcame her.
Placing the cause of it on her recent lack of sleep—John had been keeping her up until the small hours of morning making love to her—she decided to take a nap and see how she felt when she woke up. If she was still worried about him, she was going to be forced to thump him over the head again.
She sighed mournfully.
Even if it was in his best interest, she doubted Lord Sexton would welcome the remedy.
She was dozing lightly when she felt the bed dip. "John?" she murmured sleepily.
"It had better be." He took her in his arms. "What's the matter? You're not ill, are you?" There was concern in his voice.
"No, just…"
He smoothed back a strand of her hair from her face. "Just what, Chloe?" His lips pressed against her brow.
"I…" She gazed up at him.
"What," he whispered. "Tell me."
She couldn't.
"I-I just want to nap, John."
He seemed disappointed with what she had chosen to say. "Of course, Chloe. Whatever you wish." He still held her, though.
"I'm very tired, John."
"Then sleep, sweet; I'll wake you later, when it is time to leave."
Nodding, she burrowed her face into his warm chest. The familiar woodsy scent, so comforting to her, caused her to feel teary eyed for some reason.
What if he never realized… No! Don't think it, Chloe.
John felt the dampness from her eyes against his chest. Puzzled, he gazed down at the woman in his arms and wondered what had upset her so.
He was the one who had been annoyed over her behavior with the Cyns! Did she really want them that much? Too bad. He wasn't going to allow it! And he was going to have to start making that clear to her.
There would be no others.
She was his.
Period.
Chloe did feel better once she woke up.
Her general good spirits restored by the revitalizing nap, she was raring to go after the Black Rose while still having enough energy to cosh her husband on the head.
In fact, it was Chloe who woke him by tugging at the sheet until he finally rolled off the bed in a tangle of linens.
He hit the floor like a stone.
"Ow! Dammit, Chloe!" He rubbed his head, thinking if he took one more knock on it, he would be a candidate for the village idiot.
"Get up, John; we need to be going if we have any hope of catching him."
"It's not as if he's down there waiting for us, Chloe," he grumbled.
"We do have to lie in wait for him; chances are he won't even appear this—What in God's name are you wearing?"
"Do you like it?" Chloe pivoted for him, showing her backside covered in black leather breeches. The material stretched taut over her rounded derriere.
"Where did you find that?" he asked softly through clenched teeth.
"The Cyns helped me; they—"
"You told the Cyns." He spoke in a flat even tone. "The ones who are the prime suspects."
"Oh, not about that." She waved her hand impatiently. "I just told them I needed some breeches."
John closed his eyes and shook his head.
Chloe bit her lip. "They all offered me theirs, but they were much too large and…"
John's eyes popped open. "You tried on their breeches?"
"Well…"
That muscle in his jaw started working.
"Just one," she added placatingly. "Since they were too big, the Cyns found these… somewhere." r />
In the attic, to be precise.
"I think they belonged to Great-Uncle Harry. Hellgate Harry. They called him that because he had the most dreadful temper! I think it was because he was so short; all that disatisfaction didn't have much room to—"
John pinched the bridge of his nose. "Chloe."
"What?" She put her hands on her hips and frowned.
"Just make sure you bring a cloak with you."
"Because of a chill?"
"No. To cover that ridiculous getup!"
"Oh, really. Well, the Cyns thought it was very charming."
He gave her an incendiary look. Untangling himself from the sheets, he rose off the floor stark naked and backed her against the wall.
Placing his palms on either side of her head, he purposely leaned into her. Several strands of his tousled golden hair fell across his forehead as he stared down at her through glinting green slits.
"Stay away from them when you're by yourself, madam," he said in a tellingly low tone. "Do I make myself clear?"
It was all she could do not to grin. "Yes, John."
Placing her arms around his neck, she stood on tiptoe and brushed his mouth with hers.
He closed one eye and cocked the brow of the other. The effect was rather roguish. "I'm serious, Chloe."
"I understand; it's not in line with what we agreed."
"It has nothing—" But Chloe had already ducked under his arm.
She began tossing clothes at him, urging him to hurry. "I have a feeling he's going to make an appearance tonight."
John's nostrils flared. He didn't think he had quite gotten through to the carrottop, but at least she wouldn't find herself alone with the playful counts.
"Mmm," was all he said as he stepped into his breeches and fastened them about his lean hips.
"I just think you should ask someone, that's all."
"I said I would find it."
John had been saying that for the past several hours. They were atop his stallion, traveling through the misty night, headed heaven knew where—for John certainly didn't, no matter what he claimed to the contrary.
Earlier, they had settled in a comfortable spot to observe the entrance to the estate.
It wasn't long before John got bored and his hands started wandering. All over Chloe. A convenient hayloft almost caused them to miss seeing him. The Black Rose.