Kit Black by Monica Danetiu-Pana

his eyes seeming darker green and more velvety. His lips were just as beautiful, though, most incongruous framed as they were by the heavy quality of his beard shadow.
    From where I stood, I could see the small silver scar that bisected his thick right eyebrow, his only visible flaw. And that only added a rather rakish appeal that I’m sure set the ladies hearts a flutter. As much as I wanted to stand there and gawk at him, I wanted to pick up my skirts and run. I wanted to rip off the damned corset I was wearing, so that I could breathe again. My entire body was hot, and I knew my cheeks had to be bright red. I raised my fan to my face and flapped it, not caring if it was unseemly.
    Jean was suddenly at my elbow. “You look slightly warm, love.”
    â€œYes.” I hoped like hell I wasn’t sweating. “I’d rather be at sea.”
    He laughed. “I think you’re part mermaid, lass. And so lovely, I’m amazed no one tried to abscond with you.”
    â€œOh, someone did, but I told him that I was the pirate. I do the absconding.”
    â€œKeep your voice down, love. We are traveling incognito.”
    I smiled, feeling somewhat more stable. At least my knees had stopped knocking. I told myself he did not know me. He just noticed my height. I was as tall as any of the men there. Everyone was gawking at me, wondering who the tanned giraffe was.
    â€œHave you seen him yet?”
    â€œWho?”
    â€œThe Marquis de Balzaques. I heard some news about him. This is his first party in a year. He used to throw one every other week, but they’ve been in mourning for the older brother, Paul. The Marquis has no more heirs, so Armand will inherit the title now. He has taken a year from the Navy. They say he may never go back, even though he loves it as much as you and me.”
    â€œArmand,” I whispered. “Armand Etienne Dupuis.”
    â€œYes, that’s the name he’s using in the military. How did you know? Speaking of the devil, here he comes now. Probably to arrest me. You seem rather pale, love.”
    â€œThe damn corset. I’m not used to it.” I was thinking that if he smelled like I remembered, I would just die. I will faint right here in front of him. Dead away. Please, God, I prayed. Don’t let him know me. And if he does know me, let him pretend he doesn’t. But then, I would hate that, too. It would mean that he despised me, that I was nothing more than a woman he found desirable one lonely night, a girl he’d wanted sex from without the complications of love. Once. One night he gave himself to me. And I to him. Long ago. Two years without him seemed like twenty. I looked down at my gloves, glad that they hid the scars and the calluses on my hands.
    â€œArmand! My friend. I trust that you are well,” Jean greeted him with a bright smile.
    â€œI am, Jean. Thank you. No price on your head in France, I trust?”
    â€œAh, well. One never knows. That’s why I am traveling under my alias. Let us keep that our little secret.”
    I had to look at him, I had to lift my eyes. I did, only to see that he was looking at me. I dropped them again quickly, my face flaming. I was shaking too hard, too moved by the husky timbre in his voice. I kept hearing the things he had said to me in the heat of passion. I could almost feel his bare skin against mine, his hands on me, his mouth…
    â€œI was sorry to hear of Paul.”
    â€œThank you. It has been most difficult for my father. They were very close. We are officially out of mourning now.”
    â€œI owe you another felicitation. Your son. He is how old?”
    â€œYves is six months.”
    My heart fell into my stomach. I chewed my lip and twisted the spines of my fan until it snapped and I gasped in dismay. Armand pretended not to notice, but I knew he was looking at me. I could feel his eyes caress the side of my face, my neck, the thrust of my breasts against the too