implicit permission to pursue her future—with Sabien, since that was who she wanted, apparently. If she could convince the lieutenant to kiss her, surely he would fall prey to the drug of her lips.
Gaspard certainly had. But only momentarily.
“I’m afraid I forgot my timepiece when I dressed this evening,” he answered Sabien in an even tone. “Don’t tell me you were worried about me.”
Sabien turned his attention back to Gaspard. “My only worry is that now I’ll have to answer all sorts of awkward questions you might have about the female body.” His voice adopted a teasing note. “Which bit confused you most? A sizable pair of tits like hers can be quite intimidating on the first go…”
So Sabien had noticed her tits, had he? Gaspard struggled to remember his role, too riled over what both had and hadn’t happened in that closet to maintain a perfectly calm demeanor. “I managed.”
Riled, yes, but it was odd—what bothered him most wasn’t his thwarted desire, but that Sabien had been right. There were demons in Claudia Pascale’s eyes, and now Gaspard suspected it might have been her parents who put them there. The shadows dulling her gaze had skittered away under his attentions, but the key to their destruction lay not in kisses and petting but in the freedom marriage would offer her.
He’d always assumed most women viewed marriage as men did—the words as lies, the vows as shackles. But for someone like Claudia, marriage appeared to be some paltry form of salvation.
Cynical and jaded, Gaspard decided he pitied Claudia her hopes. In her quest to rid herself of her present situation, she was vulnerable to scads of dissolute rakes and fortune hunters, bored men and poor men and every variation of man to be found in between.
Sabien’s hesitancy notwithstanding, most males would overlook a stutter—a stutter that hadn’t bothered him in the least—for ten thousand pounds. And Gaspard was one of them.
If his time working for France was truly coming to a close, then there was no reason he shouldn’t plan for a future. A future that involved his title, his castle. Money. Women. A woman. Just the one. He only needed one.
Sex with multiple partners through the years had driven home one hypothesized fact, which he had as yet been unable to test—that Gaspard was a monogamous man. To not have to worry about who his next fuck was…it sounded luxurious—decadent, even.
He’d learned safety at the hands of his tormentor and wore a protective sheath for each and every sexual encounter. A majority of his income went to the purchase of such precautionary measures, the stingy remainder to his costuming and rent. With a wife, however, he wouldn’t need a sheath. He could be bare in her. Gloriously bare.
Christ , to feel a woman, and nothing but her.
Nothing…but her.
But before he thought of her , he had to think of himself, and his ball and chain: the mountain of debt attached to the title he’d inherited.
He needed money, soon.
Claudia had money, now.
His solution was simple. Woo her—secretly, because he could scarce afford to raise undue suspicion—then wed her. He would be saved, she would be stuck, and together they’d…live. That castle of his wasn’t a home now, but perhaps it could be, with Claudia’s help.
As if the devil possessed his tongue, he found himself asking, “Is there nothing about her you find appealing?”
Sabien sighed, scratching along his jaw where his night beard was just starting to shadow the skin. “I suppose…if she didn’t talk, bedding her might not be such a hardship.”
Gaspard’s back teeth clenched. “If they can talk, you’re doing it wrong. A universal law of fucking.”
“Indeed,” Sabien agreed with a chuckle.
“What about her money?”
“Well, I’m sure I could find something to do with ten thousand British pounds.”
Gaspard’s ire flourished with each breath he took. “And it’s not as though you’re smitten with
Gaspard certainly had. But only momentarily.
“I’m afraid I forgot my timepiece when I dressed this evening,” he answered Sabien in an even tone. “Don’t tell me you were worried about me.”
Sabien turned his attention back to Gaspard. “My only worry is that now I’ll have to answer all sorts of awkward questions you might have about the female body.” His voice adopted a teasing note. “Which bit confused you most? A sizable pair of tits like hers can be quite intimidating on the first go…”
So Sabien had noticed her tits, had he? Gaspard struggled to remember his role, too riled over what both had and hadn’t happened in that closet to maintain a perfectly calm demeanor. “I managed.”
Riled, yes, but it was odd—what bothered him most wasn’t his thwarted desire, but that Sabien had been right. There were demons in Claudia Pascale’s eyes, and now Gaspard suspected it might have been her parents who put them there. The shadows dulling her gaze had skittered away under his attentions, but the key to their destruction lay not in kisses and petting but in the freedom marriage would offer her.
He’d always assumed most women viewed marriage as men did—the words as lies, the vows as shackles. But for someone like Claudia, marriage appeared to be some paltry form of salvation.
Cynical and jaded, Gaspard decided he pitied Claudia her hopes. In her quest to rid herself of her present situation, she was vulnerable to scads of dissolute rakes and fortune hunters, bored men and poor men and every variation of man to be found in between.
Sabien’s hesitancy notwithstanding, most males would overlook a stutter—a stutter that hadn’t bothered him in the least—for ten thousand pounds. And Gaspard was one of them.
If his time working for France was truly coming to a close, then there was no reason he shouldn’t plan for a future. A future that involved his title, his castle. Money. Women. A woman. Just the one. He only needed one.
Sex with multiple partners through the years had driven home one hypothesized fact, which he had as yet been unable to test—that Gaspard was a monogamous man. To not have to worry about who his next fuck was…it sounded luxurious—decadent, even.
He’d learned safety at the hands of his tormentor and wore a protective sheath for each and every sexual encounter. A majority of his income went to the purchase of such precautionary measures, the stingy remainder to his costuming and rent. With a wife, however, he wouldn’t need a sheath. He could be bare in her. Gloriously bare.
Christ , to feel a woman, and nothing but her.
Nothing…but her.
But before he thought of her , he had to think of himself, and his ball and chain: the mountain of debt attached to the title he’d inherited.
He needed money, soon.
Claudia had money, now.
His solution was simple. Woo her—secretly, because he could scarce afford to raise undue suspicion—then wed her. He would be saved, she would be stuck, and together they’d…live. That castle of his wasn’t a home now, but perhaps it could be, with Claudia’s help.
As if the devil possessed his tongue, he found himself asking, “Is there nothing about her you find appealing?”
Sabien sighed, scratching along his jaw where his night beard was just starting to shadow the skin. “I suppose…if she didn’t talk, bedding her might not be such a hardship.”
Gaspard’s back teeth clenched. “If they can talk, you’re doing it wrong. A universal law of fucking.”
“Indeed,” Sabien agreed with a chuckle.
“What about her money?”
“Well, I’m sure I could find something to do with ten thousand British pounds.”
Gaspard’s ire flourished with each breath he took. “And it’s not as though you’re smitten with
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