The bag wasn't there or anywhere else he looked, nor were her gloves or mask.
It took a moment for him to grasp the situation. The witch had tricked him! She'd slipped the bag from the chair when she was taking off his coat, then had concealed it on her person before she kneeled in front of him. Her passion was a sham! So sweetly giving, so soft and pliant, be dammed! The only thing on her mind was money. Wasn't that just like a woman? She'd probably thought that he would steal it from her!
Coates coughed.
“What?” asked Jack, none too civilly.
“She left you a note, my lord.”
Jack took the proffered piece of paper. It was no ordinary note, but a banknote in the sum of one thousand francs.
“She wrote something on it,” Coates ventured to say, “after I gave her your old cloak to wear.”
Jack went to the candle and read aloud, “For services rendered, thank you. Aurora.”
He stared at the banknote long and hard, then his shoulders began to shake. He looked at Coates. “At least we know she's not a fortune hunter.”
“She told me to bring bandages and a towel to bind up your wound.”
“In a moment.”
He crossed to the window and looked out. Things had quieted down. It took a moment for him to find her.
As he watched, she turned and gave him a little wave. Then she disappeared through the gate to the rue de Rivoli.
She shouldn't be too hard to find. A few discreet inquiries about the beautiful English girl who went by the name of “Aurora” would soon track her down.
Chapter 4
One of the gendarmes stationed at the entrance to the courtyard hailed a hackney for her after she explained, in her flawless French, that she was an actress employed at the theater. She told the driver to drop her off at the Tuileries, climbed in, then sank back against the banquette with her evening bag tucked tightly under her arm beneath her borrowed cloak.
All things considered, she thought she'd got off lightly. Her garments were crushed, but a warm iron would soon take care of that. The main thing was, she still had her money. She was lucky. The ruse she'd used to get her money back had almost cost her her virtue. That's what came of playing with fire. She hadn't realized, hadn't known, how a man's touch could addle the brains of an intelligent woman.
She removed one glove and touched her fingers to her lips. Her lips felt swollen, her body was still humming, her skin was hot. She was beginning to understand what made some women lose their heads over men. They weren't wicked; they were beguiled. Perhaps, like her, they'd been surprised by their first taste of passion and hadn't understood its power. Now that she did understand it, she'd make sure never to behave so recklessly again.
She rested her head against the banquette and closed her eyes. It had started innocently enough. Her one thought was to get her pochette and leave. But something else was at work in her. The thought that Jack saw her as a desirable woman had gone to her head and, just as though she were that silly schoolgirl again, she'd acted out her favorite fantasy.
Her gloves had saved her. In the heat of the moment she'd put her full weight on them as she kneeled in front of him and the pressure from one tiny glass button had made her flinch in pain. That's what had brought her to her senses. That's when she had deliberately pressed her hand to Jack's wound.
At least she knew now that kissing Jack Rigg was everything she'd imagined as a girl and more.
A smile flickered at the corners of her lips when she felt her toes curl. Every woman should have a kiss like that to remember. She was taking the kiss one step further in her mind when the hackney hit a pothole and brought her out of her reverie. She was thankful for the interruption. It was foolish to indulge in memories that were best left undisturbed. Memories led to dreams, and those dreams were out of her reach.
Her dreams were modest. She had to earn her living until Robbie was settled
It took a moment for him to grasp the situation. The witch had tricked him! She'd slipped the bag from the chair when she was taking off his coat, then had concealed it on her person before she kneeled in front of him. Her passion was a sham! So sweetly giving, so soft and pliant, be dammed! The only thing on her mind was money. Wasn't that just like a woman? She'd probably thought that he would steal it from her!
Coates coughed.
“What?” asked Jack, none too civilly.
“She left you a note, my lord.”
Jack took the proffered piece of paper. It was no ordinary note, but a banknote in the sum of one thousand francs.
“She wrote something on it,” Coates ventured to say, “after I gave her your old cloak to wear.”
Jack went to the candle and read aloud, “For services rendered, thank you. Aurora.”
He stared at the banknote long and hard, then his shoulders began to shake. He looked at Coates. “At least we know she's not a fortune hunter.”
“She told me to bring bandages and a towel to bind up your wound.”
“In a moment.”
He crossed to the window and looked out. Things had quieted down. It took a moment for him to find her.
As he watched, she turned and gave him a little wave. Then she disappeared through the gate to the rue de Rivoli.
She shouldn't be too hard to find. A few discreet inquiries about the beautiful English girl who went by the name of “Aurora” would soon track her down.
Chapter 4
One of the gendarmes stationed at the entrance to the courtyard hailed a hackney for her after she explained, in her flawless French, that she was an actress employed at the theater. She told the driver to drop her off at the Tuileries, climbed in, then sank back against the banquette with her evening bag tucked tightly under her arm beneath her borrowed cloak.
All things considered, she thought she'd got off lightly. Her garments were crushed, but a warm iron would soon take care of that. The main thing was, she still had her money. She was lucky. The ruse she'd used to get her money back had almost cost her her virtue. That's what came of playing with fire. She hadn't realized, hadn't known, how a man's touch could addle the brains of an intelligent woman.
She removed one glove and touched her fingers to her lips. Her lips felt swollen, her body was still humming, her skin was hot. She was beginning to understand what made some women lose their heads over men. They weren't wicked; they were beguiled. Perhaps, like her, they'd been surprised by their first taste of passion and hadn't understood its power. Now that she did understand it, she'd make sure never to behave so recklessly again.
She rested her head against the banquette and closed her eyes. It had started innocently enough. Her one thought was to get her pochette and leave. But something else was at work in her. The thought that Jack saw her as a desirable woman had gone to her head and, just as though she were that silly schoolgirl again, she'd acted out her favorite fantasy.
Her gloves had saved her. In the heat of the moment she'd put her full weight on them as she kneeled in front of him and the pressure from one tiny glass button had made her flinch in pain. That's what had brought her to her senses. That's when she had deliberately pressed her hand to Jack's wound.
At least she knew now that kissing Jack Rigg was everything she'd imagined as a girl and more.
A smile flickered at the corners of her lips when she felt her toes curl. Every woman should have a kiss like that to remember. She was taking the kiss one step further in her mind when the hackney hit a pothole and brought her out of her reverie. She was thankful for the interruption. It was foolish to indulge in memories that were best left undisturbed. Memories led to dreams, and those dreams were out of her reach.
Her dreams were modest. She had to earn her living until Robbie was settled
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