Surrender to a Stranger (59 page)

Armand held on to her fiercely, swearing to himself that he would never let go. Her mouth was cool and sweet, her scent as fragrant and delicate as the garden that surrounded her. He held her tightly and his hand roamed over the gentle curves of her soft, slender form, vaguely aware that she was thinner than before. He was certain that were he simply to stand here and touch her and kiss her for the next hundred years, it would still not be enough. She was his life. Without her, he had nothing.

She clung to him and wept as he held her, hot, joyful, desperate tears, and he laid his cheek against her hair and soothingly stroked her back.

“Do you have any idea how much I love you?” he whispered hoarsely.

She buried her face against his chest and shook her head.

“It was the thought of you that made me fight for my life,” he told her softly. “I had to live, because the promise of a life with you awaited me, and that was not something I was willing to relinquish.”

She lifted her tearstained face to his and managed a shaky smile. He caressed the soft, wet silk of her cheek with the back of his fingers.

“I thought you were dead,” she whispered, her voice ragged with emotion.

He gave her an amused look. “For a while even I thought I was dead,” he teased. “But Philippe was quite sure that I wasn’t, and he was determined to keep it that way.”

“Philippe is with you?” she asked, her heart bursting with joy.

Armand nodded. “After I was shot, I blacked out just as a new contingent of the National Guard arrived, along with a number of rather hostile villagers who were most anxious to see a little blood that night. Well, there was Bourdon on the ground with a knife in his chest, and me on the ground with a gunshot wound, while a boat full of men dressed as revolutionary soldiers were making their escape with the aristo prisoner. Philippe immediately informed them that Inspector Garnier had been ambushed by his men, who were in fact the Black Prince and his band of counterrevolutionaries. He claimed Nicolas was helping them because he was in love with you, which was why he had allowed his own men to be forcibly removed from their duties. Philippe assured them that if they checked with the Committee of Public Safety, they would find Inspector Bourdon had conveniently permitted you to slip through his fingers on several previous occasions, and was widely suspected of being an aristo sympathizer. When I tried to stop the Black Prince from taking you away, Nicolas shot me, and I stabbed him.”

Jacqueline looked at him in amazement. “Philippe told them all that?”

Armand smiled. “The boy has a remarkable ability to think quickly in difficult situations.”

Jacqueline thought back to the day she met Philippe, when he convinced a mob she had the plague to save her from being arrested. “I guess it comes from surviving all that time on the streets of Paris,” she mused thoughtfully.

“Philippe knew I was badly injured and would be unable to move for a while,” continued Armand. “He worried that during that time the captain of the National Guard might discover there was no official record of an Inspector Garnier. So he convinced him that as I was the only one who had actually seen the Black Prince out of disguise, it was essential my survival remain secret until I could safely return to Paris. He assured him the Black Prince would arrange to have me murdered if he learned I had survived.”

Jacqueline’s eyes clouded with pain. “That was why your men were told you had been killed.”

“I am afraid so,” he replied apologetically. “Everyone was ordered to keep the news of Inspector Garnier’s survival a secret, out of duty to the Republic. Anyone who did not would be arrested.”

“But who looked after you?” she demanded, still unable to believe he was actually here.

He gently caressed her cheek with his fingertips. “I was moved to a small farm outside of Calais, where a peasant woman was ordered to nurse me back to health. Philippe stayed at my side. Unfortunately, my wound was severe and I became ill, which prevented us from escaping. After two weeks I was well enough to get out of bed, and Philippe began to go down to the water to watch for
The Angélique.
He waited night after night, but he never saw her.”

“You missed her,” Jacqueline informed him. “Sidney brought me to England and returned to France two days later, only to learn you were dead. The men stayed a few days to investigate, and then, because all the reports were the same, they decided to sail home.”

Armand shrugged his shoulders. “It took me several weeks to regain my strength. When I realized the ship was not coming, I decided we would have to find another way out. But we were closely watched by the captain of the National Guard, who wanted to be ready in case the Black Prince sent someone to harm me. A few days ago we were finally able to slip out during the night and make our way east toward the Austrian border. Once we were across, we managed to secure passage on an Austrian ship.”

Jacqueline hugged him tightly, her heart overflowing with joy and happiness. They were both safe and they had come home. “Where is Philippe now?”

Armand smiled. “I am afraid he was ambushed by Séraphine the minute we walked in the door, which is probably why he has not yet come out here to see you.”

Jacqueline thought back to Séraphine sitting up suddenly and focusing intently on the house before she ran back to it. She could not possibly have heard Armand and Philippe arriving. Yet something had powerfully drawn her to the house. She stared across the lawn in bewilderment.

“Is anything wrong?”

Jacqueline turned her gaze to him and smiled. “No,” she murmured. She raised herself up on her toes until her lips hovered just a breath away from his. “Everything is absolutely perfect.”

He pulled her tightly against him and took possession of her lips. She tasted of honey, her body was all softness and curves and warmth, and the delicate floral scent that wafted about her made him mad with the need to have her. “Jacqueline,” he murmured huskily, lifting his lips from hers to kiss her eyes, her cheeks, her throat. He threaded his fingers into the silky softness of her hair and tugged gently, releasing the pins and causing it to spill wildly onto her shoulders. She pressed herself eagerly against the length of him, moaning softly as she moved against the hardness of his arousal. He growled and lifted his hand to caress the sweet swell of her breast, both of them forgetting time and place and the fact that they were standing in the middle of a garden in bright daylight for anyone to see.

“Jacqueline!” called a voice in the distance.

Her senses reeling, she pulled away and tried to regain her composure. She looked up at Armand, whose turquoise eyes were burning with passion and need. Feeling lighthearted for the first time in months, she tilted her head and gave him a sultry, teasing smile.

Armand groaned.

They turned to see Philippe coming across the lawn from the house, with Séraphine clutching his hand tightly as if she would never let go. Suzanne was on his other side, chattering excitedly and asking him questions. Philippe looked at Jacqueline and waved.

She waved back, and started to move toward them.

“Jacqueline,” said Armand urgently, grabbing her arm and pulling her close again, “there is something I must say to you.” He looked anxiously at the children coming toward them and then back to her. “Before I met you, I did not care if I lived or died,” he rushed out. “I had made many mistakes, and I felt that by risking my life to help others, somehow that might help to make up for them.”

Jacqueline reached up and gently laid her hand against his cheek. “It wasn’t your fault they died, Armand,” she told him firmly.

He looked at her uncertainly. “Perhaps not,” he allowed. “But if you give me the chance, I will make a wonderful home for Suzanne and Séraphine and Philippe. I will love them as my own, and I will never allow any harm to come to them.” His fingers captured the tear that was trickling down her cheek. “Marry me, Jacqueline,” he whispered hoarsely. “Marry me, and I will spend the rest of my life showing you how much I love you, and our family, and the new life we have given each other.”

She looped her arms around his neck and pressed herself against him, not caring if the whole world knew how much she loved him. “Yes,” she whispered happily, her heart bursting with joy. “Yes.”

He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her deeply, only vaguely aware that somewhere in the distance his new family was laughing.

About the Author

K
ARYN
M
ONK
has been writing since she was a girl. In university she discovered a love for history. After several years working in the highly charged world of advertising, she turned to writing historical romance. She is married to a wonderfully romantic husband, Philip, whom she allows to believe is the model for her heroes.

Coming next…

THE ROSE AND THE WARRIOR
By the award-winning Karyn Monk

On sale in March 2000 from Bantam Books

Do
you really wish to sleep in the chair that much? he demanded in a tightly controlled voice.

It is not that I wish to sleep in the chair; it is that I do not wish to sleep with you! she hissed.

He was silent for a moment, as if he were somehow confused or surprised by that statement. Suddenly he moved away from her. Mademoiselle, he began in an incredulous tone, when exactly was the last time you bathed?

How dare you! spat Jacqueline as she freed herself and sat bolt upright on the bed.

I mean no insult, he swiftly qualified, its just that if you are worried about your precious virtue, I would like to set your mind at ease. My preference is for women who have bathed, at least sometime within the not-too-distant past. He turned away from her and adjusted his half of the blanket over his shoulder. You may share this bed with me and rest completely assured that even if you were stark naked and willing, I would not have the slightest desire of laying a hand on you.

A mixture of humiliation and fury boiled up inside Jacqueline.

Move over, she ordered sharply as she gave the pillow on what was to be her side a whack.

He sighed impatiently and moved a bit to accommodate her. Jacqueline lay down and primly drew the blanket up to her chin.

The space he offered her had already been warmed by the heat of his body. In fact, after a few minutes she found that she could feel the heat of him radiating across the few scant inches that separated them. It had been a long time since she had felt warm in bed. She allowed herself a muffled sigh of pleasure and unconsciously huddled closer to its source.

SURRENDER TO A STRANGER

A Bantam Fanfare Book / January 1995

FANFARE
and the portrayal of a boxed “ff” are trademarks of Bantam Books, a division of Bantam Doubleday Dell Publishing Group, Inc.

All rights reserved.

Copyright © 1994 by Karyn Monk.

Cover art copyright [.heart] 1994 by Pino Dangelico.

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

For information address: Bantam Books.

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eISBN: 978-0-553-90327-0

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