Amour: Historical Romance (Passion and Glory Book 1) Read Online Free PDF Page B

in the darkness.
    “Rescuing me, Mademoiselle? On the contrary. I believe I have never been in greater peril.”
    “What danger can there be here to worry us, Nicolas? With all your strength, surely the darkness doesn’t trouble you?”
    Nicolas stopped, drawing Sérolène toward him. They were so close in the dim light of the stairwell he could feel the warmth of her breath against his face. It was sweet, like the scent of lilacs. Her hand, still cradled in his, sent tingles along his arm. He felt the hair on the nape of his neck stand on end.
    “Dear Sérolène, do you not already sense it? An hour ago my heart was unbound and entirely my own. Now…” Nicolas hesitated, realizing he had spoken her name for the first time. Was he being too forward?  Dare he go on and say what he truly wished to say? Sérolène squeezed his hand to encourage him.
    “Now what, dear Nicolas?”
    “I have known you but a short time, and yet somehow, you have already made me adore you. I am bewitched and as helpless as a lamb.”
    For a moment there was silence. Nicolas felt as if his heart had stopped, and that it would only start again if and when she spoke to him.
    “You adore me? If that is so, then you must swear an oath of honor to love and cherish me forever. Or I will know you only trifle with my poor heart.”
    “Upon my honor, I do swear it!”
    Long seconds passed in silence. Nicolas could see Sérolène’s eyes, impossibly big and luminous in the darkness, as if they absorbed and reflected all the limited light. He wondered if he’d said the wrong thing as the silence stretched on between them. She released his hand. His heart sank into his shoes . He felt utterly lost, standing silent and unmoving, unable to press his suit forward, or withdraw. Like a colossus with feet of clay, he hovered on the edge of the abyss, teetering between hope and despair. Waiting for her to topple him with just a word.
    Sérolène’s hand brushed his cheek. It scalded him like a brand, but oh how sweet it was to burn. Her lips pressed against his. A burst of rapture, tender beyond imagining, lit every corner of his being. The world and all it contained stood still, reduced to the space of their two pairs of lips. Time vanished, and light and sound. There was only feeling—of lips and tongues and unbearable soft delight.
    When Sérolène at last drew back, Nicolas had no idea if seconds or hours had passed. It was just as he’d imagined, the way her body flowed into his—chest to hip to thigh. A perfect fit. Neither dared speak. The wonder of what had just passed between them overawing them into silence, though they were both deliciously aware of every sensation.
    “My dearest Nicolas, we must go before we are discovered here.”
    Nicolas could only nod his reply in the darkness as Sérolène led him down the stairwell by the hand. They went toward the kitchens, the aroma of the feast being prepared, and the noisy banter of those who made and served it, rising up the stairway like smoke ascending a chimney. Nicolas followed blindly along, content to go wherever Sérolène dared. Angel? Sorceress? He knew not, cared not. He was hers now. His heart given by oath, and held firmly in her grasp. And neither death, nor any other pretender, would have strength to unbind him from his promise.

Alliance
    The Baron de Salvagnac escorted the Marquis de Blaise down the long hallway which led to the dining hall. The baron was a prosperous man and the small bulge around his midsection was beginning to show it, though his richly detailed waistcoat, made of Chinese silk, and of a shade partway between ivory and chalk, did much to camouflage the burgeoning extent of his good fortune. His breeches and jacket were a deep sky blue, also made of the finest imported silk. Fanciful complex patterns of flowers, birds, and other subjects of nature were weaved along the lapels and rear vents of his jacket in gold thread, the head of each arrangement centered on one