Hearts Beguiled Read Online Free PDF
Author: Penelope Williamson
one could play at any hour of the day or night— at rouge-et-noire or blond and brunette.
"I haven't seen this one before, Max," Sophie said, falsely sweet. "Who is she?"
He shrugged and looked at Gabrielle with cool gray eyes. "I really haven't the vaguest idea."
"Oh, this is too much!" Gabrielle exclaimed, angrily slapping the dust from her skirts. "I swear you must be mad. You sell Monsieur Prion an engraving and then pretend not to know him. You allow that aero— that thing—"
"Aerostat."
"—to blow up in my face—"
"What engraving?" Sophie said.
"Yes, what—" he began, but Gabrielle had merely paused for breath.
"Then you hurl me to the floor and proceed to . . . to assault me—"
"I didn't notice you resisting—"
"I was going to ... I would have if you had . . . oooh! As far as I'm concerned, Monsieur le Vicomte, you can go to hell. And you can take your nasty engraving with you, where it will no doubt go very well with the decor!"
"Vicomte!" Sophie shrieked. "For shame, Max. Since when did you have to stoop to telling lies to get a girl into your bed—"
Gabrielle had started to stalk past him, limping on her heel-less shoe, but he put out a hand, stopping her. "Wait," he said softly, but there was a hard edge to his voice, and the hand that grasped her arm tightened.
Gabrielle began to feel a horrible premonition. "You . . . you are not the vicomte?"
He studied her for a long moment, then his mouth thinned into a tight smile. "My brother is a vicomte. I am a mere monsieur."
"Monsieur de Saint-Romain?"
He shook his head. "Maximilien de Saint-Just."
"Max, you rogue," Sophie said, laughing, "you really should exchange names before you—"
"Go away, Sophie," he said abruptly, and her musical laughter cut off in mid-chord.
Her rouged cheeks flushed, then whitened. "And what about the damage to my windows? The police will be here soon, you mark my words, and ..."
He didn't answer her. She hesitated a moment longer. "Well, really!" she said, then stormed from the room with an angry swish of her skirts.
They didn't notice. Max's hooded gray eyes were fixed on Gabrielle's face. She felt the compelling force of them, piercing her with an intensity that was as intimate as a kiss. The weight of his fingers on her arm seemed to press heavily, burning through the material of her sleeve. She heard her own breathing, then his. Then they seemed to be breathing togather. She pulled away from him and began backing slowly out of the room. "I—I seem to have made a silly mistake."
"Did you?" He took a step after her.
She bumped into the door. Her fingers gripped the edge, pulling it open. "I was looking for someone else."
"And you found me."
"No ..." She whirled and ran down the hall for the stairs.
A crowd of people had gathered in front of the Cafe de Foy. One man tugged at Gabrielle's arm as she came out.
"What was it, mademoiselle? What's happened?"
Gabrielle pressed through them, ignoring their questions. Let him try to explain what he had been doing, blowing up aero-things—aerostats—with inflammable air. It ought to be outlawed. Maybe the king would find out about it and have him arrested and thrown into a cell in the Bastille. It would serve him right for trying to kiss her. I didn't notice you resisting, she quoted him to herself, exaggerating the sarcasm in his voice. Hunh! Just let him try to kiss her again. She would show him resistance . . .
"Did you hear the explosion?" Agnes asked breathlessly as soon as Gabrielle set foot in the shop. "They say it was caused by some crazy aristocrat experimenting with gunpowder. He killed himself and some whore he was— Jesu! You're bleeding."
Gabrielle pressed the back of her hand against her cheek. "It's only a scratch. Where's Dominique?"
"He went with Monsieur Simon to take that bag of old clothes we couldn't sell to the ragpickers. They just left. I'm surprised you didn't see them. What happened to you? You look as if you've been rolling in
"I haven't seen this one before, Max," Sophie said, falsely sweet. "Who is she?"
He shrugged and looked at Gabrielle with cool gray eyes. "I really haven't the vaguest idea."
"Oh, this is too much!" Gabrielle exclaimed, angrily slapping the dust from her skirts. "I swear you must be mad. You sell Monsieur Prion an engraving and then pretend not to know him. You allow that aero— that thing—"
"Aerostat."
"—to blow up in my face—"
"What engraving?" Sophie said.
"Yes, what—" he began, but Gabrielle had merely paused for breath.
"Then you hurl me to the floor and proceed to . . . to assault me—"
"I didn't notice you resisting—"
"I was going to ... I would have if you had . . . oooh! As far as I'm concerned, Monsieur le Vicomte, you can go to hell. And you can take your nasty engraving with you, where it will no doubt go very well with the decor!"
"Vicomte!" Sophie shrieked. "For shame, Max. Since when did you have to stoop to telling lies to get a girl into your bed—"
Gabrielle had started to stalk past him, limping on her heel-less shoe, but he put out a hand, stopping her. "Wait," he said softly, but there was a hard edge to his voice, and the hand that grasped her arm tightened.
Gabrielle began to feel a horrible premonition. "You . . . you are not the vicomte?"
He studied her for a long moment, then his mouth thinned into a tight smile. "My brother is a vicomte. I am a mere monsieur."
"Monsieur de Saint-Romain?"
He shook his head. "Maximilien de Saint-Just."
"Max, you rogue," Sophie said, laughing, "you really should exchange names before you—"
"Go away, Sophie," he said abruptly, and her musical laughter cut off in mid-chord.
Her rouged cheeks flushed, then whitened. "And what about the damage to my windows? The police will be here soon, you mark my words, and ..."
He didn't answer her. She hesitated a moment longer. "Well, really!" she said, then stormed from the room with an angry swish of her skirts.
They didn't notice. Max's hooded gray eyes were fixed on Gabrielle's face. She felt the compelling force of them, piercing her with an intensity that was as intimate as a kiss. The weight of his fingers on her arm seemed to press heavily, burning through the material of her sleeve. She heard her own breathing, then his. Then they seemed to be breathing togather. She pulled away from him and began backing slowly out of the room. "I—I seem to have made a silly mistake."
"Did you?" He took a step after her.
She bumped into the door. Her fingers gripped the edge, pulling it open. "I was looking for someone else."
"And you found me."
"No ..." She whirled and ran down the hall for the stairs.
A crowd of people had gathered in front of the Cafe de Foy. One man tugged at Gabrielle's arm as she came out.
"What was it, mademoiselle? What's happened?"
Gabrielle pressed through them, ignoring their questions. Let him try to explain what he had been doing, blowing up aero-things—aerostats—with inflammable air. It ought to be outlawed. Maybe the king would find out about it and have him arrested and thrown into a cell in the Bastille. It would serve him right for trying to kiss her. I didn't notice you resisting, she quoted him to herself, exaggerating the sarcasm in his voice. Hunh! Just let him try to kiss her again. She would show him resistance . . .
"Did you hear the explosion?" Agnes asked breathlessly as soon as Gabrielle set foot in the shop. "They say it was caused by some crazy aristocrat experimenting with gunpowder. He killed himself and some whore he was— Jesu! You're bleeding."
Gabrielle pressed the back of her hand against her cheek. "It's only a scratch. Where's Dominique?"
"He went with Monsieur Simon to take that bag of old clothes we couldn't sell to the ragpickers. They just left. I'm surprised you didn't see them. What happened to you? You look as if you've been rolling in