Marianne winked at Lily and grinned. “Take one more look. Then we absolutely must go down. We don’t want your father to call us on the carpet before the ceremony.”

Nora, Lily’s maid, fluttered about, looking for Lily’s white gloves and chattering about losing them.

Lily widened her eyes at the bottle Marianne had tucked into her skirts. They’d both had a few good nips this morning and Nora, busy as she always was, had spied them at it. Marianne was certain that the servant would try to turn it to her advantage.

Lily rolled her eyes. “Nora, I wonder if I accidentally put the gloves in my trousseau case? Check there, would you?”

“Right you are, miss.” The maid paused to stare, then sniffed, but lumbered off toward Lily’s dressing room.

In two short steps, Marianne tucked the bottle of brandy into Lily’s wardrobe and shut the door with a click of the latch.

Lily bit her lip and swallowed a chuckle, then gazed once more in the cheval glass. Her soft blue eyes clouded with doubt.

Lily’s wedding to Julian Ash, the marquess of Chelton, required a bit of Dutch courage. After all, Lily had not planned to marry him. Not soon. Not ever. But she and he had been caught alone in his country house by his parents and Uncle Killian. The scene, Lily had recounted later, was ugly. Uncle Killian had demanded Julian wed her and quickly. Chelton, fortunately, was ready to do the right thing. Lily, unfortunately, had no say in the matter.

Avoiding a scandal was everyone’s primary concern. Still, two gossip sheets had gotten whiff of the story and speculated “if the American Girl L—H— had urgent reasons to accept the proposal of a certain Marquess of C—. She skips her presentation at Court to marry. What can compel her?”

What indeed.

Marianne sought to cheer up Lily. “You are stunning, my dear. He’s going to swoon at the sight of you.”

“If he does, Papa will scoop him up and make him say the words.” Lily leaned close. “Our Texas friends would call it a shotgun wedding.”

“But it isn’t. Because you didn’t…” Marianne flashed a consoling look at her cousin.

Lily rolled her eyes. “Almost.”

“Almost does not qualify. Now let me see that you are perfect.” She circled her cousin and admired her in her elegant ensemble.

Fitted to Lily’s curvaceous figure by the seamstresses at the House of Worth, her gown of white satin and tulle trailed a four-foot train. On her head was a little crown with a three-foot French Chantilly lace veil. In her hands, Lily held a nosegay of baby’s breath and small white trumpet lilies.

“Shall we?” Lily nodded toward her door.

Marianne hurried behind her.

“That bit with the brandy was close,” Lily whispered.

Marianne pulled open the door for her. “We’ll know for sure if I find the bottle empty.”

Lily caught back a chuckle. “Oh, you don’t think she’d dare a drink, would you?”

“Why not?” She fussed with the folds of Lily’s skirts. “Part of me does not trust her.”

“Neither do I. And I’ve no cause to wonder why.”

“Nora has other things to think about than swiping our brandy! As do you.”

And so do I.

One look at suave duc de Remy in his formal black suit last night and she’d needed more than the wine at supper to soothe her nerves. Invited along with Julian, his parents and his sister Elanna to the dinner party, Andre had arrived in London yesterday and taken rooms at The Ritz across the street from the Hannifords’ house.

Last night, he’d been placed far down the table and she’d had only a few polite exchanges with him before they’d gone in to dine. This morning, at the breakfast reception, she hoped for more. To merely look at his commanding figure sent ripples of excitement up her spine.

“Ready, finally, Lily?” Lily’s eighteen-year-old sister sailed toward them in a rustle of Corinthian green chiffon that complemented her rich cinnamon hair and crystal blue eyes. Ada had arrived only yesterday in London with their older brother Pierce. This was her first time abroad and she was giddy with the opportunity to meet dukes and princes.

“Now or never,” Lily said with a shiver of excitement.

“You look fabulous and I am pea green.” She swept a hand across her bodice and giggled. “I hope I can do as well. Just think. For you a marquess, one day to be the duke of Seton.”

Lily knit her brows at her younger sister and Marianne understood Lily’s reaction to Ada’s belief she’d trapped the man. “I never set my sights on him.”

“I didn’t mean to anger you. Don’t be cross with me, please.” Ada squeezed Lily’s hand.

“I’m not. I just want you to understand how I feel about this wedding.”

“I do, honestly, Lily.” Ada flashed apologetic eyes. “Still it’s wonderful. A duchess in the family. And last night, Marianne, I saw the Prince d’Aumale focused on no one but you. How can a man be a duke and prince at the same time?”

“A discussion for later, Ada,” Marianne said, hoping she could explain Andre’s complicated ancestry with some accuracy—or better yet, not discuss it at all. “We must get our Lily married before Uncle Killian marches up and carries us down.”

* * *

“Come walk with me through the garden?” Andre had finally managed to sequester his lovely quarry from the crowd at Julian’s and Lily’s wedding. The ceremony had been short, but Marianne’s social duties had kept her busy mingling with the guests. To some degree, he hadn’t minded. The interim had allowed him to watch her, imbibe how she glided as she walked, how she laughed when amused, how she caught glimpses of him and spoke to him with longing her gorgeous green eyes. She filled his starving senses with her beauty. He had occupied himself well. How could he not when she looked so delicious in her wedding finery that he thought her a raspberry confection?

She looked up at him with those luminous eyes and he calmed, more at peace than he’d been in weeks. She was here within his grasp and looking at him as if he were a pastry she could sink her teeth into. He yearned to find a place to let her do just that—and schooled his desires to caution.

“It’s daylight and I’ve inspected the maze.” His hope to lead her there flooded his mind. “I assure you, ma cherie, there are no benches on which I may seduce you.”

She checked those milling about in the ballroom.

To him, everyone of the guests seemed well-occupied with champagne and hors d'oeuvres. Ada and Killian Hanniford conversed with Julian’s parents, the duke and duchess of Seton. Most importantly, Lily and Julian talked quietly with each other, lost to those who swirled around them.

“I’m safe then?” Marianne tossed her head of bright curls and teased him with a saucy grin. “Very well. Yes, let’s go.”

He walked a step behind her as she led them from the party down the hall and out toward the rear gardens. A six-foot tall maze of yews wove through the green grass. Here and there rose bushes wafted in the gentle June breezes and lifted a subtle fragrance to the wind.

Pausing at two entrances to the maze, she chose the one with a long corridor of evergreens. She and he strolled side-by-side for a few minutes in silence. The peace of that mingled with his excitement to have her all to himself for a few moments.

“You look well,” he ventured, the sight of her in the sunlight electric to his senses.

She reached out to brush the petals of one ripe rose. “I am, thank you. And you?”

“I slept better once I knew I would come here soon.”

“Et moi ouci,” she whispered with sweet affection in her glance. “But I still do not have you to rights in my sketches.”

His heart swelled at that news. In that alone lay reason to magnify their relationship. “Nor I you in my models.”

She stopped and bent to inhale the fragrance of a red bud. Even turned in profile to him, she could not hide her nervousness. “How is your mother?”

“Quite well. Recovered from her recent malaise. In fact, she has retired to the country for the summer months.”

“And did your cousin arrive to keep her company?”

“She did. And she was happy not to go to Paris. My cousin was born and raised in the Loire valley, where her family always grew fat goats and made mounds of fragrant cheese. She was never more happy than when she could cook all day and drink Sancerre from her own cellars every night. To remain there and be companion to my mother is Lucienne’s fondest existence.”

Marianne focused on his lips, her concentration stealing his own.

He had to stop to admire a clutch of red roses, their aroma swirling about him in a dance that spurred his desire for her.

She moved away from him, walking on. “When do you return to Paris?”

“I haven’t decided.” First I wanted to gauge how well you received me. If you still think of me or wish to be in my arms.

“I see.” She shook back her hair, the wealth of the curls heavy and drooping from her elaborate coiffure down around her slim neck. She appeared valiant…and hesitant. “Have you business here in London?”

“One matter.” Only you. “I remain as long as I see fit. And you? Will your family come to Paris soon?”

“All of us go to Paris the day after tomorrow, yes. Now that Lily is married and Ada and Pierce are here too, we have much to do there.”

That surprised and pleased him. Julian had written to him about his sister marrying Carbury and Andre had wondered how that would affect the Hanniford clan’s travel plans. “Will you not attend Elanna’s wedding in a few weeks?”

“We do and we’ll return here for that. But Pierce and Ada have only arrived from America yesterday and just in time for today’s wedding. Still Ada has no proper wardrobe and needs to brush up on her manners and her French.”

“With Comtesse Chaumont, I imagine,” he added with a grin.

“Who else?” she joked. And then she fell silent, her eyes darting here and there, looking self-conscious and at a loss for words.

Elated, he had no such problems. “I will go home to Paris tomorrow.”

The smile she sent him could have warmed him for the next year.

He wanted to crush her to him then but steeled himself. Over the next few months, he must cultivate Herculean powers of restraint not to seduce her. “I will call upon you in the Rue Haussmann and you shall come to tea to my home.”

She beamed at him. “You must invite Ada and Pierce. Even Uncle Killian.”

“If you wish.”

“I do, but you must know that I may not have much time to receive you or to call,” she said, her blonde brows knitting as she fretted about that. “Ada has attended finishing school, but she’s not as fond of being ‘polished’ as some girls. Uncle Killian insists she work harder and so I cannot promise you that I’ll be readily available to you.”

He clasped his hands behind his back. “I will invite you often. All of you. Come with them or come alone and bring your maid. I care not. But do come.”

“I want to,” she said with hope emanating from her.

“I wish you to visit me in Tours. At our chateau. All of you, of course.”

“Oh!” The compliment swept across her features, quickly followed by the terror it inspired. “Uncle Killian will be honored.”

“I want you to be honored.”

She swallowed.

Andre could not help himself. He picked up her hand and kissed her smooth skin. Beneath his lips, she was warm, fragile and quaking like a baby bird. He hoped it was joy that rippled through her. “I want you to meet my mother.”

She frowned, snatched her hand away and looked at every rose, every leaf, everywhere but into his eyes. “That is kind of you, but we need not be so formal.”

He would not answer until she looked at him once more. And when she no longer eluded him, he said very definitely, “We do need to be. My mother requests I introduce you.”

“But—” She shook her head, confused and yet a small light in her eyes said she was also complimented. “You told her about me?”

“I did.”

“That was kind but you and I are mere acquaintances.”

He snorted in laughter. “We are more than that, ma belle, and you know it. Give over and enjoy this, will you, darling? We’re to have fun. And I suspect that you have had precious little of that in your life. Am I right?”

She gave a nod. “You are.”

“There you have it. So.” He began to walk once more around a tall green corner to another little cove of greenery and leaving her to scamper after him. When she was beside him, he said, “In Paris, I will come around and take you to luncheon along the Seine. I’ll feed you snails and razor clams.”

She made a face.

“I’ll have my chef pack a hamper and we will nibble Roquefort and baguettes in the Tuileries gardens. The next day, I’ll bring round my landau and we’ll ride in the Bois de Boulogne. I’ll bring champagne. You like it, as I recall, very much.”

“Ohh, yes.”

He clamped his jaw, so tempted to kiss her until she begged for his bed. “I’ll arrange for a night at the opera. We’ll go late.”

She clapped her hands. “As one must.”

He inclined his head. “We’ll have Ada and Pierce.”

“Chaumont, too.”

“Naturally. And afterward, I will persuade Pierce to help me escort all of you to take in a certain cabaret in Montmartre.”

She giggled.

He grinned. “I promise to make you laugh like that often, ma chou.”

“Chou? What is that?”

He chucked her under the chin. “My cabbage.”

“Grim. I’d hope you could call me something more elegant.”

She was joking, but he was nodding and arching a brow. “I can think of a few terms of endearment I might employ.”

She pretended a look of dark green reproof. “Nothing scandalous.”

He feigned innocence and crossed his arms. “Not at all.”

“Good. Because I like cabarets.”

“Do you? How delightful.” He offered her his arm to continue their stroll. “Tell me more.”

“I like to sing.”

“On key?” he asked with severity.

She pinched his arm. “One always hopes so. But I sing only in the lower middle C octaves. I am no coloratura soprano.”

“With that voice of yours like good brandy, ma cherie, you could never sing an aria. So enlighten me, what do you like to sing?”

“German drinking songs.”

He choked on laughter. “What? How could you?”

“In Texas, we have many Germans. They like their beer and they like to clink glasses as they do. I tended a few soldiers during the war who would try to sing to pass the time or ease their pain. Do you sing, Monsieur le duc?”

“Quite well, in fact.”

She wiggled her brows. “I long to hear you.”

“And you shall in the Rue des Abbesess.”

“We shall be a scandal,” she said on a whisper as she leaned on his arm and nestled to him. “And Uncle Killian will find out—”

“He’ll never learn.”

She scoffed. “You dream, Monsieur le duc, if you think—”

“I will bribe Pierce if I must. But I doubt it. After all, would your uncle not demand his son maintain some kind of decorum while in the city of sin?”

Despite the fact that she laughed, she shook her head. “My uncle has friends. He’ll hear of it.”

Andre touched his fingertip to her nose. “Never worry. He’ll read nothing because soon after we will all return here for Lady Elanna’s wedding to the earl of Carbury.”

“Hmm. You’ve done a lot of planning.”

“I have.” Pivoting away, he led her onward. It was that or kiss her until he raised her skirts here and took her like a half-starved boy. “You and I will be together for those festivities as well. I understand there is to be a ball the night before and I plan to waltz with you.”

“Waltz?” Her heart was in her eyes. “Oh, you waltz?”

He paused, his body so hard he could not take another step. This need of his to be a gentleman, he realized ruefully, might ensure he was permanently aroused until the hour he could sink inside her. He had to make light of this and arched a wicked brow. “You do waltz, I presume?”

Sunlight washed her in a brilliant palette of yellows and she sparkled so his eyes hurt to gaze at her. “I do. That is, I haven’t in years and years.”

“Then when you come to my house in Paris, we will practice in my ballroom.”

“I used to be quite agile at waltzing,” she said, breathless as he’d never seen her.

He shoved his hands in his trouser pockets lest he use them to grab her and kiss her senseless. “You shall dance on air with me, Madame. As will I.”

She stepped toward him, her palm to his heart. “Andre—”

The warmth of her hand, the need in her eyes killed his noble intentions. He tipped up her chin and—

Within the maze, they heard muffled voices. Angry ones.

Andre froze, then pulled her into his arms and lead her into a small nook in the shrubbery. Like a cat, she snuggled against him and he was, for this minute, content to hold her.

“You cannot do that!” a man said.

“Yes, I can,” a woman replied. “If only you had the nerve to allow me.”

“You’re mad.”

“That’s Pierce,” Marianne raised her face to whisper to Andre’s ear.

“Give it to me,” the woman insisted. “You don’t think I have the nerve.”

“Elanna,” Marianne told him.

“Oui, Andre recognized Julian’s sister’s voice.

“They’ll know you smoked, my lady,” Pierce pointed out. “The fumes will remain in your clothes.”

“You said you’d give me anything if I smiled. You didn’t like my sad face. Well, then, Mr. Hanniford, can you live up to your own promises or not?”

“I didn’t promise, my lady.”

“Men,” Elanna fumed. All the same. You shouldn’t tease women with temptations to assist them, sir, if you won’t follow through.”

Pierce scoffed. “I wouldn’t be praised for it by your fiancé.”

“Ah, but he’s not here, is he?”

“Just where is he today?” Pierce demanded.

“He had a problem with some tenants on his estate and he had to go down to Kent. I do not miss him.”

Sucking in air, Marianne curled closer into Andre’s arms. He put his lips to her temple. She was so soft, so lush. He wanted more of her like this, willing in his embrace.

“Well, another time, another place, my lady,” Pierce said, “but I will not surrender my pipe to you here. The rest of the party would know you’d been out here with me and ridicule—”

“What do you care?” Elanna shot back.

Marianne stiffened in Andre’s arms.

“I must care, my lady, for your reputation.”

“You Americans don’t care a fig for that.”

“But we do. We don’t go about ruining young ladies for no reason. Simply to allow her to smoke a pipe.”

“Really? What would you ruin a lady’s reputation for?”

“Far more than smoking a pipe,” Pierce said, laughing. “Let’s go in.”

Fearing what came next and hating eavesdropping on the two of them, Andre tugged at Marianne’s hand. He’d lead her inside away from this.

But Marianne did not budge.

“No,” Elanna shot back. “You won’t let me smoke so give me something else I want.”

“Fine. What would that be?”

“A kiss.”

“Ha! No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I—”

The rest was lost in the sounds of rustling skirts and sighing kisses.

“No more,” Pierce said at last, his deep voice gruff with desire. “I’m leaving.”

“Oh,” Elanna declared with anger, “do please let me chase you off!”

“Don’t be foolish. Wait a few minutes,” Pierce barked at her. “Then follow.”

Elanna cursed at him. “Wretched man.” And she stalked off, the sounds of her feet along the gravel punctuating her outrage.

“Oh, Christ,” Pierce moaned and moved off more deeply into the maze.

A minute passed as Marianne rested her cheek on Andre’s frock coat. She was quiet, still.

He ran his fingers along the fine line of her spine.

Presently, she sighed and pressed closer to him, her arms tight around his waist. “Elanna does not want to marry. Not the man she’s engaged to.”

Andre drove his lips into her fragrant hair. “That’s very sad, but it does happen. Occasionally, between husband and wife relationships improve.”

“I doubt it can between those two, although I can’t tell you why I feel that way.”

“Carbury. I didn’t care for him when we met the night in the Opera Garnier.”

“The same. I’ve been in company with him since then and I find him oppressive.”

“He seemed intent on her from the start,” Andre said, recalling how the older man poured over the young sister of his friend, Julian.

“Lily says she must marry him because there are financial needs. The Setons are not able to support her with more Seasons or much else.”

“As if she’d need such formal exposure. She is lovely and charming when she’s not hunted.”

“Or run to ground like an animal,” Marianne said with a shiver.

“Come inside. We’ll have more champagne, oui?” He gave her a tiny hug, then stepped away from her. “We will talk and laugh and plan our walk in Paris. In three days’ time, don’t you think?”

Marianne halted, impish and tugging him around to face her. “Monsieur le duc, you mean to tell me you didn’t bring me out here to kiss me?”

He shook his head once. “No, ma belle. I did not.”

She was crestfallen. “Why not?”

He smiled faintly and pushed a silken blonde tendril of hair over her ear. “I intend to kiss you, darling, but not here. Not in England.”

Her heartbroken expression gutted him and pleased him. “What are you doing to me?”

He put a finger to her lower lip and rolled it down. The lush beauty of it spurred his body to painful need. “When next I kiss you, my Marianne, I pray we have hours to explore every part of each other. Lips and hands, breasts and hips. More. Much more.”

She caught a breath and hope spread like golden sunshine into her green eyes. She put two fingers to his lips and he kissed them away.

“Holding you here for these minutes has proven to me what I suspected. I cannot touch you and be content with only a small part of you. Your lips, lovely as they are, are the icing on a beautiful creation. I yearn for all of you.”

“Andre, that is—”

“Madness?” That’s what he expected her to say. To demure, to postpone, to deny if she dared, the inevitable.

“Not that. No.”

“What then?” he asked her tenderly, not expecting any affirmation of their attraction. Women did not do that. Not women of Marianne’s status. Statements of desire were not ones taught in any etiquette class.

“I yearn for every part of you, as well.”

His heart exploded in his chest, hopes of her surrendering to him blending with her agreement that indeed they would make love. Stunned that her statement could assuage his impatience, he pulled at her hand and wound it around his arm. “Come inside. We begin our journey toward friendship. Good friends, who understand the other. Who come to each other for all the benefits that friends share.”

So that soon, you can come to me for all the passions that lovers share.