Adele Ashworth by Stolen Charms Page A

Marie-Camille who waited patiently by the door, and ordered the coffee to be brought immediately.
    She focused her attention back on Drake who now sat comfortably across from her. He looked completely at ease in a morning suit of light dove gray which accented the color of his striking eyes. His white shirt and pale gray neckcloth were made of the finest silk, his midnight-black hair a bit tousled from the removal of his hat, which he’d undoubtedly left on the rack by the front door. He ran his fingers through the ends to smooth it back into place, and Madeleine couldn’t help but fix her gaze upon the movement as she spoke.
    “I assume your voyage was uneventful?” she asked, more politely than curiously.
    He quickly dropped his arm and shifted his large body in the chair, folding his hands in his lap. “I’m here in one piece.”
    Madeleine’s brows arched briefly, but since he offered nothing more she added only, “But certainly no worse for wear.”
    He nodded once at the remark, staring at her frankly, as Marie-Camille returned carrying an ivory, gold-inlaid china coffeepot atop a silver tray. Because the service had been set earlier, her maid did nothing but pour two cups full, set the pot on the table, and again discreetly take her leave, closing the door behind her.
    Madeleine helped herself to warm milk and sugar; he lifted his cup to his lips.
    “And how is everything at home?” she questioned nonchalantly, stirring her coffee with dainty fingers.
    He shrugged and took a sip. “Fine, I suppose. Except for the matter bringing me to southern France in the dead of summer.”
    Madeleine’s eyes wavered, and she lowered her lashes to stare at the brown liquid at her fingertips, gently tapping her spoon on the side of her cup, a bit dismayed that he would jump so quickly into the concern for their meeting. “I suppose you’ll want the details now,” she stated quietly.
    “At your discretion, madam,” he cordially replied.
    Madeleine raised her eyes back to his and took a sip of her coffee. He was watching her closely, and this was her opportunity to move forward.
    Very smoothly, indicative of her talents, she intimated, “I am hoping, Monsieur Drake, that we shall become more than acquaintances during your stay in France”—she placed her cup and saucer on the table—“so I would be most pleased if you would call me Madeleine.”
    She was perfectly aware that he might be confused by that subtle invitation, and indeed he appeared to be. He blinked quickly two or three times, then grinned quite charmingly as he placed his cup and saucer on the table as well and leaned back casually to regard her.
    “I’m honored, Madeleine,” he admitted eloquently. “And you should call me Jonathan. We’ll be working together, and I suppose formality could get tiresome.”
    She smiled beautifully, now nearly certain he was returning the interest but was just being as subtle as she. He was English and a bit more staid than the typical Frenchman. Perhaps she wasn’t losing her touch after all but simply needed to be more direct.
    Slowly, suggestively, she leaned toward him, her blue eyes sparkling with unspoken thoughts. “I’d be delighted, Jonathan. In fact, I was hoping that perhaps we could find the time for . . . relaxation together. When the work is finished, of course.” She ran her fingers sensuously up and down her hair as it coiled over her right breast in a thick, shiny plait. “I’m sure you’d enjoy the companionship of a woman who knows . . . the area well, and how to entertain a man to the fullness of his time. I’m equally certain I’d enjoy your charms.”
    He stared at her openly for a second or two. Then as rapidly as he dropped his gaze to her breasts, he shifted his body in his chair again, uncomfortably, and looked to the window.
    Madeleine had really expected him to respond positively at once. He was a man who liked the ladies, and she knew, as any astute woman would, that he found