Adele Ashworth by Stolen Charms Page B

her particularly attractive. But now, as she sat back again to regard his silent form, it began to dawn on her that, although he might have briefly admired her beauty, his mind had been elsewhere since he’d walked in the room. He seemed . . . preoccupied?
    Finally he turned his attention back to her and smiled, decisively, eyes focused as he brought his hands together, elbows on the armrests, fingertips touching lightly in a triangle in front of his thoughtful face.
    “My dear Madeleine,” he began with purpose. “Had I received such a generous invitation from so beautiful a woman only weeks ago, I would have found myself accepting the pleasure of your charming company without reservation.” He cleared his throat and lowered his eyes to study the thick, inlaid carpet. “Several things have taken place during the last few days, however, that would make such an acceptance . . . awkward.”
    “Really,” she muttered, completely surprised, not knowing if she should feel dejected or flattered. Never in her life had she been turned down quite so graciously.
    He inhaled deeply and raised his gaze to hers once more. “I am not in France alone.”
    Her eyes widened. “Oh. . . .”
    He threw a quick glance to the window again, impatiently it seemed, and Madeleine wondered for a moment if the lady was standing outside. And it had to be a woman, she decided. The Black Knight always worked alone; Jonathan Drake never traveled with anyone. She also knew no man in his prime would turn down such an obvious offer of female affections if his only complication was that he traveled with another man.
    Sighing with acceptance, Madeleine reached for her cup, bringing it gently to her lips. “You must trust her implicitly.”
    For the first time since his arrival, he looked startled by her words.
    She smiled shrewdly. “Does she know who you are?”
    He hesitated. “Not exactly.”
    “Mmm . . .” She paused for another sip. “Why you’re here?”
    He pursed his lips and shook his head. “No.”
    “I see.”
    He exhaled loudly and tapped his fingers together.
    Madeleine forcefully had to keep herself from laughing. “Perhaps I’ll get to meet her,” she suggested with honest interest.
    He smirked. “I’m deathly afraid you will.”
    She did laugh at that, placing her cup back on the table. “Then I’m looking forward to it.”
    With elegant bearing, she stood and walked across the room to a small, mahogany cabinet next to the window. “I suppose, since she alone holds your attention, Jonathan, we should get down to business.” She opened a glass door and pulled several sheets of paper from inside a music box sitting within.
    “The jewels are being kept in the study safe of Henri Lemire, count of Arles.” She turned and sauntered back to him, staring at her notes. “At his seaside estate about twelve miles west of the city. He has four children—three boys and one girl, his oldest—and a simple-minded but lovely second wife of three years who is half his age.”
    Jonathan reached for his coffee cup, drained the contents in two swallows, then stood as she moved up beside him. He looked down at her face, his dark hair shining in the wavy sunlight, his eyes brilliant and alert, his skin clean and smelling lightly of musk. She exhaled with dismay. Such a shame not to be able to enjoy him.
    Handing him the papers, she continued with the present issue. “I’ve come to know him and his family the best I could over the last few weeks. He’s forty-eight, intelligent, has long-time connections, but he’s been known to make mistakes. He’s well-respected and generally liked by his contemporaries, loves his children—especially his daughter. He dotes on his wife but is quite content to keep her in her place as he attends other issues which he deems more important, including, if rumor has it, an occasional mistress. He’s a Legitimist to the extreme, though he doesn’t flaunt it. He despises Louis Philippe; feels the