Page 103 of Souvenir Heart

“Given everything that was going on, I thought I might be losing my mind.” In English, she said, “Do you disapprove of my drawing viscounts en déshabillé, m’lord?”

He leaned close to her, so close she could feel his breath on her lips when he spoke, but, impossibly, not touching her. “While I’d never wish to rein in your artistic freedom, in future, I do hope you will limit your studies of naked viscounts to one. Me.”

“In future?” The suggestion of a naked Marcus Tyndale made everything from her navel downwards, meltingly hot.

“Now, if you like,” he said huskily.

She very much would. She placed her other hand on his chest. Fighting the urge to slide both arms around his neck, she said. “I’m not sure why my father wants me back.”

“I know why I want you…”

She wanted to press herself closer, to feel his skin against hers, but she needed to tell him about her suspicions. “After my divorce, my husband placed the bulk of our money in my name. Gerard thought there’d be less chance of the government seizing it. It’s in an account in Geneva.”

“I’m not interested in your father’s money, or yours. It’s you I want, Marguerite. In case I haven’t made that clear?” His eyes took on a wicked gleam. “I promise I’ll never make you want for paint, pastels, canvases…or anything else you might desire.”

His emphasis on the word, desire, sent hot rivulets of it coursing through her veins. But she needed to warn him. “I don’t think it’s me my father wants. I think it’s my money.”

“Given the amount he offered for your rescue, he seems well enough off without it.”

“The state seized our ancestral lands and rents. He has no source of income. Given how lavishly he’s always lived, I doubt he escaped France with much more than the rags you sketched him in. If he intends to make good on the note he scrawled in your book—and there’s a good chance, he doesn’t—he most likely plans on using the money he transferred under my name to prevent the government from seizing it, too.”

“So, he lied about having money in England?”

She nodded.

“How dishonorable.” Marcus showed no trace of disappointment.

“My father believes that being born an aristocrat makes anything he chooses to do honorable.”

“Since, as I’ve been taking pains to explain, I’ve no intention of laying claim to any of it, what does it matter?”

“That sketch you showed me, of my father pleading with the man and the woman on the blanket. Was it accurate?”

“I may not be an artist, but I’m a draftsman with a perfect memory,” he said reprovingly.

“He pleaded with you. Offered you money. Did he threaten you as well?”

Marcus frowned as if recalling an unpleasant memory. “He was rather insistent that I swear to return you to his care.”

“He’ll try to hold you to your oath.”

“Then I shall have no trouble being equally dishonorable. I am, after all, an aristocrat, as well.”

“No.”

“No? Are you saying I shouldn’t behave dishonorably? Or that I should return you to him?”

“I’m not explaining this well. I just…I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Are you saying you’ll leave me?” He stiffened.

“No, no, that’s not it at all. I’m trying to warn you about the kind of person my father is. What may happen if you cross him.”

He reached for her. Then, remembering his promise, dropped his hands at his sides. His fists clenched. “Just…don’t leave me, Marguerite.”

“My father may not have money, but I’ve no doubt he still has power. Why else would your government be so intent on bringing him to England? And whatever they want him for, that gives him more power, too. Power he’ll use to try and force you to turn me over to him. And if you refuse? He’ll destroy whatever you hold most dear.”

His body tensed like a rope being drawn to the point of breaking. “He can do whatever he likes to me. But if he dares harm so much as a hair on your head? There’s an oath I’ll gladly swear. I’ll kill him.”