Page 9

First the damned erection. Now this. If he wasn't careful, their tête-à-tête would lead to her controlling him, not the other way around.

Rodrick didn't look away first. That would have been humiliating. Instead, he forced his gaze to perform a strategic withdrawal, shifting his attention to her dagger.

He eased the weapon from her fingers and released her wrists. "Nice steel. Too simple for an emperor's daughter. Positively republican."

Her eyes followed the blade. Then he reached for the hem of her skirt.

The red and orange tulle whispered beneath his fingers as he lifted it. The fabric gathered against his wrist. Beneath it, pale skin. Muscle shaped by years of commanding her own body. His mouth dried when the tulle lifted over her stockinged thigh, forcing him to wet his lower lip before continuing his extremely professional lecture.

"The last man who touched me," she said evenly, "lost his fingers."

"Poor fellow. I wonder if he remained much of a bedsport afterward."

He located the ribbon securing the sheath along her inner thigh. "This is badly placed."

"I did not ask for instruction."

"No one ever does. That is why incompetence survives."

He unfastened the garter. Louise watched both his hands now.

"Your dominant arm goes first when a man pins you. You proved that admirably thirty seconds ago."

He moved the sheath to the outside of her opposite thigh, angling it slightly backward.

"If I control this wrist"—he pressed it toward the cushion—"you die before you reach the weapon."

He guided her free hand toward the new position.

"From here, you cut first."

Smiling, he secured the strap and lowered the tulle. "If I intended to hurt you, Princess, we would already be conducting this conversation under a considerably less democratic arrangement."

Her raven eyebrows met above her nose. "I have observed very little democracy so far."

"Fair criticism."

Rodrick rose, and his unruly cock objected to the loss of proximity, which confirmed that it had forfeited all voting rights in future decisions.

He crossed to his coat and withdrew a folded letter, then held it out to her. "Charming as the little sparring lesson was, Princess, it was not the purpose of my visit. I have been given the inconvenient task of delivering you to France."

Her eyes dropped to the seal, and she took it from him carefully.

He had opened the letter the previous evening, naturally. Trusting sealed correspondence was how otherwise competent spies ended up dead. Talleyrand had written to her as Autun, her father's faithful servant. Rodrick had laughed for nearly a minute.

Charles-Maurice de Talleyrand-Périgord describing himself as anyone's faithful servant ranked among the finest achievements of French literature. The old goat had served monarchy, revolution, Directory, Consulate, Empire, Restoration, and, whenever convenient, himself, managing each transition with the smooth dignity of a cat stepping between expensive cushions.

She broke the seal. Rodrick moved to the nearby table and occupied himself with the brandy bottle while she read. He already knew every word: The time has come. Your father requires those who remain loyal. You must return to France.

He poured another drink, feigning interest in the bottle. As she read, her face betrayed too much. Longing came first, so naked it had to be contagious. He raised the brandy to his mouth and forgot to drink when hope stripped her face of its defenses. She stopped resembling Napoleon and looked like a daughter being told she was wanted.

If she intended to survive France, that would have to stop. Emotion displayed openly was intelligence volunteered to the enemy.

Rodrick should warn her. Yet something unpleasantly intimate existed in seeing an expression no audience had been meant to receive. How extraordinary to still possess so much feeling that it could simply cross one's face without permission. Louise Bonnechoix had not spent a drop of her soul. Would she be the same when France was done with her?

Louise caught him watching. The openness vanished. "And what do you gain from this?"

Much better. Suspicion would keep her alive. Rodrick crossed to the table, lifted a tray James had left there, and set it beside her. Bread, cheese, slices of cold ham. Whatever came next, she would need strength.