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  “Because I’m a woman?”

  “Of course.”

  He said this without any trace of amusement. Charlotte could have slammed her boot in his arrogant, oh-so beautiful face. The gall!

  “While you and Jean-Louis were at the crusade, I was the one running the distillery. I took care, and still do, of everything. The Bourbon-Condé name prospered and continues to do so under me. Don’t forget that.”

  As if a cloud had passed over his soul, his eyes darkened to slate gray and Guilabert crossed his arms over his plated chest. His family crest, a hawk rampant over azure, gleamed like liquid fire. “And you shouldn’t forget that Jean-Louis is older. He’s the true owner of the distillery. Not you.”

  “Go to hell.”

  “I’ve been there already.”

  She meant some acid remark, something cruel and to the point. The lump in her throat barred everything else but air. And even then.

  Guilabert’s expression remained glacial as he mounted his horse and pulled on the reins. “I still keep hope that you’ll do what’s best for your family. You need a man to protect you, Charlotte. A woman alone isn’t safe in this world.”

  Charlotte lowered her gaze when he passed so he would not see the hurt. Anger bubbled up her throat. How dare he lecture her on what role a woman should play? While he and Jean-Louis had chosen, chosen, to fight some distant war, she had had to remain at home and make sure they still had a home to return to. Men left, dropping responsibilities and duties on women’s shoulders, but when they returned, they wanted to take it all back as if naught had happened.

  She knuckled the tears from her eyes. “‘You need a man to protect you, Charlotte,’” she parroted under her breath. Like the Devil she did! What—whom—exactly, should she be protected against? A shiver tingled up her neck.

  Perhaps she should let Armand know. Her overseer could place sentries at night about the distillery. She always worked so late.

  The thought left as soon as it registered. Foolish woman. Guilabert would say anything to make her change her mind. It was not the first time. Yet she could not deny the icy glint in his eyes nor the weight of his words as they settled into her gut.

  No, she thought, she would not tell Armand, but she would be more careful from now on and carry a weapon. Just in case…

  * * * * *

  “A plague on him,” Charlotte grumbled as she chewed on the lead plummet.

  No use trying to concentrate, she could sit there no more. Every sound made her twitch—every smell was suspicious. Guilabert had succeeded in turning her in to a nervous wreck.

  It had been two weeks already but their conversation still lingered. Like a stench.

  Charlotte pushed away from the desk and leaned back in the chair. Her ring gleamed on her left thumb and she lovingly traced the ruby in its crest. Tears welled. Charlotte willed them away and looked out the window.

  Summer was almost over but the air was hot and humid tonight. Underneath the tunic, her undertunic clung and made her feel uncomfortable and cross. With a long sigh, she snapped the ledger shut and pushed it at arm’s length. She should go home.

  Keeping her senses acute for any sign of danger, Charlotte barred the office on the mezzanine and stepped down the narrow stairs into the darkness of the main floor. There she kept her hand on the hilt of the dagger at her waist as she navigated the ricks of barrels with practiced ease.

  When she stepped outside, a warm breeze caressed her neck and face. Naught save the occasional night bird stirred the air. A crescent moon glowed high in the sky. Charlotte made her way to the stable, but as she drew near a flash of silver caught her attention. To her right, between trees, the river twinkled invitingly.

  She was so warm, the river so alluring. Perhaps she could revisit their old hiding place where they used to jump off rocks into the frigid river. It would be just like old times. Only she would be alone. The familiar sting burned her eyes. How she missed Jean-Louis. He would put Guilabert back in his place, he would trust her with the business. He had left it in her hands after all eight years ago.

  The river twinkled again. Charlotte grinned. A little swim would do no harm.

  Keeping her hand on the dagger, she entered the woods edging the nearest bank of the river and followed the well-worn path upstream. Workers milled here during the day, but she knew the whole length of the narrow path, not only the wider end. As the moon shone overhead, casting bluish light in dappled pattern through the leaves, Charlotte marched upstream. When she recognized the little bent tree that announced the end of the main path, she slowed and slipped between a pair of large maples. Here though, Charlotte had to step over and swerve around many obstacles. She could not remember there having been so many. A few branches caught her across the face and chest, but she mostly made unhindered progress through the woods. To her right, the river still glimmered like a jewel. Its water would be a cool caress, she knew.

  Soon, a sound rumbled in the distance. The cascade drew nearer. Charlotte grinned. If she remembered correctly, then that strange-looking rock right over there announced the end of the path. The sound of the cascade intensified. Not the thunderous roar of her impressionable youth but a solid growl just the same. She rounded a bend in the river and stopped.

  There it was.

  Dimmed with the years and not as majestic as she remembered, it was still their cascade. Her cascade now.

  She could not keep the grin from her face as she fought the last clingy branches and emerged onto the uneven, rocky bank. The river coursed narrow here, but swift. Anyone who fell in its water would be swept downstream. There was a bowl-like dimple about twenty feet in diameter at the base of the cascade where they used to dive. It looked too shallow to dive in now but still deep enough for a good swim.

  Knowing the High Road passed somewhere over the cascade, Charlotte kept to the trees and pulled her boots, hose and tunic off. What of the dagger? She was loath to bring it into the water for fear of ruining it. With a sigh, she wrapped the belt over the dagger and its sheath and hid it under her hose.

  She was about to step into the water when the sound of tumbling rocks froze her. Quickly, Charlotte crouched by a small boulder not nearly large enough to hide her. It was all she had close by. Liquid drums thrummed in her ears. She was half naked! Apprehension tingled up her spine. Her dagger was already too far behind. She would not reach it without attracting attention.

  By the silvery light, she spotted a form moving through the trees upstream barely twenty paces away. This had to be someone coming in from the High Road and not from the smaller one running through her land. Who traveled at this time of night?

  Her answer came in the guise of a dark form scrambling down the bank. A man judging by the size of the shoulders. He dropped a large sack at his feet and slid some pieces of garment over his head. Charlotte slapped her hands over her mouth when a naked torso appeared from under the garments followed by a pair of legs.

  A very naked man turned in her direction and walked right into the dimple of river meant for her. The beating of her heart accentuated, painful, arrhythmic, until she had to press her palm to her chest. Good God, he was completely naked.

  Chapter Two

  As much as Charlotte wanted to back away, gather her things and leave, she was frozen in place as if the soles of her feet had been nailed to the ground. This was dishonorable. She should at least lower her gaze.

  Yet the helpful moon provided more than enough light to reveal the man’s muscled form. More glorious a male body she had never seen. Not that she had seen many. In his early thirties perhaps, with a thick upper body and muscled legs. The hair was very pale and straight, cut about the nape of his neck, almost as a monk but longer. Wide, rounded shoulders gleamed when he bent forward and splashed water on himself. He straightened and Charlotte spotted a gleam of gold on his thick chest.

  Perhaps she could cough politely to let him know he was not alone. Yet doing so would break the riveting scene now displayed for
her. Charlotte felt her nipples harden beneath the undertunic. Guilt prickled her skin. She would not want to discover she had been spied upon during such intimate moments and this man undoubtedly felt the same. She meant to tear her gaze away, she truly did. Yet Charlotte continued to stare as the oblivious man walked deeper in the river, in water up to his waist. He sighed in contentment.

  After he splashed water on his arms and shoulders, he dipped his head back and disappeared under the surface. He emerged soon after, his body glistening in the moonlight, his hair plastered back on his skull in a way that only served to emphasize the perfect proportions of his firm-looking and fit body. With short, quick strokes, he rubbed his arms and chest, his neck. Charlotte was in a sweat trying to fight the rising desire clawing at her. As though fighting a fever, her skin pebbled.

  She should leave. Now. It was so wrong.

  As if his senses had alerted him to her presence, he turned toward her and froze.

  Panicked, Charlotte jumped to her feet and took a step back but misjudged and lost her balance. With a yelp, she staggered back and landed among rocks.

  The sound of splashing water cut through the pain of the sharp stones digging in her backside and palms. Oh God, he was coming for her!

  Floundering to her feet, she stifled another yelp when a hand closed like a bear trap over her upper arm and pulled her to her feet without apparent effort. Not that her wiry frame weighed much but still, she was taller and heavier than most women.

  “I’m sorry…I didn’t mean to pry but I was here first,” she stammered, hating herself for it. How the townsfolk would be shocked to see their “Ice Queen” stammer like a débutante.

  She turned to face him and could not help but marvel at his exquisite stature. He was even more striking up close. Water like crystal beads dotted his skin. A small gold cross gleamed on his chest.

  Good God. What is that?

  Charlotte gasped audibly. Thin silver lines crisscrossed his muscled torso and shoulders. Whiplash scars. A lot of them. Other scars, some appearing old, others older, made a map of his skin. She tore her gaze from his chest and planted it on his face.

  “There’s enough water to go around,” he replied gruffly. Eyes so pale as to look cut from ice stared at her unblinkingly.

  I should say something. I definitely should say something.

  Charlotte chanted the mantra in her head but could find no words. The ache in her belly intensified and seeped down between her legs to a sex growing slicker by the moment. Her thighs began to cramp painfully. Shame made her avoid his gaze. Feelings she thought long buried surfaced, poked out from underneath layers of bitterness and isolation that years spent alone fighting the current had caused. Lust blazed like a merciless sun. There was nowhere to hide from its stabbing light that illuminated every dark and sordid corner of her soul. An image of the splendid man making love to her flashed in her mind’s eye. Under the undertunic, her nipples hardened into pebbles. They must have shown through the flimsy fabric. He would think her an indecent woman. She wanted to groan in despair. Yearning very close to pain gripped her. How she wanted to taste this man, to let her hands roam over his compact body.

  What was she thinking! She needed no man. She did not even know him. He might have been a robber for all she knew. Or worse…

  Still the silence dragged on.

  He must have sensed her uneasiness for he narrowed his eyes and released her arm. When she lifted her gaze to him, her breathing accelerated. So she was not the only one wrestling against lascivious thoughts. Lust blazed in his pale eyes, made the ambrosial lips gleam temptingly. A deep sigh swelled his chest. His own struggles looked greater still for he audibly gritted his teeth and looked away.

  Without her meaning to, she caught herself peeking down the length of him. Oh my. She pressed her lips together when she discovered he looked as aroused as she felt. Charlotte glanced up just in time to meet his gaze.

  He opened his mouth to say something but clamped it shut again. Without warning, he leaned in and planted a swift, light kiss on her mouth.

  Fire spread through her face, down her throat, into her belly. She did not even know him. She should push him back. Scream and kick and thrash. She was tall and strong and had dealt with men all her life. Her dagger. Perhaps she could push him away and run for her weapon. She could use it, and well.

  He retreated at once, looking as shocked as she felt.

  Their gazes met and locked. A lifetime of words could not have expressed more than that single look, the depth and intensity of his gaze, the unspoken passion stirring beneath the hard exterior as he fought to contain or even perhaps deny it. But she’d seen the warmth even if she instinctively knew the man would never acknowledge it. The warmth and the passion, a thirst for life suppressed long ago. He was trapped inside his own body. How she knew all of this with a single look, Charlotte could only guess. Two things she understood—he would not harm her and she could mend the hurt she saw. Then again, she hurt just as acutely from the same privation. As two starving people reaching the feast at the same time, she recognized that they could nourish one another, appease the loneliness. Even if for a short while.

  To her amazement, her hands appeared on his scarred chest. When had she decided to touch him? I’ll push him away. That’s it. Then make a run for it. That’s what I should do. He’s a stranger.

  The scars were satiny ribbons under her fingers. Instead of pushing him away though—she suspected she’d never really had any intentions of doing so—she snaked her hands over his shoulders and behind his solid neck. Such glorious skin, like silk left under a hot midday sun.

  How her flesh had become traitorous in the span of a moment. She could no more push this man away than move a boulder. The latter sounded even more plausible right at that moment.

  Her inviting gesture seemed to spur him on. He sighed as he encircled her waist in his strong arms and pressed her close. He seemed desperate to merge them both into one person, as if he’d long denied himself, spent years, his entire life, renouncing his own needs. Charlotte let him arch her back, feeling his hardness against her lower belly. He was so hot. His warmth seeped through her undertunic. She shivered.

  How could this man awaken her body with only a kiss? She swore she could feel herself melting within his fiery embrace.

  A hand both rough and gentle left the small of her back and traveled up her side. Her heartbeat spiked to a full gallop now. His hand…

  He cupped her breast and squeezed slightly, hesitantly. Charlotte gasped and arched farther back to stare at him. His raw masculinity overwhelmed her. Every feature seemed chiseled by a master’s sure touch, from high brow, straight jaw to perfect, arched eyebrows. Except for his nose, which had been clearly broken sometime in the past.

  She meant to say something but he dove for her mouth and silenced her with a deep kiss. Charlotte parted her lips to allow his fiery tongue access. His lips felt supple and warm against hers. A blaze rushed up her belly and stirred the skin of her breasts into tight goose bumps. Through the thin fabric, the heat of his hand tightened her nipple. Leaving her mouth, he trailed kisses down her throat. All she could do was stand there and offer as much skin as she possibly could. Some baroness.

  A soft moan escaped him when she dug her nails in his back while simultaneously parting her thighs to allow one of his in between. Her sex rubbing against his hard muscles produced a twinge of pleasure sharp and intense…and profoundly forbidden.

  He pulled away with a strangled moan. She almost fell and stumbled back a step to regain her balance. He rubbed a hand over his face with a look of guilt and distress that twisted his countenance. Despite the poor light, she saw his eyes welling, as though a dam had been breached and all the misery in the world was pouring out through his eyes. Hair stuck out in tufts between his fingers when he curled them into a tight fist. The man had knuckles the size of walnuts.

  He hissed a long breath. “It’s… I can’t.”

  She wanted to sa
y something, to tell him—to beg him—to continue, that to leave her this way was cruelty. No words found their way up her throat. Instead, she stepped forward and put a hand over his scarred chest. His torment touched her, stirred her heart. He seemed so bent on denying his flesh, something Charlotte knew very well. She drew near.

  He would have taken a step back had he been able but a ridge of small boulders was blocking his path so he stood his ground. A look of panic flared his eyes. Charlotte let her hand slide down his arm and grabbed his hand. A working hand.

  “We don’t know each other but just for this one moment, let’s forget who we are.”

  Clutching his hand in hers, she moved into the water until it reached her waist before turning to him and waiting for his reaction. He’d followed placidly then turned to meet her gaze when she stopped. The water stiffened her already hard nipples, made her tremble. He put gentle but calloused hands on either side of her face and leaned in so he could rest his brow on hers, as if he needed the support, needed something to hold on to. A man so strong leaning against her for support stoked the already blazing inferno in her belly.

  With skill she did not know she possessed, Charlotte slithered trembling fingers through his hair and down his spine, eliciting a series of ragged breaths from him. Alternately firm and tender, she caressed his back down to his bottom, circled his hips then snaked back up along his belly where scars had not spared a hand’s-breadth of skin before ending her journey on his jaw, which she cupped while she stared into his icy blue eyes. He visibly tensed.

  As if unable to deny himself any longer, he gripped her by the shoulders and brought her against his chest. Thick muscles corded and dislodged the small golden cross from between his pectorals. She raised her chin to meet his lips.

  For the first time in her life, Charlotte was able to quiet the scolding voice in her head, the one that had denied her pleasure and companionship—the one that insisted she be the Iron Lady in charge of the Bourbon-Condé empire. She let herself go. Completely. Trusting.