Seduction by Brenda Joyce Page A

length from her, in the other bed.
    She expected to find Amelia watching her, an expression of accusation on her face.
    Instead, she saw her sister curled up on her side, soundly asleep.
    She inhaled, and the sound was loud in the quiet night. Julianne glanced at Amelia again. But her sister kept breathing evenly and deeply. Amelia worked herself to the bone by day, and fortunately, she slept deeply at night.
    But Julianne had many restless nights. When she couldn’t sleep, she had the habit of going downstairs to the library, where she would read. If Amelia awoke in the middle of the night, she would surely assume that Julianne was reading, even if she had been suspicious of her and Charles earlier.
    Her heart leapt. Very slowly, praying her bed would not creak, Julianne sat up. It was probably close to midnight. Outside, a few stars twinkled. A crescent moon hung in a partially cloudy night. Their window was cracked open—they both slept better if it was cool in the chamber—and a strong breeze was coming from the ocean. A shutter was banging against the side of the house. As she sat up, she heard the buoy bell that was outside the cove.
    Amelia never moved.
    Was she really going to get up and go to Charles’s room? Was she really going to make love to a man she had known for only two weeks—and when he had been conscious for only half of that time? Was she really going to give him her virginity? In a week or two, he would return to France.
    And he had said he would die for the cause of freedom.
    Sitting up, she hugged her knees to her chest. He had frightened her terribly when he had said he would die for their cause, but she had never respected or admired him more. And her heart was singing wildly— Julianne had little doubt that she had fallen deeply in love with him.
    She hadn’t ever realized how much a woman could desire a man. She had thought him terribly handsome before he’d ever opened his eyes; it was so much worse now. Their every conversation—their every encounter—fueled her desire. She hadn’t ever felt desire before, not like this. Touching him and being with him was all she could think about.
    She felt tears arise. He was going to go back to France and the war. She hated even thinking about the possibility that she might never see him again, or that he might even die. They had so little time left in which to be together!
    She flung off the bedcovers. She slid slowly to the floor, aware of the floorboard groaning, watching Amelia, who never moved.
    Julianne left the room quickly, closing the door quietly behind her. Her heart was rioting in her chest now.
    His fierce kiss had been haunting her since that morning. How could she not go to him?
    Julianne crossed the corridor, barefoot. The floors were cold, but she didn’t shiver—her skin felt feverishly hot.
    His door was closed, but not entirely shut. She raised her hand to knock, and realized how absurd that was.
    Julianne pushed open the door. As she stepped inside, she saw that the chamber remained slightly illuminated. Embers glowed in the hearth from the fire that had been made at supper time. Charles stood by the hearth, clad only in his knee-length drawers. He was staring over his shoulder at the door.
    “Julianne,” he said softly.
    She closed the door behind her, trembling. She was suddenly uncertain, insecure and oddly afraid. He was a stranger, but she loved him and he could die in France....
    He came forward, toward her. She hugged herself, gazing at his bare, sculpted chest, his concave, rippling belly, and then at the bulge pressing against thin cotton.
    He quickly crossed the small room, unsmiling, his eyes ablaze. “I wasn’t sure you would come.” He caught her shoulder with one hand, her chin with the other. “I want you to be sure.”
    “How could I refuse you now?” she whispered.
    He kissed her.
    She moved into the powerful circle of his arms, as his mouth opened hers. She forgot her doubts, her fears. This was