Last Chance for Paris - Merry Farmer Page 0,10

as fast as she could, turning the handle and dashing into the room without knocking.

Lord Sinclair stood by the washstand in the corner in nothing but his drawers, scrubbing his face with a towel. He jerked straight and whipped around in alarm as Solange clicked the door shut behind her, locking it. All it took was for Lord Sinclair’s expression to shift from shock to a wolfish grin for her to question the wisdom of her plan.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, lowering the towel from his face and revealing his broad chest as he did.

Solange reacted powerfully to the sight of him. His body was just so perfect, his muscles so well-defined, with just the right amount of hair on his chest. His drawers did little to hide what lay beneath them, and without intending to, Solange dropped her gaze to his hips. Her breath caught in her lungs as lust raged through her.

“I’m not usually the sort to allow a woman, even one as beautiful as you, to interrupt me in my nightly ablutions,” he went on, his smile teasing. He tossed his towel aside and moved closer to her. “Then again, it is Paris, and I did feel a spark between us this afternoon. And considering how topsy-turvy the McGoverns are, I’m willing to make an exception if you are.”

Solange backed against the locked door as Lord Sinclair closed in on her. He planted a hand on the door behind her, brushing his fingers under her chin and tilting her face up to his. He smelled of soap and musk. The heat of his body tempted her beyond measure. Her senses blurred as she stared at his mouth, which moved closer to hers by the second.

At the last moment before their lips touched, she yanked herself back to her senses and broke away from him, stumbling into the center of the room.

“How dare you assume I’ve come here to pleasure you?” she demanded.

He twisted toward her, blinking in surprise. “Why else would you sneak into my room without knocking and lock the door behind you? Especially after the two of us passed a pleasant afternoon together filled with flirtation?”

Solange’s mouth dropped open. “It wasn’t flirtation, it was—” It was absolutely flirtation. She realized it now. She’d been a miserable failure at pursuing her cause and attempting to bring the blackguard to justice. She was attracted to him, which only enraged her. “I know who you are,” she said, nearly shouting, marching toward him.

Lord Sinclair looked as confused as ever. “I’m Louis,” he said with a shrug, shaking his head. “At the moment, I don’t care to be more than that.”

“You are the son of the man who ruined my life and destroyed my family,” she growled, then gasped at the way she blurted out the truth so artlessly.

Lord Sinclair looked even more confused. “My father never did anything to hurt a fly, God rest his soul. He was the kindest and gentlest of men.”

“You lie.” She grabbed hold of her anger and used it to power her through the moment of truth. “You are the son of Andre Lafarge.”

Lord Sinclair’s expression went suddenly cold. “I am not.” He took a step toward her, thunder in his eyes. “Whatever rumors you heard, they are lies.”

Solange was so taken aback by his sudden fury that she backpedaled a few steps. She swallowed before saying, “It is well known that your mother was his lover.”

“My mother was his victim,” he said, pain joining the anger in his expression and his voice. “She was not a willing participant in the matter.”

“I—” Solange stammered for something to say but came up with nothing.

“Besides.” Lord Sinclair let out a breath and took a step back, his flash of anger waning. “I was born five years before the two of them ever met.”

“You were?” An odd feeling of joy filled Solange. He was telling the truth. She didn’t know how she knew, but she was certain of it.

Which meant that he wasn’t a villain after all. Furthermore, he wasn’t a blood relation either. The heat she’d been so disturbed by flooded through her once again, and God help her, she welcomed it.

“Since you barged in here unannounced, ready to hurl every kind of accusation at me,” he said, “I’ll tell you the truth.” He scrubbed a hand through his hair, his other hand planted on one hip. Given his state of undress, the juxtaposition of his seriousness and his nakedness was beyond alluring.