Gallant Match Read Free Page A

irritation in his voice. “A few border skirmishes do not make a war. There is nothing whatever to fear.”
    The lady paid scant attention to her father, which led Kerr to discount much of the man’s sternness as bombast. Her concentration was on him. “What of it, monsieur? You are in agreement?”
    It was all Kerr could do to concentrate on the words falling from her lips with their tender curves and lush, berry-stain surfaces. He could feel his mouth water with the need to taste their sweetness. Staring at them was not the most intelligent thing he’d ever done, but seemed better than allowing his gaze to settle upon the enticing décolletage such a short distance below. Amazingly, he could feel his body responding, stirring as hot blood surged in his veins.
    He was also aware of a prickling at the back of his neck, a warning he had learned not to ignore these past few years. It came, he thought, from the tension in her grasp, the intent appraisal he saw in the depths of her eyes.
    â€œOh, there’ll be war,” he allowed, his tone even, though a little gruffer than he had intended.
    â€œA dangerous situation then.”
    â€œCould be.”
    â€œPapa thinks it will not matter, that civilians, particularly females, will be safe enough regardless of what may happen. What think you? Will I be safe?”
    Kerr’s private opinion was that Bonneval was over-confident about Mexican gallantry. Either that or he had no particular care for his daughter’s safety. Such details were no more his business than the discord between the pair. All he required from Bonneval was the job of escorting the future bride. He needed that as his ticket to Mexico and entrée into Rouillard’s household, and that was all he needed.
    â€œI doubt your father would deliberately put you at risk,” he answered with self-conscious diplomacy.
    â€œYou are certain you wish to venture the journey yourself?”
    â€œAlways planned on making it. This seems as good a way as any.” Plain words, those. Kerr winced away from them in his mind. A lady like this one would be accustomed to more polished phrases, to graceful compliments and assurances of her safety tacked onto every reply like lace around the edges of a Valentine. They weren’t in him. He said what he meant and meant what he said. Most of the time, he never gave it a second thought.
    â€œIt’s unlikely Monsieur Wallace will feel concern, my dear Sonia,” her father said with a trace of derision. “He is a maître d’armes, after all.”
    The lady snatched her hand away as if she touched hot coals. “What?”
    â€œA teacher of fencing with his salon on the Passage de la Bourse which runs from rue Saint Louis to—”
    â€œI know where it is! But you can’t mean this.”
    â€œCome, ma chère, you didn’t think I would trust your protection to just anyone. You should be delighted to know you will have an expert at swordplay accompanying you, a gentleman intimately acquainted with danger, since you are so certain it awaits you.”
    â€œDon’t mock me, Papa! How can you think such a one will be acceptable? But you did not think it. You know he will not do.”
    The lady appeared rigid with distress, her hands clenched into fists at her sides and her color so high her cheeks seemed to flame with it. Her eyes were hot enough to shoot blue lightning and her red lips compressed into a firm line. It was quite a show, particularly the way her breasts strained at the silk that confined them, barely, at her bodice.
    Kerr stepped back and crossed his arms over his chest as he waited to see how matters would settle out. If he was pained by her rejection, and he was in some peculiar fashion, he refused to allow it to matter.
    Her father leaned over his desk, resting his fingertips on the polished surface. “He is a gentleman who comes with references of the most impeccable,