The Moonlight Mistress Read Free Page A

against the wall and scribbling in a notebook with a stub of pencil. Muffled voices emerged from other rooms, but she saw no one else. Perhaps everyone had gone to ground. She felt huddled insideher own mind, too tired right now to think and plan any longer. She envied Fournier, able to work even in the midst of dangerous upheaval.
    Her mind circled back to the sleeping arrangements. She could share. She’d shared a bed with her little brother, Crispin, when he’d been small. Fournier would be no different. He scarcely seemed aware of her as a woman. She discounted the moment when she’d been working on his arm. He’d only been joking with her.
    When they reached the room, she bolted the door. Having already placed a dry dressing on Fournier’s arm, she put away her first-aid kit, then slipped out of her borrowed dressing gown. Its dubious protection would be too hot and awkward to wear for sleeping. The air from the window felt a little cooler than earlier; the voices on the street less frequent, but more strident. She shivered when one basso voice abruptly yelled invective, of which she caught only one word: coward .
    Fournier straightened from tucking away his shaving kit. He seemed about to speak, then looked to the side. Lucilla waved to the bed. “You first. If we’re to share, you needn’t be overly concerned about modesty.”
    Fournier nodded once and stripped down to his combinations, which covered him from biceps to knees. He then knelt and reached into his rucksack once again. He produced a pistol and loaded it, quickly and efficiently. Lucilla had always avoided seeing Crispin handle his sidearm. She had never been so close to a deadly weapon before. Her heart went into her throat as he handled the gun, expecting it to go off at any moment. Fournier set it carefully on the upended steamer trunk before climbing into bed. “You can shoot?” he asked. “You could shoot a man?”
    Slowly, numbly, Lucilla shook her head.
    “If you must, aim for his body. Hold the gun with two hands. Squeeze the trigger, do not yank. Be gentle with it, and be prepared for it to—” He jerked his hand. “Do not let it fly from your grip. You have six shots.”
    Lucilla wasn’t sure what to say. At last, she settled for “Thank you.”
    “Let’s hope it will be of no consequence,” Fournier said. He turned to face the wall and tugged the bedding over his shoulder. Lucilla loosed her hair, switched off the electric light and climbed into bed beside him. She could not lie flat without touching him. She did not mind the brush of his warmth against her hip and shoulder, for she lay awake, nerves thrumming, staring up at the ceiling in the faint light from the window. Gradually, the street noise quieted, and she could hear Fournier’s steady breathing and the ticking of his wristwatch. She closed her eyes, but her heart raced and her leg muscles twitched as if they wanted to run. Where they touched, the heat spread and sank through her skin. She shifted restlessly.
    At least an hour had passed when Fournier said in a low rumble, “You aren’t sleeping.”
    “Nor are you,” Lucilla replied as softly as she could manage.
    Fournier turned over. He threw his uninjured arm over her ribs and pulled her to him. “Closer,” he said. “If you please.”
    His arm was like a hot brand. Lucilla could no longer deny that she wanted to touch him. She eased against his body. She would definitely never sleep now. Cautiously, she rested her hands on his arm, which now wrapped snugly around her, beneath her breasts.
    “Better,” he pronounced. He nestled his face into her hair,which was still damp from the bath. She could feel his breath fluttering on her scalp, and it flushed her entire body. He murmured, “This is better still.”
    She’d thought at first he’d meant to be seductive, but clearly she’d been wrong, for he made no further move. He was only comforting the dried-up spinster. It was crazed to feel disappointed that