The Last Time I Saw Paris - Lynn Sheene [67]
“That didn’t work out so well for them.” Claire smiled. Even she knew they ended up on the guillotine, their reward for the same beauty she enjoyed today.
“But the gardens remain for all. And children play.” He gestured with his head at an elderly couple on a bench. The man had his arm around the woman’s rounded shoulders; their heads leaned toward each other as if they were sharing a secret. “And lovers . . .” He glanced at Claire then and looked away.
“What happened, Grey? Why did you leave?” Claire surprised herself with the question.
“The less one knows, the better.”
“Not always.”
He looked at her as if judging the weight of her words. “I heard about what you’ve been doing. What you did.”
“And?” Claire scanned his face. She couldn’t tell from his expression how he felt about her arrangement with Kinsel. About her. She was surprised to find she cared. Still. Damn.
A few more steps before he spoke. “The British government made a very tentative but very intriguing offer last fall.”
“To you?”
He smiled. “Not me specifically. A voice whispered in the wind, so to speak. But several of us were convinced they had some things that would be very useful.”
“Like?”
“Money. Guns. Radios. Information.”
“All the essentials,” Claire said.
“No. Not even close. But worth a trip.”
Claire hid a smile as she toyed with the bouquet in her arms. “So, all you were doing was running guns and trying to topple the Nazis? I heard much worse about you.”
He looked away.
She nearly chuckled. “A woman and illegitimate child in London. That was your official story, you know.”
He jerked his head back, as if stung. Claire felt as though the air was sucked from the sky around them. He didn’t even try to deny it.
She breathed past the sharp ache in her chest and mustered a smile. “Well, then. This is for you.”
He took it, his eyes on her face. “It is beautiful.”
“Merci,” she said, her mind on the envelope inside. It was like a loaded gun. Whose death it may cause, she didn’t know. Hopefully not his.
He stopped under a tree, turned to face her. With the tilt of his head, Grey indicated the few people that lingered in the park. He glanced at his feet before meeting Claire’s eyes. “You know we are supposed to be lovers, walking together. For show. Before I go, perhaps?” He leaned down toward her, tilted his head.
Claire leaned up to him. His eyes were open, searching hers until their lips connected. She concentrated on his mouth, soft but probing. This was what you cannot have, she thought, her mouth drifting open.
He pulled her into him, crushed his mouth into hers, tasting her. Hungry lips, one hard arm around her shoulders, the other tight around her waist. The warmth of his body radiated through her dress. A slow vibration started in her toes, rose up through her body. She felt lightheaded; her body responded as her mind tried to piece together who he was, what he was to her. Yes, she thought. Then, a chill cut through her. A woman and child.
Claire jerked backward, pulling free from his grip. He dropped his arms and straightened. The line of his mouth thinned, his jaw clenched. She couldn’t read his expression. Angry at himself or at her refusal?
“You take your role too seriously, Monsieur.” Claire smoothed her dress against her hips. Embarrassment turned to anger. Because she left her husband to come here, because of Laurent, he expected her to line up behind whatever woman he had set aside?
She knew better than to let herself feel this way. She swallowed the hurt, the embarrassment. She would face that later. Alone. She pointed at the bouquet. “Take care with that, Grey. And put those flowers in some water, would you?” She walked away without waiting for his reply.