Nothing But Deception by Allegra Gray

Author:Allegra Gray [Gray, Allegra]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi, pdf
Publisher: Kensington
Published: 2010-09-19T21:00:00+00:00

The breeze blew across her skin, reminding Bea she was lying naked in the woods. As though of the same mind, Philippe shifted next to her, propping himself up on an elbow. “Beautiful Beatrice,” he murmured. “Perhaps we should dress?” He eyed the picnic basket. “And also eat? I am famished.”

“How like a man,” she teased him, attempting to keep the mood light and cozy. As desperately as she wanted to know his deeper thoughts, she wasn’t sure she could bear it if they did not match her own—if what they’d just done had not meant as much to him as it had to her.

She allowed him to help her dress, at least to a point of half-modesty. There was no point redoing all those buttons if she were going to be clad in the rose silk after they’d eaten. She laid out the luncheon. The staff had thoughtfully sent both lemonade and wine. She chose and poured the wine, preferring to soften the remaining edges of the day. When they sat, Bea was surprised to discover she was just as ravenous as Philippe, and they both ate heartily. She let her gaze wander as she bit into herbed pheasant and spiced cucumbers.

Philippe’s paints still sat at the edge of the rose garden, virtually unused this day. The afternoon had not yet waned. She only hoped that if Lily returned, her companion didn’t question too closely the lack of progress on the painting. Bea felt heat creep up her cheeks.

How very much her life had changed in a few short weeks. As for her brief foray into the world of espionage, she was glad that was over. But everything else, everything since meeting Philippe—she wouldn’t change for the world. Of course, eventually he would complete his painting, and what then? She didn’t want to look that far ahead. Because Bea knew she could never go back.

Going back meant the endless procession of teas and soirees that left her mind full of meaningless chatter and her heart an empty void. She couldn’t go back to that life, which had really been no life at all. Not now that she’d known the first taste of passion. To do so would be naught but a slow death.

She was in over her head already. Because as much as Bea knew she could never go back, she feared what would become of her if she gave herself over, fully, to this desire. No flame could burn so hot and last for long.

He would paint her, consume her with that passion of his. And when he was done, she’d be alone again, left clinging to memories in the face of a bleak future.

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