Haidée decided not to head to the library after all—she was afraid that she would stumble upon another shady part of the observatory that she might not be able to get out of.
Eventually, she made her way back to the bedroom corridor and headed back to her room. For good measure, she locked her bedroom door from the inside and put a chair at the door so that the back of the chair stopped the doorknob from turning. The marten hopped off her shoulder and made its way to the desk at the end of the room. Haidée followed the animal and dumped the things that she had found onto the desktop. She sat down and began looking through the book for the symbols on the round telescope cards.
The marten seemed momentarily distracted by the shiny pseudo-key that it had found in the observatory attic. It batted the object around making it clink along the surface in an irregular patter, clashing with the sound of the persistent rain outside.
Haidée finally slammed the book down and glared at the marten. “Stop that. It’s annoying.”
The marten looked up with a faux innocent expression, blinking its bright black eyes. It batted at the pseudo-key once more, making one particularly loud thunk.
She gave an exasperated sigh and stood up. “That did not help.”
It was then that the marten scampered off of the desk and raced across the floor, drawing her eye toward her trunks near the wardrobe. She frowned. On the surface, the scene looked perfectly fine, but something was off. Was one of the trunks moved? Did she move one this morning and forget that she moved it?
She walked over to the trunks just as the marten raced back to her feet, chattering and hoping that its mistress would be up for some play. But Haidée brushed the creature off as she bent down to open one of the trunks. On the top were her clothes, neatly packed. Her shoes and slippers were still paired. Underneath the first layer were several bottles of her tonic and a few volumes of poetry. She narrowed her gaze as she took stock of her belongings. The bottles were unopened, but the volumes of poetry did not appear to be in the order that she had packed them.
Hurriedly, she opened her other trunk to check the order of her belongings. Everything was there but they seemed to be in a subtly different order. She felt a mental chill as she realized that someone had gone through her things. In a frenzy, she began tearing around the room to see if anything else was out of place. The marten squeaked in surprise at her sudden manic behavior and dove underneath the bed to escape her trampling feet.
Finally, she stood in the middle of the room, feeling breathless and angry. “Damn it. Who could have had the audacity?” Her eye fell upon the narrow door to the bathroom. “Damn him. Bastard!”
She stormed across the room and wrenched the bathroom door open. The small green and blue tiled room greeted her silently. Nothing there seemed out of place—because there was hardly thing there except towels, soaps, and lotions. She glared at the opposite door which led to Renaud’s bedroom. She was furious with the implications. The only person who could have searched her room with ease would be Renaud since their keys to the shared bathroom was the same.
Haidée went back into her room to grab her bathroom key and went back to his door. Momentarily, she pressed her ear to the door to listen for any movement on the other side. There was nothing. She hoped that he had gone back to his research in the cellar of the observatory as she pushed her key into his lock and turned. She pushed the door open and the faint light from the bathroom spilled over into the interior of the astronomer’s bedroom.
Like any other fastidious intellectual, Renaud’s bed was perfectly made. His own trunks were pushed to the side of the room, away from the windows which were locked. His guest room was similar to hers, in that there was a wardrobe and a desk. But the desk in this room was smaller with fewer drawers. The rest of the room was taken up by two bookshelves stuffed full with books and rolled up charts. Various astronomical instruments were scattered on the top shelf.
Haidée looked on the desk which was completely cleared. She went through the drawers finding nothing but the usual writing materials. She slammed the last drawer shut, feeling frustrated. If Renaud had searched her room, he was probably well aware that someone else could search his room. If he had anything of importance, he would never hide it in the obvious places.
She glanced at the bookshelf and grimaced at all the volumes. She started on the shelf at hand level and took out the first book which looked like a text on the constellations. She flipped through the pages and found nothing. Haidée shoved the volume back onto the shelf and reached for the next one.
The main door to Renaud’s bedroom suddenly slammed open. Renaud himself strolled into the room. Haidée straightened up in shock and stared at him. He stared back, surprised.
Lightning from outside pulsed through the window to illuminate the fact that Renaud was soaking wet. His navy blue coat was dripping water onto the floor. His wet breeches molded to his thighs like a second skin. His long dark hair was loose and wet, running down his neck to his shoulders like a slick river. His golden rimmed spectacles slipped an inch down his aristocratic nose.
“What,” he said, his voice dark and cold, “are you doing in my room?”
At the sound of his voice, she gasped and sprang into action, leaping toward the narrow door to the bathroom.
But he was quicker, striking out like a snake snagging prey. Before her hand could reach the door, she felt his fingers curl into her elbow to jerk her back. She nearly tripped on her own feet when he twisted her around to face him.
“Let me go, brute.” She tried to slip her arm away from his grasp but he only tightened his fingers and grabbed her other arm.
“Why are you in my room?” Past his rain slicked spectacles his dark gaze bored through her. He was truly angry, she realized. His previous behavior was nothing compared to this. This controlled violence forced a shudder through her that she could not hide.
“Why?” he repeated.
She flinched, but she surprised herself by holding his gaze. “You searched my room.”
“What?”
Feeling a bit more on solid ground and channeling righteous indignation, she said louder, “You searched my room. You invaded my privacy. That only gives me right to be here. You could have stolen something of mine.”
His lips flattened. “Why the hell would I want to look through your things? I have no interest in the latest Parisian fashions.”
“You’re lying.”
He was silent for a moment. Then abruptly, he pushed her against the back of the bathroom door. His wet hair dripped onto the skin at the hollow of her throat. His breath fanned warmly on her cheek. He was so close that she could see the pupils of his eyes, large against a background of brown streaked with gold.
“So what if I went through the books of poetry on the bottom of your trunks. So what if I counted your bottles of laudanum and fingered through your chemises. That gives you no right to go through my things.”
Her pulse pounded in her ears as she listened to his soft, dark voice. She swallowed and the ridiculous thought that he wanted to kiss her flitted through her mind.
“Don’t you dare try to pin the blame on me,” she managed to reply. “If you were so bold to break into my room, don’t be so naïve to expect that no one would invade your privacy.”
The muscle in his jaw tightened. “My God.” He stepped away from her. “Save me from your excuses.”
“I was being logical.”
“Logical?” He tore his coat off and flung it onto the chair next to the desk. “Do you think logic will excuse you?” His waistcoat joined his jacket.
She felt her cheeks heat. Renaud had indeed been hiding underneath his ill-fitting coats. His shoulders were broad, his torso perfectly proportioned, tapering into a slim waist. Other men with a similar physique would have flaunted it as much as possible. “Tell me why you searched my room. What were you hoping to find?”
He began unbuttoning his shirt. She caught the gleam of muscle. “Indication that you were more than what you said you were.”
“You should know that actresses always pretend to be more than what they really are.” She managed a strangled sound at the back of her throat when his shirt came off. “What are you doing?”
“I’m taking off my wet clothes,” he replied, his voice slightly mocking. “I don’t want to walk around in a damp shirt and catch a cold.” He took off his spectacles and placed them on the desk. Then his fingers headed towards the tops of his breeches.
She managed to wrench her gaze off him. “I can’t believe you’re undressing now. I’m leaving.”
His fingers caught her wrist just as she turned. She looked down at his fingers which were long and dark against her skin.
“I’m surprised.” His whisper tickled the edge of her ear. “Why would an experienced actress like you shy away from me?”
She whipped her head around suddenly angry. “Just because I’m an actress doesn’t mean that I’m…”
His mouth came down over hers, silencing her next words. She stood still and frozen as his lips moved, coaxing her mouth open. She whimpered and sensing her growing weakness, his tongue slipped between her lips to taste her.
Involuntarily, her free hand came up to rest on his shoulder. Renaud changed the angle of his kiss and her fingers slipped, sliding against his skin. She barely registered the position of her hand—at that moment, the center of her universe was his hot, ardent mouth which now nipped at her bottom lip and moved to her throat.
She reached up to grab a fistful of his wet hair. “Jacot.”
“Hmm.”
“We can’t be doing this.”
“Why not?” She felt his hands trail up her back to finger the lacing in her bodice. “It seems somewhat unfair that you are far more dressed than I am.”
She wanted him to pull the laces, but she said instead, “I’m not easy.”
“Haidée.” Her name on his tongue made her harden her grip on his arm. He raised his head and looked down at her, giving her a sly smile. “I know you’re not easy.”
His mouth hovered above her, making her breathe hard in anticipation.
A harsh pounding at Renaud’s door forced him to pause. Haidée stood with her back to the bathroom door feeling suddenly tense. Renaud loomed over her, his head tilted slightly to listen to the noise.
“Monsieur Renaud!” came a muffled voice from the other side of the door. It sounded like Claude. “It’s Monsieur D’Aubigne. Something quite terrible has happened.”
Almost immediately, Haidée was released. She watched Renaud stroll to the other side of the room.
“I’ll be out in a moment,” he called out. He went to the wardrobe to pull out a dry shirt. “Mademoiselle Avenall, I think it would be best if you go back to your room.”
At the sound of her formal address, she stiffened. “Monsieur Renaud, if you think to send me to my room to spare me the trauma of whatever may have happened to Monsieur D’Aubigne, you’re sadly mistaken.”
“Haidée…”
She whirled back through the connecting bathroom before he could try to explain.