Disclaimer: Cameron and Eglee own Dark Angel; no copyright infringement intended.
Summary: M and L in early 17th century London. Can true love withstand the test of time, not to mention my attempt at Romance writing?
Rating: R.
A/N: Ooops! I may have got a little carried away with this romance genre thing. Candlelight, dinner, amber glows, petticoats, and fresh fruit; guess we'll see if the plot survives, not to mention making it to another chapter.
Thanks to Fin Tuscany for suggesting an investigation into the clothing of the day. Amazing the English ever survived all that multiple layering. On the other hand, it certainly wasn't a time for purchasing shares in Hanes.

Title:  Loveless in London
Chapter 8: The Best Laid Plans…

It was perfect. The aroma of rosemary and garlic wafted through the warmth of the kitchen as the fire crackled in the hearth and candles bathed the room in an amber glow. The chicken, tender and golden, lay on the platter awaiting the thickening sauce laden with vegetable that Logan was absently stirring.

How such perfection had come about the man leaning over the Dutch oven on the stovetop had no idea. While chopping, trussing, glazing and a myriad of other tasks had occupied his hands his mind had been elsewhere. His mind had been on Max, or rather Max had been on his mind; one having long since dominated the other.

Rationality evaporated the moment she drifted, unbidden, into his thoughts and his heart and senses leaped into the void with the enthusiasm of child bounding from the house on the first warm day of spring. Moreover, while his mind was somersaulting, his typically coordinated and cooperative body assumed the grace of an adolescent boy when she made an appearance. He only had to sense her entrance into the fencing sale and Bling was assured an easy point. The swish of her petticoats as she passed him in the courtyard was enough to send him tripping over his feet on the cobblestones. The hint of a smile playing on her lips as she poured the port at dinner condemned another shirt to wine stained oblivion. He just hoped his efforts to appear suave, preoccupied and unaffected by her presence were enough to cover up his embarrassment at his complete disorientation.

How such a small package of beauty and spirit could leave a previously self assured, even-tempered, intelligent man in such a state was beyond him. It was a new experience, perplexing and unnerving but undeniably pleasant. While every brain cell still functioning screamed at him to keep his distance the rest of his stupefied being wanted to grab her hand, drag her away from the stifling confines of this class ridden society, pull her into his arms and explore the fire dancing behind those huge, mysterious eyes.

Instead, they would eat, make pleasant conversation and he would all the time remember that she was a commoner, he a member of the nobility and the only relationship they could ever have would be secret and without a future. He set two places side by side on the kitchen table in front of the roaring fire. He had seen men of his rank using serving girls, taking what they wanted without having to offer anything in return; not able to offer anything even if they had wished. Their worlds were too far apart to ever allow a relationship based on equality. Carefully he moved his place setting to the opposite side of the wide table.

Not that Max would even be interested in a relationship. Was that the attraction? He had long ago become bored with the attentions of women eager to throw themselves at him and his fortune. He wished, not for the first time, that she were a woman of noble birth whom he could court and who could tell him to go to hell if she wanted. In which case he would pursue her relentlessly until he understood the power she held over him. He wiped a hand over his brow trying to banish the image of Max, eyes ablaze, hands on her shapely hips, her soft skin flushed with anger standing defiantly before him in the kitchen. He returned the bottle of wine he had set out on the table to the wine rack. Tonight he needed to remain clearheaded and in charge of his emotions and the situation.

He returned to the oven and ladled the thickened sauce and vegetables over the chicken. Dinner was ready.

*****

Max stopped outside the door, her body relishing the warmth seeping through the doorway and her mouth watering in response to the tantalizing culinary smells drifting along with it. She held herself back and took a deep, settling breath; composer was imperative. This was her last chance to get what she wanted. Everything had to be perfect.

Restless hands checked her hair. Her curls tumbled, soft and silky, onto her shoulders; shining darkly against the gleaming white of her newly washed shift. A modest bodice covered her from ample breast to slim waist and her starched and pressed petticoats rustled primly when she moved. Again she breathed deeply, enjoying the smell of clean linen overlaying the hint of delicate perfume on her skin.

It had taken her ages to fill the cast iron tub with kettles of water and even longer to find and select the necessary toiletries to transform her into this soft, seductive, vision of femininity. Margo's room being inaccessible, she had targeted the next best groomed individual in the household, Normal, and discovered a baffling array of oils and fragrant potions arranged neatly in his room in between life sized portraits of Queen Elizabeth and Niccolo Machievelli and next to a large collection of Dutch clogs. In her haste, she had resisted her natural inclination to snoop further, promising herself a quick pry into his closets between dealing with Master Cale and Margo's jewelry boxes and her subsequent flight out of London.

Tonight her plans would go like clockwork: dinner, flirtation, predictable male reaction, trip upstairs past pesky wolfhound, temporarily debilitating blow to the head, thievery and quick get-away. Perfect. She should net enough from this job to begin a new life, the life of independence for which she had so long yearned.

He was setting the platter on the table as she entered the room, his jacket discarded and the light from the fire playing on the folds of the loose shirt failing to disguise the well-defined muscles beneath. She smiled as he looked up, struck by the depth of color in his eyes. A trick of the candlelight no doubt. She hesitated as those eyes smiled in response and reacted appreciatively to her appearance.

Abruptly she broke eye contact and walked around the table until she stood beside him. "So, what's for dinner?"

"Coq au Vin. I thought you might like it. Old family recipe. You look … nice."

Her smile turned sweet and playful. My, if the man wasn't babbling already. "And you milord, look very handsome." Too handsome and way too distracting. She'd better focus and get a move on. "I see you didn't use all the wine on the bird." She yanked the bottle of burgundy from the nearby wine rack and gave it to him to deal with. Alcohol was always a useful accompaniment to seduction.

He pulled the chair out for her to sit and busied himself uncorking the bottle. She watched as he set the glasses on the table, trying to ignore the pang in her insides as he leaned close to pour the crimson liquid and his masculine scent mixed with the deep aroma of the old wine. Occupying herself with the food, she could hear his solid footsteps on the stone floor as he moved to the other side of the table and sat.

"Let me carve." His knife stopped in mid-air as he surveyed the damage she had already done to the chicken and the food piled high on her plate.

"Help yourself." She looked at him innocently and attempted not to moan at first bite of tender meat and mouth-watering sauce. Well, she might as well abscond on a full stomach.

They ate in companionable silence. Rather she ate, her mouth preoccupied with the delectable masterpiece he had prepared for her. Finally, she pushed her plate aside and turned her attention to the chef, also delectable she noted, the firelight behind her reflecting on the gold in his hair and accentuating the fine line of his cheekbones and strong set of his jaw. If only he were a carpenter or maybe a blacksmith, she would run her fingers through those disheveled locks and pull him toward her until his lips met her own, the raging fire and glowing metal a mere backdrop to the passion they would…. Stop! Stop right there and use your muddled brain. He was handsome and he could cook. So what? He was still a nobleman and an obstacle to her goals. A nobleman who had cooked a meal he thought she might like. No man had shown her such consideration and gone to such trouble for her. Abruptly she stood, grabbed their plates, crossed the room and tossed them in the washbasin.

"Maxine. Sit down. This meal is for you."

Damn him, if he kept treating her like this she would have no choice but to grab one of the iron pots hanging on the wall and brain him right where he sat. He wasn't going to distract her, she had endured her miserable poverty stricken subservient lot for too long to let him rob her of her only way out. She stood, her back toward him, and attempted to regain her composure. Her fingers gripped the worktable and her eyes alighted on the freshly washed bowl of strawberries.

"Dessert?" Her voice only wobbled slightly as she walked back to her seat and set the bowl between them in the center of the dining table. Slowly she set her fingertips on one of the berries and brought it to her mouth. Her lips parted and her tongue tasted the succulent flesh. As she opened her mouth further and slowly bit into the fruit she watched his eyes grow darker and heard the catch in his breath. She smiled. He was just another man, and she knew how to deal with men.

" It's getting late. I really should go and …the horses…I should tend to the horses."

She hated him; hated every chivalrous bone in his considerate body. "The stable boys will settle the horses for the night. You have other concerns."

"I do?"

"Tonight, I make the decisions. Remember?" He was looking at her like he didn't remember his name. Damn, she was good.

Max rose and sauntered around the table, her petticoats swishing gently with every seductive swing of her hips. Her arm almost brushed his chest as she plucked another strawberry from the bowl. Smiling at the slight tremor of his body, she sidled her bottom onto the table next to him.

"Looks delicious." She took a bite and ran her tongue over her lips. "Want a taste?"

"Maxine, I should go or I will do something we will both regret later."

"My regrets are my own to make and I will decide if you go or stay, for tonight at least."

"And after tonight? I can offer you no future, can give you nothing you want."

"I decide what I want. Not you. You are too accustomed to being lord of the manor and have everyone bow to your wishes." She didn't have to feign the anger in her voice and with an effort softened her tone. "I want nothing from you except what I ask for now. Or am I too lowly to deserve a will of my own?" Her heart was pounding as he stood and faced her. She was angry she told herself; her heart always pounded when she was angry.

His mouth was gentle on hers, as if sampling the sweetness of the ripe fruit. Pulling back, he took the strawberry from her fingers, and traced it lightly over her lips, before kissing her slowly again. She felt unexpectedly disappointed as he drew back to search her eyes with his. "You're so beautiful Max, this fruit is but a tasteless morsel compare to the sweetness of your lips." Empty flattery; this she could handle. He was just another smooth talking man out for what he could take for himself.

He traced the luscious fruit down the side of her neck and followed with his tongue, his soft kisses accompanied by the rapid beating of her heart. Must be the thought of all those diamonds and rubies only a trip upstairs and a strategically placed blow to the head away.

His lips were now in pursuit of the fruit as it glided across the swell of her bosom above her bodice. She took a shaky breath as his tongue found her cleavage and then resumed its journey across the rise of her other breast. His hands encircled her waist and she guided his fingers to the ribbons of the bodice. No room for error now, she had to make sure he was securely in her grasp before she suggested they retire to his boudoir. He eased the bodice off until the only obstruction between him and her tingling breasts was her linen shift. She had him exactly where she wanted him.

A firm hand eased the light fabric off her right shoulder and she felt the stubble of his light beard scrape across agonizingly sensitive skin. She moaned as his tongue caressed her exposed nipple. Now was the time to mention a change in location--just as soon as he stopped doing whatever he was doing. Her back arched involuntarily as his hand cupped her other breast through the soft material and his fingers assaulted her taut nipple. She moaned softly again, this job had better be worth all the effort she was putting into this seduction.

Max was breathless by the time his other hand tangled in her hair as it came softly around the back of her neck and he pulled her into a kiss. She was about to take advantage of the removal of his lips from her naked bosom and arrange for their journey upstairs when he inconsiderately slipped his tongue into her open mouth. His strong arms were around her before she could retreat and say the words "comfortable bed." His fingers were loosening the ties to her petticoats and then, somehow, her hands were encircling his neck and she was lifting herself off the table as he slid the layers of clothing over her hips and down her thighs until the dropped softly to the floor. He sat her back down, while his tongue began winding a tantalizing trail toward her left ear.

"Master Logan, we should …"

Suddenly he stepped back and her body screamed at the loss of contact.

"Master? I thought we were equals." His deep blue eyes burned into hers, but his anger failed to mask the desire in his voice.

"T'is just habit…Logan." Logan. His name felt soft on her lips, familiar and easy. She smiled and watched him intently as his eyes shifted from hers and seemed to envelope her body. Self consciously, she covered her breasts with her hands and felt the blood rise in her checks.

His hands were soft on hers, tender and careful, as if handling something precious and fragile. Her mouth opened in response as his lips brushed hers and suddenly she was loosing herself in the passion of their kiss. Finally, his lips left hers and commenced a trail of kisses down her neck while his hands disentangled from hers and found the hem of her shift.

He slid the garment gently up her calves to her knees and stopped. She could hear his ragged breathing as he leaned his forehead against hers and whispered huskily, "Are you sure, Max?"

She gasped, as his voice caressed her name; claimed knowledge of it and her and filled her with an unfamiliar warmth.

"I'm sure." Sure this was absolutely a very, very bad idea and equally sure that if he stopped touching her now her body would shrivel up like a prune until it imploded into nothingness.

Again her arms encircled his neck and she lifted as his hands guided her only remaining garment up her body, his fingers brushing the inside of her thighs. Softly he pushed the shift up over her hips, his fingers slowly gliding over the dampness between her legs until she moaned deeply, her whole body shuddering with desire. She released her arms as he pulled the shift over her head.

His hand supported the small of her back as he carefully pressed her toward the table while they kissed. She leaned back on her elbows, her back arching as his tongue again found one nipple, then the other. Then his kisses were winding their way down her body, pausing as they encircled her belly button, only to continue down her abdomen. She could fell the warm of the fire on her face and breasts as she curved her body back and her hair fell away from her face. His hands were under her buttocks, lifting her toward him, his fingers no longer shy of their prize. If she had been capable of thought she would have been conscious of his tongue exploring her and discovering the secrets to a pleasure that consumed every portion of her being.

"Logan!" Her voice seemed very far away, but the name was close, part of her; tangled in the rapid beating of her heart until the world became just the two of them and she wanted nothing, nothing but him.