A License to Wed: Rebellious Brides Read online

  She turned to her lady’s maid, who trailed a few paces behind her. “Sophie, have you been able to learn anything of interest about Mr. Verney?”

  “Mais oui. He’s a proper cull.” The girl’s speech was an odd mix of common English tinged with a lilting French accent. “Likes to ride, fence, and box.” Sophie, who had lived in London for many years with her aristocratic French mistress, had come to her on the recommendation of Moineau.

  “So he’s a Corinthian,” Elle mused, having noted previously that Mr. Verney filled out his coat nicely. Perhaps Verney was Le Rasoir. It would make sense for a highly trained spy to be in superior physical condition. Even if Verney weren’t her target, it wouldn’t hurt to become better acquainted with the embassy official to see what she could learn from him. “Anything further?”

  “He likes machinery.”

  “Does he?” Elle marveled at the girl’s resourcefulness. “What kind of machinery?”

  “Automatons and the like. He’s visited some exhibition at the Louvre every day it’s been open.”

  Elle perked up. “The Exhibition of the Products of Industry?”

  “Oui.” Sophie plucked a leaf from an overhanging branch as they passed it. “I suppose that’s the one.”

  There’d been much talk in Paris drawing rooms about the exhibition at the Louvre, where hundreds of inventors, artists, and craftsmen gathered for a few days to exhibit their crafts. A jury would award medals to the most outstanding exhibitors at the conclusion of the event. Elle hadn’t been particularly interested in attending, especially not with her focus almost exclusively centered on finding her child.

  As she mulled over Sophie’s information, she spied her prey walking with two men by a marble fountain in the distance. “Goodness, there he is now. How fortuitous.”

  Sophie squinted into the distance. “There who is?”

  “Mr. Verney. There, just beyond that fountain.” He was with two men. Her heart skipped a beat when she realized one of his companions was Will, easily identifiable by his slender form and dark copper hair glinting in the sun. She pointed in their direction. “Do you see those three gentlemen?”

  “Which one is he? Puff guts or the ginger top?” Sophie asked as she came to stand next to her mistress. “Please tell me he’s the tall cove with the dark hair. Il est magnifique, a right rum duke. It would be no hardship to join giblets with that one.”

  “Hush.” She pinched the girl. “I’m not bedding anyone.” She was beginning to regret confiding Duret’s scandalous proposition to her maid.

  “Ouch!” Clearly affronted, Sophie rubbed her arm. “A true lady does not lay a hand on those who are in service to her.”

  “And a proper lady’s maid does not speak of her mistress bedding strange gentlemen.” French republican sentiment was clearly rubbing off on the girl. No proper English servant would dare address her mistress with the insolence Sophie routinely exhibited. Elle gestured toward the three men. “Now make yourself useful. Follow them and see if you can hear what they’re talking about.”

  With a quick nod of her head, Sophie faded into the trees. The girl might be impertinent and completely improper, but she was also smart, discreet, and enterprising, qualities Elle intended to use to her advantage. Anything to save Susanna.

  With her maid dispatched to do a bit of surveillance, Elle allowed her mind to wander back to her daughter and to imagine the moment they would be together again. What did little Susanna look like? Did she favor her father? Her heart contracted at the thought of Susanna with her father’s eyes. Was she quiet and reserved like him, or lively and amusing, more like her mother?

  The familiar doubts filtered in, crowding out the happy musings. Susanna might resent Elle for abandoning her with strangers. She might blame her for believing the liars who’d stolen her and then claimed the babe had died in childbirth. Elle certainly despised herself for it.

  She made her way toward the fruit garden, one of her favorite spots in all of Paris, mostly because it reminded her of the orchard at Langtry. She reached into her reticule and pulled out her Cleopatra coin. Turning it over in her hand, sadness tugged in her chest; she’d once declared her intention to marry Will in that grove.

  It had happened the summer they’d first met. She’d been twelve, and he’d come down from Cambridge with Cosmo to spend the school break with him. From the very beginning, she’d been smitten with his studious manner and kind demeanor. Her mind heavy with thoughts of Will, Susanna, and a longing for home, Elle walked straight into a broad-chested gentleman who seemed to appear from nowhere. “Oh, I do beg your pardon,” she began.

  “Madame Laurent!” the gentleman exclaimed.

  When she realized who it was, she batted her eyelashes and slipped the coin back into her reticule. “Why, Mr. Verney,” she said, thrilled that fortune had smiled upon her. “What a lovely surprise to see you again.”

  He flushed and avoided looking her in the eye. “And you, my lady.” She wondered if he was this uncomfortable around all women, or if it was something in particular about her that made him uneasy.

  “I’m so relieved to have encountered you.” She took his arm, even though he had not offered it.

  He looked down at where they touched with obvious surprise. “Oh?”

  “My silly maid has wandered off somewhere, and I should not like to be unescorted in a public garden.”

  “Yes, that would be most inappropriate,” he said primly.

  She bit back a smile at the man’s stiff manner. “I have had my eye on you.”

  She felt his arm tense. “And why is that,” he returned politely, “if I may be so bold as to ask?”

  “You seem to be a most agreeable young man, and I do so miss the company of proper English gentlemen.”

  He preened a little at her nod to superior English comportment. “Paris is quite pleasant, but I find that I too yearn for home.”

  She assessed him as they ambled among the trees. He was one or two years older than she, tall and well built, with dark hair and even features. Most would judge him handsome, albeit in a placid sort of way. She found it hard to imagine Lucian Verney’s proper, unassuming exterior masking the dangerously clever Le Rasoir but, given his position at the embassy, he could certainly be in league with the elusive spy.

  “Do promise you’ll attend me soon at my home in Faubourg Saint-Germain,” she said, feathering her fingertips along his sleeve. “We shall have tea and discuss our fond memories of England.”

  His cheeks went even redder. “It would be my honor.”

  “But do not come on the morrow,” she said. “I hope to entice someone to escort me to the exhibition. I do so want to see it.”

  For the first time in their short acquaintance, he regarded her with sincere interest. “The exhibition?”

  “Yes,” she said lightly. “L’exposition des produits de l’industrie. Do you know it?”

  He brightened. “Why yes, I have attended for the past three days.”

  “You are so fortunate. I hear the machinery inventions are quite impressive.”

  “The productions of the looms and the many workshops on the subject are indeed interesting.” His manner became much more animated, a marked change from his earlier apathy. “If you care to attend, I’d be pleased to escort you on the morrow.”

  She smiled to herself. Verney hadn’t been so difficult to charm after all. “Oh, I shouldn’t like to impose.”

  “It would be my pleasure.”

  A male form stepped into their path. “There you are, Lucian.” Will bowed to her. “Madame Laurent.”

  Her pulse quickened. “Mr. Naismith.” He wore buff breeches and a bottle-green tailcoat that set off the burnt copper of his hair and enhanced his golden-green eyes.

  His expressionless gaze fell to where her hand lay on Mr. Verney’s arm, prompting a warm flush to sweep through her body. “I hope I am not interrupting.”

  Feeling the heavy weight of his disapprobation, she forced a light tone
. “Not at all. Mr. Verney was kind enough to offer me escort. My maid has gone missing.”

  Lucian straightened and puffed his chest a bit. “The lady was unaccompanied. Naturally, I could not leave her to her own devices.”

  Will looked from Elle to Lucian and back again. “Naturally.”

  Leaves behind them rustled, and she turned in time to see Sophie appear through a gaggle of trees, pushing aside branches as she stepped onto the path. “There you are, you thoughtless girl,” she said, relieved to have the conversation interrupted. “Where have you been?”

  Sophie raised a skeptical brow but otherwise assumed a contrite stance. “Begging your pardon, my lady, but I had to use the necessary.”

  Lucian’s color rose again in response to Sophie’s indelicate comment, while Will studied the girl in that intense quiet way of his. Something about the probing manner in which he looked at Sophie triggered a warning in Elle.

  She disengaged from Lucian’s arm. “Now that my escort has returned, it’s time we were off. Come, Sophie,” she said crisply, turning to go.

  Both men bade them a polite farewell, although Will still seemed to be contemplating Sophie rather more deliberately than Elle liked.

  “Did he see you following them?” she hissed at Sophie once they were out of the men’s hearing.

  “No, my lady. I made sure of it.”

  Elle relaxed a fraction. “He was looking at you as if trying to place you. I thought perhaps he had.”

  “Zut. I cannot say for certain, but I know how to keep myself hidden.”

  “Well, that’s a relief.” They walked in silence for a bit until Sophie spoke.

  “Don’t you want to know what they were discussing?”

  She’d forgotten Sophie’s original information-gathering mission. “Yes, tell me. What were they talking about?”

  Mischief lit Sophie’s eyes. “You.”

  “Me?”

  “Ginger Top wants to meet you at Frascati’s this evening.”

  “Oh?” The thought of Will inquiring about her prompted something warm and hopeful to kindle in her chest. “I wonder what he wants.”

  “He said you bear watching on account of your dalliance with the general.”

  The buoyant sensation in her chest dropped, like a hot air balloon crashing to the ground. What a fool she was. “Well,” she said evenly, “it’s a fortunate thing, then, that I visit Frascati’s every Tuesday. This evening will be no different.”

  Except that Will would be there. And that made all the difference in the world.

  Chapter 5

  Frascati’s was located on the corner of the Rue de Richelieu and the Boulevard des Italiens, with part of its grand front extending onto the Boulevard Montmartre.

  Will arrived alone, expecting to meet up with Henri and Lucian within. An immense lantern hung over the entrance, illuminating the pink-and-blue façade. Inside, he found sparkling gilded mirrors and successive pale yellow chambers with bronze and green accents. The rooms opened onto a charming courtyard and tree-filled garden laden with wisteria and vines.

  One could take supper and even rent a bed at the pleasure palace, but most patrons came for the gaming. Ices and lemonades were on offer for those who wished to partake, and there were a number of tables in the great room where visitors promenaded. The women, in their plumed hats and evening finery, were accompanied by men, some in evening dress with breeches, others in trousers, but all giving outward appearances of respectability.

  There was, of course, only one lady in particular who drew Will’s interest, and he finally found her engaged in a lively round of rouge et noir at the gaming tables. She was also absorbed in an artful flirtation with the gentleman at her side—none other than Lucian Verney.

  Will gritted his teeth. Despite Lucian’s earlier indifference, he seemed to be changing his opinion on the lady’s charms. In fact, the man’s flushed cheeks, and the way his bright gaze followed her every move, suggested he was well on his way to becoming smitten.

  Lucian wasn’t alone. Everyone gathered around the table seemed entranced by Elle. Even the two ladies who’d paused to observe the play appeared to be charmed by her effortless charisma.

  She wore a gauzy confection the color of a cloudless sky, which emphasized the glimmers of blue in her eyes. A bit of stiff lace ruffle passed for sleeves, and the deep round neckline showcased miles of pale skin, although her modest breasts remained mostly hidden from view. On a well-endowed woman, the same décolletage would have been indecent.

  Elle placed a gloved hand on Lucian’s forearm, and he leaned closer so she could whisper something in his ear. Lucian laughed lightly and stroked the hand she’d placed on him. Will’s jaw ached. He forced himself to relax it after realizing he’d clenched his teeth to the point of discomfort. Hell and damnation. The lady got under his skin.

  Fortunately, Elle withdrew her hand and focused on the two rows of cards laid out on the game table, placing a bet on which would reveal a count closest to thirty-one. Fortune smiled on her; she won the round. Grinning with true pleasure, she clasped her hands in front of her chest, her eyes twinkling, before she reached forward to gather her winnings.

  She caught his eye and that smile froze—momentarily—until she regained her composure and renewed her focus on the next round. Yet now she knew he watched her, and he had no doubt that she was just as aware of him as he was of her. He supposed he would always be condemned to suffer from the fiery pull between them, even after all these years, and despite her betrayal.

  After a few more rounds, marked by both wins and losses, she withdrew and took Lucian’s arm to stroll back toward the magnificent room where people who didn’t game marked most of their time at Frascati’s. He followed, as she undoubtedly knew he would, and didn’t even bother to feign surprise when he sidled up next to her.

  “Naismith,” Lucian greeted him. “There you are. I didn’t see you earlier.”

  “You were otherwise occupied.”

  “Yes indeed.” Lucian flushed with pleasure. “Madame Laurent is a delightful diversion.”

  Will kept his gaze locked with Elle’s. “You play well.”

  “I game with far more style than substance,” she said lightly, “but people seem to enjoy the spectacle nonetheless.”

  “Have you seen Henri?” Lucian interjected.

  Will ignored him. “Are you putting on a show, then?” he asked Elle.

  “Isn’t everyone in Paris?”

  “I couldn’t say.” Standing close to her pinched his lungs, making it cumbersome to draw sufficient air.

  “It seems like everyone is engaged in subterfuge of some kind or another.” Her somnolent gaze dropped down his form. “Even you, I suppose.”

  His body tightened as though she had touched him. “Hardly.” He held his arms wide open, signaling he had nothing to hide. “I have always been a simple man with uncomplicated desires.”

  Lucian cleared his throat. “There is Ambassador Lord Whitworth. If you two will excuse me.” He hurried away without waiting for either of them to acknowledge he’d spoken.

  “We all have our secrets,” Elle said, pausing to ask a passing attendant to bring her a frozen cream pudding.

  “You more than most, I suspect,” he said once the server had moved away. “Tell me, where is your general this evening?”

  She halted, giving him her full attention. “Gerard Duret can be a very dangerous man. You shouldn’t trifle with him.”

  “And yet you think nothing of it.”

  Temper sparked in her eyes. “There are things you don’t understand.”

  “Enlighten me.”

  The waiter returned with the dessert she’d ordered, a funnel-shaped wafer filled with frozen cream pudding. She moved to a small round table that was being vacated by an older couple. He offered his hand, and his heart clenched when she placed her fine-boned fingers in his. He could feel the warmth of her skin through the gloves. He assisted her to the inner seat by the wall, while h
e took the outer chair closest to the promenading couples.

  She licked the frozen cream and an appreciative mmm sounded from her throat. “This is supremely delicious.”

  He watched, desire for her shuddering through him. “You always were an enthusiastic eater.”

  “Some things never change.” She curled her tongue around the frozen treat. Elle appreciated good food and somehow the indulgence hadn’t impacted her willowy form. She eyed him, her silvery gaze clear and direct. “What are you really doing here?”

  “As I told your general, I have numismatic matters to attend to. In fact, I leave for the country in the morning to meet with a collector for several days.”

  “You were never one for crowded public gatherings, yet I’ve encountered you at two such routs in as many days.”

  “Perhaps I’ve changed,” he said mildly.

  “Perhaps,” she repeated, but the word was laced with skepticism.

  “You choose not to explain your continued presence in the French capital, and still you expect complete disclosure from me.”

  Her eyebrows lifted. “So you are hiding something.”

  “On the contrary; we’ve already established that you are the one who is obfuscating.”

  She took a dainty bite of the wafer and chewed appreciatively at her leisure. He waited and watched, riveted by her plush lips and the way her pink tongue darted out to lick the crème.

  She dabbed her mouth with a linen napkin. “Just because I choose not to share my plans with you, does not mean I am hiding something.”

  “Doesn’t it? You never were adept at masking your intentions.”

  She stiffened. “I am no longer that girl you knew.”

  “That much is apparent.” His voice was cold. “Tell me, is it Duret you favor at the moment, or do you intend for Verney to be your newest conquest?”

  She blinked. “I am a woman grown and a widow at that. My affairs are my own concern.”

  “Yes, they are.” He shouldn’t be surprised that she’d flit between men without a care for the consequences. She’d abandoned her child—never once asking after the girl’s well-being—as well as the rest of her family. He’d seen the girl not two months ago, while visiting Elle’s father and brother. The child had only recently come into their care. He wondered if Elle knew, if she even cared. Like little Susanna, he too had personally experienced the sting of Elle’s inconstant nature. The child might be better off without her mother.