Heiress in red silk, p.16
Heiress in Red Silk, page 16
The maid draped a dark crimson silk shawl over her shoulders. He offered his arm in escort. Down they went.
He wondered how he was going to manage this meeting with delicious Rosamund sitting right there.
* * *
The carriage took them past the Louvre and the Palais-Royal, then continued through the city to the river. They passed the bridge where they had walked the night before. Seeing it conjured up memories that Rosamund did not want to have at that moment.
“I found an excellent shop for millinery notions today,” she said, lest Kevin’s thoughts venture in that direction too. “It had the loveliest dyed plumes.”
“Red?”
“Other colors too. The owner also agreed to sell me a special silk he had found. I am going to make Minerva a hat with it. She has been so generous with her time and advice, this will be a small way to thank her.”
“Be sure it is a little dramatic. She said your hats are distinctive that way.” His voice spoke almost absently. He looked out the window, and Rosamund could tell his mind dwelled elsewhere. Probably on Monsieur Forestier.
She hoped the evening went well, for Kevin’s sake. If it didn’t, at least this delay would be over. They could return to London and lay plans for making this business into something other than a young man’s dream.
She glanced at him while the city unfolded, noting the small frown he wore, and that far-away expression. It surprised her when suddenly, his gaze swung over to her.
“I have a question,” he said. “If I don’t ask, it will drive me mad.”
“Then ask.”
“Last night, if upon returning to the hotel I had come to your door, would you have allowed me to enter?”
What a question. She fussed with her reticule to avoid looking back at him and finding that gaze trying to see through her. He waited her out. He expected a response.
She gave up any hope her silence would be her answer. “No.”
It sounded so blunt. So unkind. “It was not because I did not—I mean, it was probably obvious that I—”
“Yes.”
Goodness. That was equally blunt.
“When it is that obvious that a man and woman desire each other, they normally do something about it. Hence my question,” he said.
He was better at talking about this than she was. Undoubtedly he had experience with such conversations. She had none at all.
She considered telling him about Charles, although that would not explain her behavior on the bridge. Even she could not make sense of it under the circumstances.
“But you did not come to my door, did you? Perhaps you did not for the same reason I would not have invited you in.”
“What reason is that?”
“If I was not willing to be your wife, I probably was not willing to be your mistress.”
“If only it were that simple.”
The carriage began slowing. The setting sun streaked in the window. Kevin leaned forward, out of that harsh beam of light and into the shadow where she sat. “Should you ever come to my door, I promise that I would definitely allow you to enter, and it need not imply any formal agreement.”
The door opened. The steps went down. She rearranged her shawl and, side by side, she and Kevin entered the restaurant.
* * *
Women ate with men in the good Parisian restaurants. Nevertheless, Monsieur Forestier had taken a private dining room for their meal. It had windows that looked out over the Île de la Cité and the apse end of Notre Dame. Rosamund went to those windows immediately and stood in the golden light heralding the end of the day.
Monsieur Forestier joined her there. He pointed out this building and that. He smiled. He flattered. Kevin watched, deciding whether to mind or not.
He had introduced Rosamund as his partner in the enterprise. Forestier had looked as if lightning had struck him when he saw her. When Forestier gave him a sly, quizzical look, the meaning of which any man would know, he had given one back that was equally eloquent. No, she is not my lover. Damn, but he was more than decent, being honest like that. He had really wanted to send a dangerous glare that said Touch her and we will duel at dawn.
Now Forestier appeared to be cultivating the garden beyond the gate that had been left open. It didn’t help that women probably found Forestier handsome. He was in his thirties, dark of hair and eye, and very Gallic.
Rosamund, to her credit, did not encourage it. Kevin wasn’t convinced she even realized their host was flirting. Forestier spoke English, but haltingly, so his intentions might have been interpreted as nothing more than graciousness.
The restaurant owner arrived at the door. Their host went to speak with him. Rosamund sidled close to Kevin.
“I’m not sure what I expected, but not such a young man. He can’t be more than thirty-five.” Her gaze assessed Forestier from the distance. “I suppose he is handsome in a French sort of way. I wonder why he did not bring his wife this evening.”
“I didn’t realize he was married.”
She nodded. “I asked him, indirectly. He pointed out a school, and I asked if his children attend it. He was obligated to say they attend one near the university.”
“He teaches there.” Not sure that she comprehended how things worked in France, he added, “Wives do not stop French men from pursuing women. It is commonplace to have a mistress here.”
“As it is at home.”
“Less discreet here.”
“The discretion at home is recent, I’ve been told. Ah, here he comes. When will we talk about his enhancement?”
“When he chooses. After dinner, I expect.”
The dinner was delicious. Rosamund tried everything without even asking what she ate. She gave Monsieur
Forestier all her attention. It wasn’t until the main course that Kevin realized she was plenty aware that Forestier was flirting with her and permitting the man to think she found it flattering.
Perhaps she really did.
Jealousy had simmered all evening, but now it flared into something more. He regretted not responding to that silent male query differently.
When the plates were cleared and cognac was served, Forestier appeared content to drink on with a lovely woman and to hell with business. Kevin could tell that Rosamund grew impatient. Finally, she stood.
“I find that the wine has tired me. Mr. Radnor, perhaps you will bring me to the carriage. Then you can return and finish this fine meal.” She gave Forestier a dazzling smile. “Your hospitality will long be remembered. It is one of the most wonderful experiences of my first visit to your city.”
Forestier looked sad to see her go. Kevin escorted her down to the main salon, then out to the carriages.
“He would have talked about nothing all night if I remained,” she said. “I am annoyed he will not discuss business in front of a woman, especially when it is her business, but better if I retreat so progress can be made.”
He handed her into the carriage. “Tomorrow I will tell you what happened.”
“Not until late afternoon. I have some place I intend to go earlier.” She gave him a sharp glance. “I hope that you will come to an agreement with him tonight.”
* * *
Rosamund sat in the hired carriage she had asked the hotel to procure for her. The street looked to be a fine one, much like the streets in Mayfair. The homes appeared of similar size to those in that neighborhood too, only they had a different style. They had very steep roofs, for one thing. The long windows appeared similar to the kind the hotel had, ones that swung out to open instead of rising up.
The coachman had asked her twice already if all was well because she had remained in the carriage so long after it stopped. She kept watching a door on one of the houses, wishing it would open and Charles would step out. How much easier this would be if she could simply come upon him while he walked along.
It was not to be. She steeled her courage and rapped on the little window. The coachman climbed down and came to help her out. She took stock of her ensemble and made sure her bonnet was not askew. Stomach churning with excitement and trepidation, she walked to that door.
An old man opened it. She handed him her card and asked to see Charles Copley. She imagined Charles’s surprise when he saw the card, and not only because she had called. Charles would probably be astonished to see that she even had a card, let alone one with that street on it.
She waited for the rush of steps coming toward her and Charles bursting into this reception hall and his happy surprise in seeing her. She had seen this day in her mind many times, like a play unfolding on a stage. Now she was here, and she almost wept with her relief that the long wait was over.
Steps. Not rushing, but measured and slow. The older man reappeared. He gestured for her to follow him.
They walked through the house, past a dining room and a few other doors. In the back, the man took her outside. She found herself in a garden.
“There is a stone bench in the back,” he said. “If you could wait there.”
She strode the path to the back and found the bench. She sat and waited. She could not see the house well from here. After a few moments, she saw the crown of a dark head coming toward her. Slowly, the rest of that head came into view. The dark curls. The gray eyes. The face she adored.
Charles.
She smiled and her eyes misted. She did not bother to wipe them. There was no shame in happiness.
He smiled back. She just looked at him, allowing his presence to fill in her memories. His face had grown firmer. Harder. Well, five years made a difference in a young man. He’d only been eighteen when she last saw him. She probably looked very different too. His dark hair had been dressed as fashionably unruly, and his long frock coat showed the fitted sleeves and broad lapels popular in Paris. His eyes—She remembered them full of joy and impish humor. Now their pale color looked opaque and . . . older.
“Rosamund.”
It was only when he said her name that she realized he had been standing silently in front of her for some time.
“I expect you are surprised.” She had to battle the urge to dance over to him.
“Stunned. What are you doing here?”
A slight misgiving wormed its way into her excitement. “I am visiting Paris and decided to call. It has been so long since I saw you.”
He took a few steps towards her. “A very long time. I almost did not recognize you.”
“Surely I haven’t changed so much.”
“Not very much. Still lovely.” His gaze drifted down. “You have done well for yourself.”
“I have, much to my surprise.”
Again that long gaze, as if he calculated the cost of her ensemble. She could no longer ignore that he remained very reserved. Distant. Hardly delirious with joy.
He looked down, and she realized he held her card and was looking at the address.
“Is this your home now?”
“Yes, I have a house in London.”
“Do you now.” Not a question.
“Is this your house?” she asked, looking through the garden to the high-pitched roof.
“Only some chambers. They suit me, however.”
“More than your parents’ home in London?”
“Much more than that. We get on quite well now, with them there and me here.”
“You plan to remain here? Forever?”
“Until my father passes, at least. I like Paris. Whether I will enjoy it as much when I am older—” He shrugged. “What did you do after they threw you out? I always felt guilty about that.”
“I found service in another house.”
“With no references?”
“There are always those willing to take on a girl if the pay is low enough.”
He frowned at that. Once more, he assessed her. “And here I worried that you would fall victim to men who prey on pretty servant girls.”
Something in his tone quelled her enthusiasm in a blink. A judgmental inflection suggested he had not worried at all, but now wondered. “You mean men like you, Charles?”
That took him aback. “I suppose I deserved that. But you were hardly unwilling.”
“We were in love. That makes it different.”
“Young men are always in love if the girl is pretty. You know that by now, I expect.”
Her heart thickened. It was all she could do to hide how his words devastated her. How cruel she found them.
“Are you here with your sister?” he asked.
“No. Lily is in a school.”
“You can’t be traveling alone.”
“Actually, I am.”
“I doubt that.”
She paced a bit closer to him. He had not moved much. He remained close to the end of the path, as if he needed to have the means of a quick escape. What had he worried about when he saw that card? That she had brought him a love child? That she wanted to demand payment of some kind? He certainly had not shouted with joy, if his manner now was any indication.
This was not the welcome she had expected. Not the man she thought she knew. While she stood there, watching him, seeing his caution and indifference, the dream disappeared.
It did not shatter or burst. It simply ceased to exist, and she was an old, forgotten lover who had intruded into a man’s new life.
Young men are always in love if the girl is pretty.
Dear heaven, she had been a fool to come here. And a bigger one to have thought what they shared was love. She had merely been the convenient servant girl who was pretty enough.
Her heart hurt so much that it left her breathless. She wanted to crumble and fall to her knees and weep to relieve the pain. Instead, she held her composure. Somehow, her voice was clear when she spoke.
“I am traveling independently. However, my journey has been aided by a friend who is familiar with France and Paris, so I am not left completely adrift in a foreign country.”
“A friend in Paris? Perhaps I know this friend.”
“Not an inhabitant of the city. A friend from London.” She hesitated, but wanted to let Charles know just how well she had done recently. “Mr. Kevin Radnor. He visits Paris often enough that perhaps you have met him all the same.”
“Radnor?”
She took some solace in his surprise. His shock. It did nothing to ease the pain, but it helped her pride.
“That is Hollinburgh’s family.”
“His cousin. I have had the pleasure of meeting the duke. I know the family quite well.”
He smiled broadly, and for one exquisitely painful moment looked just like the Charles she remembered. “You have done very well for yourself, Rosamund. Paris trips. Your sister in a school.” He lifted the card. “A fine address. I thought perhaps you had come to castigate me for my indiscretions with you. Now I think you made this call to thank me.”
“It is not what you think.” I made this call because I loved you and held the memories close for five long years. She could not say that now. He had already let her know that her dream had been built on air, not anything real.
How had she lied to herself all this time? When they were lovers she had been ignorant, but she no longer was. She knew about men. He had not made any attempt to find her, and she was more easily discovered than he had been.
Stupid girl. Stupid, stupid girl.
“It is exactly what I think,” he said with a vague sneer. “At least you are being kept, and it sounds as if you have a lucrative arrangement. You at least have spared me any concerns that men were taking you under bridges. I’m glad for your good fortune, Rosamund. Play your cards right and maybe next year it will be the duke himself.”
His words shocked her like so many slaps. One after another they came, ugly and hurtful. She lost her hold on her emotions, and with them her pride.
“It is not what you think,” she cried. “There has been no one but you. No one. I waited for you all this time. You said you would come for me. That we would be together. I believed you. I looked for you. And all you can do now is insult me.”
“Lower your voice and get hold of yourself. You had to know I could never come for you. That it was over from the moment when I got into the carriage that day. My family would never have accepted you. Even in your finery now, they wouldn’t.” He removed a handkerchief from his frock coat and gave it to her.
She dabbed at her tears. “You are horrid to say these things.”
“I apologize. However, you are better off with this Radnor than with me, that is certain. I could never give you a house on that street.”
He didn’t believe her. He thought she was dressed like this because she was a man’s mistress. He assumed Kevin was merely the last of a series of protectors.
She closed her eyes. She forced control over the anger building in her. She ignored for now the heavy, mourning heart in her chest. She gave him back the handkerchief. “You did not have to seduce me. You did not have to ruin me. Why did you, if you did not love me?”
“You are not an innocent, so you know why. You were lovely, fresh, and sweet, and I was randy as hell. Although—” He reached out and ran the backs of his fingers along her damp cheek. “The lovely girl has become a ravishing woman. If I had known you would grow into what you are today, I might well have looked for you. Before this Radnor found you.”
His touch lured her, but his words insulted her again. If I had known you were going to whore for a man, I might have considered having you whore for me.
She stared at him, trying to remember the Charles of her memories. She doubted the man in front of her had ever felt the love and joy he had shown in her dream.
She did not trust herself to control how anger sent hot branches out of her pain. She needed to get away from him before fury made her a madwoman.
“I must go. Is there a garden portal in front? Yes? I will leave that way. I apologize for intruding.”
As she walked away, she concentrated on keeping her expression calm and her back straight. She did not want him or anyone else to see just how humiliated she felt, or the desolation that threatened to engulf her.
Chapter Fourteen
The crash broke through his dream. He started, then stared at the wall. It had come from Rosamund’s suite.
