A Cantata of Love (The Code Breakers 4) (16 page)

“No, no. Please come in.” The lady sat up and straightened her robe. “Lord Kendal and I were discussing my performance last night.”

The silence in the drawing room was ripe with speculation. Lady Gwyneth raised her eyebrows when she walked past him to a side chair.

Michael waited, unsure of his role in this comedy of errors. With Gabby so near, he wanted to touch and reassure her. Her close proximity was a feast to his senses and strained his patience—never his strong point. He blew out the air and the frustration trapped in his lungs. He couldn’t risk Gabby’s safety. He had to keep up the charade that she was a stranger to him.

“Please come and be seated. I see you’ve brought drawings, Miss Bonnington.”

Distracted, Michael hadn’t noticed that Amelia carried a leather portfolio. And now he understood the ladies’ appearance. Amelia loved to draw fashion. Madame Abney was most likely interested in new gowns.

“Lord Kendal, be a lamb and ring for tea.” Madame pointed to the damask pull next to the fireplace.

He had to pass in front of Gabby to get to the fireplace. When he walked past, he gave her the most plaintive look, begging her with his eyes to have faith in him. Her immediate dismissal, averting her eyes, was easy to understand but still pained him.

Gabby and Amelia moved forward toward Madame Abney.

“May I present Mademoiselle Gigot, Madame Abney,” Lady Gwyneth said.

Gabby did a slight curtsy before she sat down. She kept her eyes turned away from the singer.

“My pleasure, mademoiselle.”

Gabby didn’t respond. Of course, she didn’t. She believed she had interrupted his liaison.

After pulling the bell, Michael walked to stand in front of Gabby’s chair. He smiled at her. “I’ve not had the pleasure of an introduction to Mademoiselle Gigot, Lady Gwyneth.”

“My apologies. I thought you had met Mademoiselle Gigot at last night’s performance.”

Michael bowed. He felt her resistance when he took her hand, but he had to touch her. He raised her hand to his lips. “Enchanted.”

Gabby kept her eyes down, but nodded. “Thank you, Lord Kendal.”

Madame Abney gave the same husky laugh. “Be careful, mademoiselle, Lord Kendal is quite the rogue.”

Gabby’s eyes shot up to Michael. He beseeched her again with his eyes, trying to express his devotion to her. His heart plummeted at the glimpse of vulnerability in her bright face before she looked down.

Madame Abney pressed her hand against her chest. “Oh, my. What an amazing blush. Charming. I’ve never been able to effect a blush.”

Michael couldn’t decipher whether Madame was astute enough to perceive his blinding attraction to Gabby and was jealous, or whether she was just used to commanding the center of attention.

“I’ve known Lord Kendal since childhood, and I know him to be a steadfast and loyal friend. Not a rogue in any way.” Amelia stared at Madame Abney, challenging her to contradict.

Gratitude to Amelia brought a grin to his face. He looked back down at Gabby, whose color was still high, but she was looking at Amelia in open interest. Maybe Amelia’s words would help lessen Gabby’s suspicions.

“I think your loyalty to Lord Kendal is laudable, but I believe you’re too innocent to know of gentlemen’s activities and their well-deserved reputations.”

Would this conversation never end? Michael never was embarrassed around women—or at least not recently—but now his face felt as if it was a glowing ember.

Amelia’s fair skin turned a brighter shade of red than his, and she looked ready to combust. Madame had no idea that Amelia had five brothers and knew all about men, and also had a very fiery redhead temper.

Lady Gwyneth harrumphed. “Miss Amelia, why don’t you show Madame Abney your drawings, particularly your choice of colors to emphasize the lady’s dramatic looks?”

Michael didn’t know if Lady Gwyneth was rescuing him or Amelia, but he was grateful to both ladies and would thank them directly when he had the opportunity.

Now, if only he could devise a plan to speak with Gabby and explain. But there lay the problem; he couldn’t. Not yet.

Michael was about to make his excuses when the door opened.

A wiry man in a mustard-yellow waistcoat and an elaborate cravat strolled into the room. Brown curls, artfully held in place with heavy pomade, covered his receding hairline. “Madame Wife.”

He stopped his entry into the room when he spotted Gabby, and he turned sharply, like a retriever on the scent of a fox.

Michael bristled, blood surging into his male, possessive muscles, ready to stop the flamboyant codpiece from touching Gabby.

“And who might this delectable ray of sunshine be?” He leered over Gabby.

Gabby leaned back in her chair away from the jackass.

Madame Abney threw her arms in the air. “Francois, leave the poor girl alone. She is my guest, not one of your…I shall leave the rest unsaid in front of gentle company.”

Lady Gwyneth and Amelia had both turned their heads to watch the drama unfolding.

“As always, a warm greeting from my harridan of a wife.” The lecherous man did a blatant perusal of Gabby. “I am Monsieur Falient.”

Michael was ready to spring on Monsieur Falient and teach him a few manners in the presence of Gabby, his lady, when he remembered his role. Monsieur Falient might be part of the spy ring and required further scrutiny. And he couldn’t risk exposing Gabby’s identity.

“Monsieur.” Gabby gave a slight nod of her head and looked away.

“Lady Gwyneth Ashworth and Miss Bonnington, this is my husband, Monsieur Falient.”

Both ladies nodded their heads. “Ladies.” He bowed deeply as if being presented to a royal. “What a spectacular surprise to have so many fair ladies in my wife’s drawing room. It is usually filled with adoring fops.”

Madame Abney hissed before she flipped her dark tresses over her shoulder. “Lord Kendal, my husband.”

Monsieur Falient inspected Michael’s appearance, looking closely at his cravat. Michael knew why the husband’s focus was on his clothing. A gentleman wouldn’t be able to retie his cravat if he had undressed. Michael’s perfectly tied cravat meant that no activity of the prurient sort had gone on with Madame Abney.

Michael exhaled mentally, grateful to have avoided any dealings with a potentially hotheaded husband. Reminding himself that he was on an assignment, Michael stepped forward and offered his hand. “Kendal.”

Falient’s palms were soft and moist from sweat. And the man reeked of liquor.

“Is there a reason for your unexpected visit, monsieur?” Madame queried as if asking about the weather.

“Nothing of any importance that cannot wait. I will not importune your esteemed guests.”

He bowed again from his waist. “Ladies; Kendal.” And left the room.

Madame Abney fluttered back to the settee. She muttered under her breath in a theatrical sotto voce for all to hear. “Strutting popinjay. Comes every afternoon for my guests to see him.”

“I think that is my cue to leave,” Michael said.

Madame Abney threw her head back and chortled. “Men are such cowards.”

Michael bowed. “Or very astute.”

He wanted to touch Gabby again before he left, but it would require him to take Madame Abney’s hand as well.

He bowed generously, keeping his distance from the dramatic diva. “Good afternoon, ladies.”

He caught himself before he said his usual parting line, “Pleasure was all mine.” He got no pleasure from this afternoon, only painful torture of the Spanish Inquisition type.

Chapter Nineteen

Gabby couldn’t control the burn she felt on her face, and in her heart. The cad was back at his old ways, pursuing an opera singer, just as Lord Felton and Chalmers had suggested last night. Michael’s attendance at the opera wasn’t for the music.

She wanted to crumble into a heap and cry, but she refused to allow that fleshy, self-absorbed singer to detect any reaction to Michael’s perfidy. She was a Valmont, centuries of nobility and pride. No, she wouldn’t allow one British earl to undermine generations of pragmatic French women. One British earl who had pledged his devotion to her.

She wasn’t experienced when it came to the sophisticated society games of flirtations and dallying, but she wouldn’t accept that Michael was fickle or dishonorable. There had to be more to his appearance this afternoon than a bored gentleman pursuing…

She ignored the conversation of colors and fabrics. Her new friends sensed her upset and didn’t try to engage her in the conversation. Amelia had been thrilled to be invited to consult with the opera singer on her costumes for the opera, and she wouldn’t allow her gloomy feelings to interfere with her friend’s happiness. Then Gabby remembered the note warning her against the English. The creeping doubt—were these women truly friends?

Madame Abney, thrilled to talk about herself and her gowns, didn’t really require engagement from an unknown French woman.

Gabby looked yearningly at the piano, wanting to pour her distraught and lonely feelings into the receptive instrument. After receiving the threatening note, she had decided the only person she could trust with the contents was Michael. She believed his pledge that he would never betray her. He was a sincere man who didn’t seem to be capable of deceit. He was upset by Mother Therese’s joke on him. What a fool she had been since the joke was on her, poor orphan Gabby de Valmont, heartsick for an English rake. She missed her brother. He would have protected from unscrupulous gentlemen who confused and confounded.

“You keep looking at my new piano, mademoiselle, with such admiration and longing. Are you familiar with this newest piano?”

Madame was correct. It was painful longing, but for more than music—longing for a place to belong, longing for someone trustworthy of her love.

“Yes, Madame. The sound is magnificent.”

“Where could you possibly have heard the grand? Mine is the only one in London.”

“In Paris.”

“In Paris? But the only person who received the grand piano is Monsieur la Toure, the finest pianist in all of Europe.” Madame stared at Gabby and waited.

Gabby’s mind raced. She hadn’t been thinking when she answered. Would Madame Abney be able to make the association to Gabrielle De Valmont and Monsieur la Toure?

An impatient Madame Abney wanted an answer to the mystery. “You are too young to have heard him in concert. And with Monsieur la Toure’s advanced age, he stopped touring and only took the most exceptional musicians as students.”

Gwyneth stiffened in her chair. Amelia turned and gave her a quizzical look.

Madame Abney scrutinized Gabby. “You were a student of Monsieur la Toure?”

How should she answer? She had been caught off guard, lost in pity for herself and her loss of everything she cherished, including her artistry. “I was his student for a short period of time.”

“But I don’t remember him ever speaking of a Mademoiselle Gigot. I believe I would remember someone so young, a prodigy… Did you ever perform at Madame le Querq’s salon?”

Gabby shouldn’t have come today. After receiving the note and then seeing Michael, she didn’t feel capable to handle the probing questions. Madame Abney was getting too close to the dangerous truth. It had been her performance at Madame le Querq’s salon that brought her to Josephine Bonaparte’s attention, and subsequently to Napoleon’s.

Gabby had to stop this line of questioning. “I’m not surprised that Monsieur la Toure never mentioned me. He would forget everything. His head always engulfed in a cloud of music.”

Madame’s voice softened and she leaned her head back against the divan. “Yes, he never remembered what day it was or if he remembered to eat that day.”

“His cook would have to scold him, reminding him to eat. He would laugh and say he sustained himself on music,” Gabby added. Her mentor’s passion for music and his expectation of her had given her a structure to her life when everything had crumpled around her.

Madame looked up at the ceiling, lost in reverie. “A true artist. He shared his passion for music with me.”

Watching the change in Madame’s face and the reverence in her voice for Gabby’s beloved teacher, the pain in Gabby’s chest eased. “It was a privilege to have him as a teacher.”

Madame sat forward and clapped her hands. The woman was definitely mercurial, as expected of an emoting diva.

“This is fabulous. I’ve no one in London who challenges me. Everyone is intimidated and tries to please me instead of pushing me like the Monsieur.”

“You continue to play, even with the demands of your singing career?” Despite her distrust of the diva, Gabby was interested.

“I find I can almost express myself more in my playing than my singing.”

Although Gabby had been distracted at last night’s performance, Madame’s passion and gift for music as a singer was abundant.

“I don’t truly understand since I love singing, but I’ve decided it is because I first started as a child, pouring my heart into the pianoforte.”

Losing herself into the music, as Gabby had done. Mother Therese had always given the reassurance that when one door closed another one would open. Finding someone at this low-spirited moment who understood the need to express passion in music was a balm to Gabby’s aching heart.