A License to Wed: Rebellious Brides (5 page)

“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.

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 he 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.

Her probing gaze discomfited him. “Then stop behaving like a jealous lover.”

“I’m hardly that.” He examined his cuffs in a practiced show of the indifference he did not feel. “I’ve never been one for a buttered bun.”

She inhaled sharply at the insult. “Of course not. You prefer to despoil virgins.”

He shot to his feet, almost upsetting the small table. “If you were a man, I would challenge you,” he ground out, his blood boiling at the invective. The guilt he felt at having taken her innocence still clawed at him—but she was the one who had denied him the chance to right the wrong he had done her.

She rose, outwardly calm, and smoothed her skirts, but her hands were shaking. “You have no right”—her voice trembled with anger and another emotion he couldn’t identify—“after what passed between us—”

“Surely you don’t mean to leave so early, my dear.” Général Duret’s voice drifted toward them. “Monsieur Naismith, again I find you by Madame Laurent’s side.”

Instantly relaxing his tense posture in an effort to regain his outward composure, Will inclined his head in greeting. “A more agreeable spot in Paris I cannot imagine,” he lied even as he heard Elle snort at his words.

“Good evening, Général.” Elle turned to go. “I was just leaving.”

Duret took her hand and bent over it. “So early? Perhaps Monsieur Naismith and I can persuade you not to deprive us of your delightful presence.” The hard undertone in the general’s voice sounded more like a command rather than a pleasant request.

“I fear not,” she said briskly, avoiding looking in Will’s direction. “I have an early engagement in the morning. Mr. Verney and I are going to the exposition.”

Some sort of understanding flashed between them. “I see.” Duret’s countenance visibly softened. “I will escort you home, then, my dear.”

They exchanged polite farewells before Duret offered his arm and led Elle away. Will watched them go, her lithesome figure a marked contrast to the general’s hulking bulwark form. After they disappeared into the crowd, he sat back down at the table where the abandoned frozen pudding began to melt across the wooden surface.

Devil take it. Elle was infuriating and impossible. She was the worst kind of jilt, yet he continually allowed her to wreak havoc on his equilibrium. He’d offered her marriage and she had refused. Once her illicit physical interest in a low-born bastard had been satisfied, she’d turned her attention to landing a husband whose rank and bloodlines matched her own. He remembered the sting of her rejection as clearly as if it had occurred yesterday.

He held her in silence for a long time after taking her innocence. Once the euphoria began to ebb, his gut tightened as the ramifications of his thoughtless actions sank in. He would have to marry her, of course. Which he would gladly do, but he despised himself for putting her in this position, for leaving her with no choice but to wed a bastard.

She did not appear to share his concerns. Her face was soft and glowing in the aftermath of their coupling. She had the look of a woman who had been well loved. “What shall we do next?” she asked, her voice dreamy. “I confess I wouldn’t mind trying that again.”

“We shall marry, of course.” The words were brisk; he had a task to do and was determined to set about doing it.

She shifted onto her elbow to study his face. “Is that a proposal?”

“I’m sorry, Elle. None of this should have happened, but I’ve left us with no other choice.” Regret spun through him at having lost any sense of restraint. He’d stolen her promising future from her. “I don’t know what came over me. Perhaps it was the champagne.”

Her expression lost its shimmer. “The champagne?”

“It was wrong of me to compromise you.” He shifted and sat up so that they were no longer touching. He could hardly look her in the eye after wronging her so completely. “But we shall marry and I pledge to do my best to make the situation as agreeable as possible.”

“Agreeable.” She repeated the word slowly as she sat up and hugged her knees to her chest.

He watched the light in her eyes dim. She was clearly beginning to comprehend just how ruined she was. Elle could easily have been a duchess, but now, thanks to his appalling selfishness and lack of self-control, she’d be nothing but the wife of a by-blow.

He cleared his throat. “I’m well aware that I don’t have much to offer you in the way of status and riches, but I pledge to be a faithful and dutiful husband.” The words sounded all wrong, but there was little he could say to ease the reality of her debased station in life.

The truth was that he’d gone at her like an animal that couldn’t control its baser instincts. His lowborn mother had behaved in the same manner with his father. The earl, ever fearful that the actress’s common nature would show itself in her son, had kept a tight rein on Will, always reminding him to know his place.

He looked at Elle now, hugging herself protectively, her hair wet and tousled, her chemise askew around her pale slender thighs, and his heart clenched. His father had been right. Blood would always out in the end.

“You want to marry me out of duty.” She swallowed, the delicate cords in her neck sliding under the smooth skin of her throat. “Because you have made a terrible mistake.”

“I take full responsibility.” He reached for her fine-boned hand—his heart panged to find it so cold—and gave her a light squeeze of reassurance. “You mustn’t blame yourself in any way. I am solely and completely at fault. I promise to talk to your father and put everything to rights.”

“No,” she said faintly.

“We shall marry as soon as I can obtain a special license.”

She pulled her hand away from his. “No.”

He drew back. “Beg pardon?”

She met his gaze, her expression adamant. “I will not marry you.”

“Elle, you must understand that we have no choice.”

“I’m not marrying you.”

“This evening has clearly been a shock.” Reaching for his coat, he withdrew his spectacles from the pocket and put them on, allowing himself time to give words to his thoughts. “Once you look at your situation clearly, you will comprehend that this is the only path available to us now in light of…what’s just occurred.”