"You wouldn
'
t,
"
she breathed.
"Wouldn
'
t I? What makes you say so?
"
Annabelle was speechless. A threat to her own person was one thing, but she had not dreamed that by her careless words she might be putting poor Lord Temple in jeopardy. Her thoughts took flight, and she trembled at the picture they conjured.
"
That
'
s better,
"
he said. "I knew you would see sense. Aren
'
t you going to wear your bonnet?
"
His words and manner were so dispassionate, so negligent, that Annabelle was not quite sure how to take him. Without thinking, she slapped her very elegant
chapeau
with its broken feathers upon her head and tied the ribbons under her chin.
She was still trying to devise a way out of her predicament when his hand cupped her elbow and he propelled her from the room.
Chapter Two
D
avid Falconer, the Earl of Dalmar, visibly relaxed against the plush cushions of his straight-backed chair. As he surveyed his dining companion through the thick shield of his lashes, he raised the rim of his champagne glass to his lips, effectively concealing the small half-smile which threatened to degenerate into a self-satisfied grin. He judged it prudent, for the moment, to allow his companion time to adjust to her situation. One more evidence of masculine complacency and the lady might very easily take to her heels.
He
'
d been rough with her. He knew it. And more masterful than he
'
d ever suspected was in his nature. It wasn
'
t that he
'
d lost his temper—far from it. He kept his more volatile emotions on a tight leash, and with good cause. But he
'
d known from the moment he
'
d set eyes on her as she
'
d swept into the hotel foyer that to betray any form of weakness with such a woman would be fatal. He
'
d recognized the challenge in that intimidating, touch-me-not stare which had warned any man worth his salt to keep his distance. And everything that was masculine in his nature had responded to the challenge.
He
'
d given up the chase before it had begun, however, when he had learned that the lady was married and that her escort was not her husband. He
'
d drawn his own conclusions. That the lady was conducting an affair with her milksop of a lover had filled him with a furious disgust. Even so, he
'
d continued to take his meals at the Hotel Breteuil, which was only a short distance from the Palais Royal, where he had his rooms. The
arrangement suited him, and to change his habits merely because of a female was not to be countenanced.
He
'
d watched her comings and goings with a jaded eye; and he
'
d observed the man he had contemptuously nicknamed "The Milksop
"
dangle after her like a marionette. It was very evident that it was the lady who was working the strings. The poor devil, a minor lordling whom he vaguely recognized from school days, evidently wasn
'
t even permitted to take rooms in the same hotel. It was his surmise that Mrs. Annabelle Jocelyn was afraid of reprisals should her husband ever discover what she was up to. Which left him wondering what manner of man would allow his wife the freedom to come and go as she pleased. Another milksop, he
'
d decided, and had been gripped by some primitive, masculine instinct which urged him to take and conquer the woman and make her his.
The notion amused him. He
'
d felt other primitive emotions before, but those had come upon him in the blood lust of battle. He
'
d never felt like this about a woman. When the drive to possess her had persisted, his amusement had converted to a slow, simmering anger. He
'
d grown restless. In an effort to banish the lady
'
s image from his mind, he
'
d embarked on a night of frantic debauchery. It had availed him nothing. And then had come their silent exchange, when she
'
d caught sight of him from the hotel window.
He
'
d been stunned by the transformation in her appearance. Elated by the knowledge he
'
d read in her demeanor that he was a man to be reckoned with. And as she
'
d shut the window upon him that instinct to claim her, unbridled, full blown, had shaken him to the core. It was like an obsession. He
'
d come to a decision then—that if Mrs. Annabelle Jocelyn was fair game, he was entering the lists and he
'
d be damned if he would deny himself the pleasure of availing himself of the sensual fire she had so unconsciously betrayed. A moment
'
s reflection had sobered him. The lady had a husband of some sort. It was inconceivable that a man with such a woman in his possession would forego all his claims to her. And he would not share her with any man.
And then fate had taken a hand. He
'
d walked into the
Maison D
'
Or, and he
'
d found her with Monique. Not for a minute had
he mistaken her for one of that establishment
'
s sisterhood, though some perverse impulse had urged him to act out that little charade. He
'
d surmised that in her ignorance, Mrs. Jocelyn had inadvertently entered the wrong part of the building. Now he was not so sure.
"How was the beefsteak?
"
he asked politely.
"Tolerable,
"
Annabelle replied. In actual fact, it had been delicious, but she would not gratify his vanity by saying so. She was still smarting from the high-handed way the stranger had taken charge of her since he
'
d found her in that upstairs bordello. Her hired chaise and coachman had been summarily dismissed, and he
'
d
hauled her off to the Trois Frè
res Provencaux on the other side of the Palais Royal.
Her eyes lifted to take in the other diners and her confidence increased. She was in a public place. It gave every appearance of being respectable. And though their table was in a private alcove and shielded to some extent from curious eyes, she had only to call out and every head in the restaurant would turn their way. She chanced a quick look at her companion, and her confidence ebbed a little.
He had formed a very false impression of who and what she was. Her own slightly rakish appearance was against her, for a start. And that he had found her at the Palais Royal and without an escort was bad enough, but to have discovered her in that awful establishment with Monique Dupres did not bear thinking about. The thought that she should confess the whole to him she dismissed out-of-hand. Though he
'
d shown her every civility as they
'
d dined, she could not trust him. The man might easily ruin her if he knew all that there was to know about her. No, decided Annabelle, better by far that he should think her a lady of tarnished virtue. It was evident to her that he meant to offer her carte blanche. Fine. She would hear him out and then politely decline his offer. That would be that. And by morning, she and Lord Temple would be long gone from Paris. She need never again set eyes on the man. The thought cheered her.
With her most disarming smile, she began conversationally, "You have the advantage of me, sir. I don
'
t know your name.
"
"Dalmar,
"
he replied at once.
Thankfully she had never heard of him and hoped she never would again.
He topped up her wineglass and adjured her to drink. She toyed with the stem of her glass, but made no move to obey him.
"What are you exactly?
"
he asked at length. "An actress, an opera dancer, a wife, or merely a professional kept woman?
"
Her cool and cultured accents at odds with the fiery sparks that were shooting from her eyes, she said, "I am under no obligation to explain myself to you, Mr. Dalmar.
"
Ignoring the ice in her words, he remarked, "Please call me David.
"
He could not say why he did not wish her to know that "Dalmar
"
was his title unless it was because, in some sort, he wanted to claim her first as man to her woman.
When she did not respond to his invitation, he went on, "Everything about you suggests a woman of means. Your husband would have to be very liberal, however, to agree to permit you to live in this style, and with so little restraint. Somehow, I can
'
t quite see it. But I
'
m open to correction.
"
Annabelle did not deign to dignify his conjecture with a reply, and after a moment he mused confidingly, "If you
'
re an actress, you must be at the top of your profession to afford the Hotel Breteuil and your own retinue of servants. Yet I
'
ve never heard of you. Ergo, that leaves the other alternative.
"
Her hand shook slightly as she brought her wineglass to her lips. She took a long sip and carefully set the glass on the table. Her eyebrows rose speculatively. "What are
you
exactly?
"
she asked, turning his words back upon him. "A soldier, a brigand, or merely a well-breeched philanderer?
"
She was not for
getting the diamond bracelet he had so casually bestowed on the French girl before dismissing her.
Humor kindled in his eyes, but he answered seriously enough, "A little bit of all three. How astute of you to deduce it. But no, I
'
m not a professional soldier, if that
'
s what is troubling you. Don
'
t worry, I can afford you.
"
"I
'
m sure you could, if I were for sale. But you see, Mr. Dalmar, I
'
m not.
"
She spoke slowly and deliberately so that there could be no misunderstanding between them.
He slanted her a curious look but thankfully seemed to
accept her calm assertion. She almost jumped when he snapped his fingers, but it was only to attract the notice of one of the waiters. In faultless French, he demanded another bottle of wine and a selection of fresh fruit.
When the waiter had done his bidding, he asked casually, "What
'
s in the hatbox?
"
Striving to appear equally casual, Annabelle responded, "Why? What should there be in a hatbox?
"
"I only wondered when you refused to let your coachman take it with him when he returned to the hotel.
"
She smiled enigmatically but said nothing, hoping that he would not press the matter. From the moment she had read the first pages of Monique Dupres
'
s diaries, she had known that an unscrupulous person could quite easily use the information as a tool for blackmail. There was no doubt in her mind that the man sitting on the other side of the table was as unscrupulous as anyone she had ever met in her life. That she intended to publish the diaries without a ripple of conscience or regret did not strike her in the same light at all.
From the glass pedestal dish on the center of the table, he selected a peach and began to peel it with a small knife. "What were you doing upstairs in that den of vice?
"
She had an answer ready but she could not resist a little baiting of her own. "I might ask you the same question.
"
He offered her a small section of the peach, which she courteously accepted. It occupied her hands and carefully averted eyes as she came under his intent scrutiny.
"I hardly think we were there for the same purpose,
"
he said gently.
"No, I don
'
t suppose we were,
"
she returned and ruthlessly suppressed her quivering lips.
In a crisper tone, he demanded, "Were you there to meet your lover?
"
At this her eyes widened fractionally. "No. Might I have?
"
"It
'
s possible. There are rooms for rent
…"
His
eyes narrowed as she coughed into her table napkin.
When sh
e had recovered, she murmured, "
Thank you for telling me. I
'
ll be sure to keep that in mind when I
'
m next in Paris.
"
He decided that he
'
d allowed her more than enough time to regain her equilibrium. If he wasn
'
t careful, the minx would turn the tables on him. Trying to suppress his admiration, he said silkily, "If you don
'
t tell me what I wish to know, we have only to retrace our steps and confront Monique Dupres together.
"
The laughter faded from her eyes. He was sorry to see it go, but more than anything, he wanted her to take him seriously.
"If you must know,
"
she said, throwing him a reproachful look, "it was all a mistake. D
'
you suppose I would have entered those premises if I
'
d known
that I was stepping inside a…
a brothel?
"
"Then where were you going?
"
"That
'
s none of your business.
"