by Brenda Hiatt
“Nor I. But Nessa—” His voice suddenly became more serious. “I heard you earlier, saying you regretted being unable to accompany that young jackanapes to Paris. Why did you never tell me you wished to go after all?”
“I didn’t … that is, Sir Lawrence was trying to convince me to run away with him, and I refused in no uncertain terms.” She paused, looking up at him curiously. “Do you mean you would be willing to take me to Paris?” Sudden excitement flared within her.
“After this evening’s events, it occurs to me that it might be to our benefit to discreetly remove ourselves from the London scene for awhile, until a new scandal arises to dim the memory of ours.” He grinned down at her. “I’d thought of simply returning to Fox Manor, but a belated wedding trip to Paris would serve as well—and might also serve another purpose.”
Paris! She could finally see that fabled city of glitter, excitement, and sophistication. But—“What other purpose do you mean?”
His smile now was cryptic. “We shall see. I’ll simply say that in Paris you may see enough of scandal to finally satisfy your curiosity—if this evening’s exploits have not already done so.”
She tilted her head saucily. “If they have, you can hardly expect me to admit it, and thereby endanger my visit to Paris, my lord! When shall we leave?”
He shook his head, as though in disbelief. “You, madam, are incorrigible. Let me see … I have a few matters to attend to in Parliament yet. We can stop at Fox Manor on our way to Dover, so that I may take care of estate business there. I should say we might take ship within a fortnight or so.”
“A fortnight!” In Paris, she could broaden her horizons far past what was possible in London, she was sure! What sights, what people, what experiences must await there—and in only two weeks’ time!
“I’ll be ready well within a fortnight, I promise you,” she declared. “I can scarcely wait!”
As it happened, it was a fortnight to the day before they finally boarded the packet bound for Calais. Nessa had spent a busy, if rather lonely week, preparing Foxhaven House and its staff for their extended absence. Very few people had called, and those who did were not ones she felt disposed to receive. Most were scandalmongers, undoubtedly hoping to glean additional details to embellish their gossip. Pleading a lack of time—quite truthfully—she refused them all.
Only Prudence did she admit, and she did not stay long. But at least her motive was beyond question.
“Philip and I are expecting a child,” she informed Nessa with obvious delight. “I’m not certain which of us is more thrilled. He feels the Season will be too much for me, under the circumstances, so we shall return to Herefordshire and likely remain for at least a year. You will come to visit me, will you not, Nessa?”
Nessa jumped up to hug her sister. “Oh, Prudence, what marvelous news! And of course I’ll visit, as soon as we return from Paris.” And she had perforce to explain her own plans.
Prudence expressed some concern, but was clearly too happy to dwell upon it. “I will trust you to do what is right,” she concluded. “Certainly by now you have learned your lesson! I only hope Jack, er, Lord Foxhaven will make you as happy as Philip has made me.”
She took her leave shortly thereafter, leaving Nessa to the remainder of her preparations. A day or two later, when Jack announced his current business in London complete, they loaded up the traveling coach and headed for Fox Manor, where they had agreed to spend a week.
Nessa found herself peering ahead as they neared the estate, eager to see it again. In fact, she realized, this was the closest to a feeling of homecoming she’d ever experienced. Returns to Cherry Oaks as a child had always been marred by fear of an almost inevitable scolding. As for Haughton Abbey, even when she’d grown comfortable there, she had never learned to love it. Fox Manor, however, felt like home.
Part of the charm, of course, consisted in the healing of the rift between Jack and herself. They were now back to the easy camaraderie—and passionate nights—of the early days of their marriage. Sometimes Nessa even dared to hope that his feelings for her went deeper than a combination of lust and friendship, but she was careful not to press for any sort of declaration.
Still, if any place might elicit such a development, it would be Fox Manor, she thought. Almost, it was enough to make her suggest a longer stay here, putting off the excitement of Paris.
Almost.
As the day of their departure approached, Nessa’s excitement mounted. Even more than London, Paris promised to show her a side of life she’d previously only imagined. And now, at last, they were on their way.
Forgotten was the chill drizzle that had pursued them from Fox Manor to Dover. Even the thin fog through which the packet made its way could not dampen her spirits.
“Thank you, Jack, for suggesting this,” she said as they stood side by side at the rail.
He draped an arm over her shoulders, driving away the cold she’d scarcely noticed, and looked ahead as she did. “Wait to thank me after you’ve had a chance to absorb some impressions from what is reputed to be the wickedest city on earth,” he said teasingly. “You may find Paris more than you’ve bargained for.”
Nessa grinned into the mist. “I hope so!”
Chapter Twenty
“Here we are,” Jack announced, as the coach taking them the final stage of their journey reached the outskirts of Paris. “We should reach our hotel in ten minutes or so. Unless my message missent, a room will be ready for us. You’ll wish to rest before launching yourself upon the city, I imagine.”
Nessa pulled her face away from the window with obvious reluctance. “Oh, I am not at all tired, Jack! How could I possibly rest when all of Paris awaits?”
He chuckled, trying to ignore his misgivings. When he’d suggested Paris, he’d had more in mind than leaving London until the talk died down. He was counting on this most wicked city to finally cure Nessa of her craving for the seamier side of life—a side he knew far too well. He just hoped he wouldn’t regret bringing Nessa here, to the site of so much he had put behind him.
His wife had amply proved she was no longer the prude he’d married. What if Paris, rather than giving her a disgust for debauchery, only increased her appetite?
Warily, he glanced back to her rapt face, avidly taking in the street scene.
“Here we are. The Hotel des Cinq Astres.” The coach stopped even as he spoke.
“How lovely!” Nessa exclaimed, stepping out the moment the stairs were lowered—into ankle-deep sewage. “Oh, bother! I’d forgotten what you told me about the gutters. Now I shall have to change my shoes and stockings before we can explore.”
She wrinkled her nose, but seemed otherwise undaunted by her first step into filth. Carefully avoiding the free-flowing sewage, Jack helped her onto the relatively cleaner walkway before the front door of the hotel.
Ushering Nessa inside, he approached the concierge at the broad marble desk. “Rooms for Lord and Lady Foxhaven and their servants,” he said in flawless French and saw Nessa’s eyes widen.
The concierge snapped to attention and began issuing instructions to various lackeys, and within a very few minutes they were shown into a luxurious suite on the third floor. A basket of fruit, wine, and mouthwatering French pastries awaited them there.
“How perfectly lovely!” said Nessa again. “Merci, monsieur. C’est magnifique!” Jack smiled. Her accent was quite passable. She must have learned the language under the tutelage of a true Frenchman.
Simmons and Parker began the unpacking at once, while Nessa sampled one of the pastries, exclaiming at its delicacy and flavor.
“You’ll not wish to spoil your appetite, my love.” Jack smiled indulgently. “Once we have dressed, I mean to take you to Rocher de Cancalle, where you may experience the finest cuisine to be found this side of heaven.”
“Oh, I remember reading about it in one of the London papers,” she said excitedly. “ ’Tis said to be worlds above anything in England. And we are
to go there tonight? Shall we visit Tortoni’s while we are here, for its famous ices? And the Louvre—perhaps tomorrow we may view the artworks there? Oh, and the Palais-Royal! ’Tis the place to see and be seen, is it not?”
Jack laughed at her childlike enthusiasm. He loved it when she forgot to play the sophisticate. “Yes, yes, my love, we shall go to all of those places, and more. But one step at a time. I will leave you to dress for dinner, while I do likewise. Come, Parker.”
He retired with his valet into the adjoining chamber. Half an hour later, impeccably attired, he tapped on the bedchamber door and then entered. Nessa, resplendent in pale blue satin, stood up from the dressing table, where her maid had just put the finishing touches on her hair.
“Well?” she asked, twirling for his examination. “Shall I avoid disgracing England, do you think?”
He came forward to take both her hands in his. “Indeed, my dear, after one look at you, the Frenchwomen will abandon their flounces and outrageous bonnets to imitate your elegance. You are exquisite.”
And she was. He was tempted to suggest having dinner sent up so that he could have her to himself, in fact. But no, he had promised her Paris. Helping her into her wrap, he led her downstairs, and out into the now-twilit streets.
“Stay close to me,” he cautioned her. “Paris is not Mayfair, neither as well lit nor as safe, even in the better areas.”
She drew nearer, her eyes wide as she took in the scene surrounding them—the thronged humanity of all social classes, the scrawlings upon the walls, proclaiming, “Vive l’empereur!” in defiance of Napoleon’s defeat. Prostitutes lounged in doorways, street vendors hawked their wares in French and broken English.
Instinctively, Jack wanted to protect Nessa from the evils that he knew lurked around every corner and within every alleyway. He’d been mad to bring her here.
“This is wonderful! Amazing!” she breathed. “I’ve never seen anything like it. How exciting!”
He groaned inwardly, not only at her words, but at the memory of his own similar enthusiasm upon his last visit to Paris—and of the wild excesses it had led him to. Was he so certain that he could not be similarly tempted now? That Nessa would not? It would be best, he decided, if their visit here were kept short. Tomorrow he would make certain inquiries …
They reached their destination none too soon for his taste. Jack’s anxiety receded as he watched—and shared—Nessa’s enjoyment of gustatory pleasures beyond her dreams. Whatever else he might say against Paris, the food here was the best on earth.
“Now I understand the wages true French chefs command in England,” Nessa commented when she finally pushed back from the marble table after their prolonged and leisurely meal. “And I begin to believe those who claim to travel to Paris solely to dine here. That was magnificent.”
“Now that you have experienced the best Paris has to offer,” he teased, “we may as well return to England. Anything else we do here is bound to be anticlimactic.”
“Oh, I think not,” she replied, her eyes dancing. “The very atmosphere of this city inspires me to things most climactic, in fact.”
Jack grinned, his body responding instantly to her innuendo. “Indeed? Then I suggest we return to our hotel without further ado.”
Nessa stretched luxuriously upon awakening to her first full day in Paris. If last night had been any indication, she was going to thoroughly enjoy her stay here! A fabulous meal, followed by even more fabulous lovemaking with the man who had made this possible.
Turning to express her gratitude yet again, she discovered that Jack had already risen. He was on the far side of the enormous room, almost finished dressing. Before she could speak, a tap came at the door. Jack opened it to receive a tray of something that smelled positively heavenly. The moment the door closed again, she sat up.
“Mmm! Is that our breakfast?”
He turned with a grin that melted her insides to water. “It is indeed, and an excellent one, I should think. One reason I chose this hotel was the reputation of its kitchens.”
She bounded out of bed, only belatedly remembering to snatch up her silk wrapper when Jack’s eyes brightened appreciatively. “After breakfast,” she promised. “You wouldn’t want me distracted by that mouthwatering aroma, would you?”
His blue eyes smoldered. “No, I’ll want your undivided attention, as I plan to give you mine.”
Sitting at the small table, Nessa saw only familiar foods: eggs, meats, pastries, coffee. But everything was hot—something rarely experienced in England—and the quality set it apart as well. The coffee was the best she’d ever tasted—full, rich, and strong.
“That was nearly as good as last night’s dinner,” she declared as she drank the last drop, to wash down her final bite of croissant. “If we spend many weeks in Paris, I fear I shall become as large as a cow!”
“Then I must make certain you take enough exercise to compensate.” Jack tossed his napkin onto the table and rose. “I have a particular activity in mind right now.”
Nessa came to him eagerly, and soon they were engaged in a most pleasurable exercise indeed. As so often happened after she was sated, however, she had to fight the urge to tell him she loved him. She had faced that truth some time ago, but after the incident with Miranda Dempsey, she felt reluctant to voice feelings that might not be reciprocated. When it was time, she would know.
Wouldn’t she?
Today, however, she refused to dwell upon the matter. Paris awaited! “Where shall we go today?” she asked, almost before her breathing had slowed to normal. “One of the palaces?”
“I am wounded! Could I distract you no longer than that?” But he smiled indulgently. “The Louvre, I believe. Then perhaps the Tuileries?”
“Oh, yes! And then, tonight, the Palais-Royal? Please?” She’d read and heard numerous stories of its shops, cafés, and gaming establishments.
For a moment she thought a fleeting frown crossed Jack’s brow, but the smile never wavered. “Of course. Up with you, then! We have a busy day ahead of us, it would seem.”
Back in the streets of Paris, Nessa again felt assailed by the odors—mostly unpleasant—and the crowds. Why, all of Europe must be here! English gentlemen and officers in their blue or red coats, Frenchmen in their more sober black, ladies of all nationalities in every color of the rainbow, in everything from simple English styles to the more ornate French and German ones.
Just ahead, she saw an English officer exchanging angry words with what must be a French officer. The Frenchman then slapped the other resoundingly across the face, and the Englishman bowed. Turning aside, they continued their conversation at a less audible volume.
“Does … does that mean they are to duel?” she asked Jack, amazed at such a display.
He nodded. “Unless things have changed since I was here in August, dozens are fought every morning. The French are a hotheaded race, and with no war to occupy them now, our own idled officers are more than happy to oblige their thirst for violence.”
She looked at him uncertainly. “Did you fight any duels when you were here last summer?”
Again he nodded, not quite meeting her eyes. “A few. I’d like to think I’m a wiser man now, though. For one thing, I’ve more to live for.” He winked at her.
Nessa felt chilled and warmed all at once. The very idea of Jack putting himself in such danger, doubtless over such trivial things as the cut of a coat or a turn of the dice, made her almost ill. In vain she reminded herself that he’d undoubtedly faced greater danger in the army. Somehow the thought did not comfort her in the least.
“Jack! Jack Ashecroft! Is it really you?” A shrill, feminine voice broke into Nessa’s disturbing thoughts. With a swirl of puce skirts and heavy perfume, a plump, pretty blonde blocked their way. Seizing Jack by both arms, she planted a resounding kiss square on his mouth.
He grabbed her bare shoulders and set her away from him, looking more startled than upset, Nessa thought. “Peggy! I had no idea you we
re still in Paris.”
She appeared ready to launch herself at him again, when Jack continued hastily, “Pray, let me introduce you to my wife.”
The woman’s rouged cheeks turned even pinker, as she noticed Nessa for the first time. “Your wife?” she cried, her blue eyes nearly starting from her head. “Say it’s not true, Jack!”
Jack released her shoulders, now that the danger of another attack had passed. “I’d rather hoped for congratulations, not disbelief. Lady Foxhaven and I were wed before Christmas.”
Peggy cocked her head pertly to one side. “Foxhaven? Weren’t that your grandpa’s name? So you’re a markiss now, are you? Well, don’t that beat all! Guess you had to wed so you could get yourself an heir, eh?” She nudged Nessa with her elbow, her eyes twinkling again.
Nessa managed a smile, both attracted and repelled by the woman’s forthright, vulgar manner. “We’re working on it,” she said brightly.
Both Jack and Peggy stared at her for a moment, then the other woman let out a loud peal of laughter. “Looks like you found yourself a right ’un, Jack! Glad to see you ain’t stuck with some starched up society type. Bring her ’round tonight and I’ll introduce her to the other girls.” With a saucy wink, she turned to sashay away from them down the street.
Glancing up at Jack, Nessa saw that his color had risen considerably. He cleared his throat a couple of times before meeting her eye.
“That was Peggy,” he said unnecessarily.
“So I gathered.” She couldn’t helped being amused at his embarrassment, even if the encounter had been rather unsettling for her, as well. “A good friend of yours, I take it?”
“Just a … a casual acquaintance, really.” He didn’t quite meet her eye. “Manners are freer here, and even the English who spend enough time in Paris tend to adopt them.”
“Ah,” she said noncommittally. “Shall we continue on?”
He nodded and they resumed their walk, but this was not the last such encounter. They had nearly reached the Louvre when a disheveled young man accosted them.