Last Chance for Paris

by Farmer, Merry

  Solange. It was a beautiful name for a beautiful woman. Louis let it sink into his psyche for a moment before saying, “Please allow me to escort you home.”

  “That won’t be necessary,” Solange started to say.

  “What a lovely offer,” Lady Briarwood answered over her. “One I accept. We’re so much more likely to reach the palace in one piece if we have a proper escort.”

  “And to stay out of even greater trouble,” one of the twins murmured to the other.

  Louis was certain the twins had the right way of things. He hailed a cab, then helped each of the ladies inside with the sort of gentlemanly consideration that the patrons of the Moulin Rouge had denied them. He climbed in last, and was forced to squeeze himself into a seat with the lovely Solange.

  “I’m terribly sorry for the inconvenience,” he apologized when it was clear from Solange’s expression that she wasn’t at all happy about the arrangement. “I do hope we reach the palace quickly so that you don’t have to put up with me any longer than necessary.”

  Solange said nothing, but she glanced oddly at him. Louis found he didn’t mind the strange look. Solange smelled wonderful, like summer flowers and sunshine. Lady Briarwood chattered away, relating all the adventures they’d had up until their arrival at the Moulin Rouge, and the twins, Miss Heather and Miss Sage, as he discovered their names were, provided comic relief with their expressions in reaction to Lady Briarwood’s stories.

  Louis was disappointed by the time the carriage pulled up the long front drive of the Château de Saint-Sottises.

  “Well, Lord Sinclair, this has been a delight,” Lady Briarwood said as Louis helped each of the women out of the carriage. “And I would like to repay you somehow.”

  “That really isn’t necessary,” he said, handing Miss Heather and Miss Sage down from the carriage, then reaching his hand toward Solange. His heart jumped in his chest as Solange slid her hand into his. It was a reaction he rarely experienced when showing simple courtesy to a woman, but he found he liked it and wanted more.

  “Kindness should always be repaid,” Lady Briarwood said with a shrug. “Therefore, I would like to officially invite you to spend the day and night with us tomorrow.”

  Solange’s hand tightened around his as she stumbled out of the carriage.

  “Are you well?” Louis asked her, holding her hand tightly and resting a hand on the small of her back as she regained her balance.

  “I am,” Solange muttered. Louis could feel an incredible amount of tension radiating from her.

  “We are planning a picnic tomorrow,” Lady Briarwood went on, oblivious to the exchange Louis and Solange were having. “It will be one of our last before we leave Paris and continue our tour on the Italian peninsula. And since we plan to be out late, I invite you to spend the night at the palace as well. Do say you’ll join us.”

  “I—” Louis started, but was at a loss for words. He had mountains of unfinished business with Lafarge. He wanted much more than his mother’s brooch from the man. Lafarge was the owner of a horrific gossip rag, Les Ragots, which routinely blackmailed members of the French and English aristocracy, ruining lives. Few people knew Lafarge was the owner. He’d covered his tracks carefully, but Louis had learned his secret. A secret he was unable to share with the world because of the cavern of dirt Lafarge had about the Sinclair family, and several friends of Louis’s as well. And yet, since arriving in Paris, Louis had come closer and closer to finding a way of exposing Lafarge as the villain he was and ending his reign of terror once and for all.

  But there he was, still holding Solange’s hand, tempted beyond measure to set revenge aside for the chance to get to know the beautiful and regal Miss Solange—perhaps Lady Solange, if the way she carried herself were any indication—much, much better.

  His plans for revenge could wait one day.

  “I would be delighted, Lady Briarwood,” he said, bowing to the woman, even though it meant letting go of Solange’s hand.

  “Perfect.” Lady Briarwood clapped her hands together. “We will expect you tomorrow then, my lord.”

  Chapter 2

  Louis had no idea what to expect as he walked through the astounding opulence of the Château de Saint-Sottises late the next morning. The butler who had greeted him informed him that the entire McGovern clan was spread across the palace’s back lawn and that the picnic Louis had been invited to had already started. He pictured dozens of sedate Englishmen and women siting daintily in wicker furniture, gazing at the Seine as it flowed past the palace.

  The sight that met him when the butler led him through tall French doors at the back of the conservatory was, simply put, chaos on a level Louis would have expected from a poorly-run boarding school. Half a dozen sporting events were taking place simultaneously, from croquet to badminton to cricket. Several of the ladies were riding bicycles in circles around the collection of blankets and quilts where a handful of McGovern cousins sat. Harried palace servants rushed around tables laden with food off to one side, but the cousins didn’t seem interested in eating.

  “Oh! Lord Sinclair, you’ve arrived at last.” Lady Briarwood broke away from the badminton game and came to meet him, racquet in hand. “We were beginning to despair that you wouldn’t show.”

  “Forgive me, Lady Briarwood.” Louis bowed politely to her, searching for the mysterious Solange as he straightened. “It isn’t even noon yet.”

  “As to that,” Lady Briarwood shrugged. “We do not keep to the clock when we plan our festivities. When the spirit moves us, we move with it.”

  Louis had a feeling truer words had never been spoken. While he had no personal experience of the McGoverns—at least not up until that point—he’d heard plenty of stories and rumors about them through the usual society gossip circles. The family was unique.

  “The current badminton game is about to finish, then my cousin, Hattie, and I will be stepping in to play cousins Joseph and Ivor,” Lady Briarwood rushed on, gesturing with her racquet for him to follow her deeper into the chaos. “But I’m certain that if you find yourself a partner, you can join the queue to get a match in.” She paused, glancing to him and noticing the way he scanned the company. “That is, unless you have other activities in mind.” Her mouth curved up in a clever smile.

  Louis tried to think fast, but his eagerness to learn more about Solange made his thoughts scatter. “I should check on your cousins, Miss Heather and Miss Sage, and, of course, Solange, to be certain they’ve recovered from yesterday’s adventure,” he said clumsily.

  Lady Briarwood’s smile grew. “You’ll have a hard time addressing Heather and Sage. They aren’t currently speaking to me, after I dragged them to the Moulin Rouge, and have planted themselves in the shade to read books.” She nodded to a section of the garden beside the lawn where carefully sculpted trees provided a bit of shade for a collection of benches. The McGovern twins sat there with books, appearing to ignore the world. “But Solange is just over there,” Lady Briarwood went on, nodding down the slope of the hill toward the river.

  Louis’s pulse sped up as he turned to find Solange staring straight at him. There was something in the stern lines of her face and the slight narrowing of her eyes that thrilled him. If he had to wager a guess, he’d say that Solange didn’t approve of him. But rather than putting him off, that excited him. There was nothing so enjoyable as proving himself to a lady who didn’t want to like him.

  “Thank you, my lady.” He bowed to Lady Briarwood again, then marched off down the lawn. Perhaps it made him a rogue, but the challenge of charming a lady as sure of herself as Solange was the sort of thing he lived for. Or at least, it was the thing he used to live for before bringing Lafarge to justice had taken over all his thoughts. Part of him believed he should stay focused on his mission, especially when he was so close to getting what he wanted from the bastard, but a voice in the back of his head told him his mother would be just as pleased by him courting a beautiful woman as she would by him getting
back what was hers.

  “Miss Solange,” he greeted the object of his interest with a smile that was perhaps a little too warm for someone he had only just been introduced to as he came to stand in front of her. “It’s lovely to see you again.”

  Solange had stared him down through his whole trek across the lawn to her. Her body was rigid with challenge. Louis was surprised she didn’t cross her arms and glare at him. “My lord,” she greeted him with the barest of nods. She said nothing else, merely stared at him as though she wanted to drive a knife through his heart.

  Louis had no idea where the intensity of her emotion came from. Likely it was a manifestation of embarrassment due to how and where they’d met the day before. He liked the spirit such emotion showed, though. Making her like him would be a pleasure.

  “I trust you are well after yesterday’s adventure,” he began, offering his arm in a silent invitation to walk with him.

  She stared at him, perfectly still, but with so much feeling in her eyes that his cock stirred. That came as a surprise to him. Though he’d always delighted in making people, women especially, like him, he wasn’t often out to seduce them. But with Solange, the thought took hold in his mind and wouldn’t let go.

  At last, after what felt like an interminable, silent battle of wills, she took his arm and let him walk with her toward the river’s edge. “I am well enough,” she said, her tone guarded.

  “I take it that an adventure at the Moulin Rouge was not what you had in mind for the afternoon,” he said, hoping she would see the comment as a question and tell him all about herself.

  Instead, she asked, “What were you doing there, my lord?”

  Heat infused Louis’s face. “I was doing what most patrons of the establishment go there to do,” he answered. “Seeking entertainment.” It was a lie, but one that was so plausible no one would question it.

  “And had you been there before?” she asked, one brow arched up as if she knew the answer was yes.

  “Once or twice.” The truth bubbled out of him before he could think to say anything else. He always fell back on the truth when he didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t certain if that made him very clever indeed or prodigiously stupid.

  “Where are you from, my lord?” Solange asked on.

  He blinked at the question. It was innocent enough, and yet it still made him squirm. “England, of course,” he answered. “My family has an estate in North Yorkshire, although with a name like Sinclair, you can imagine there are some Scottish connections. My family name is Bramwell, which isn’t Scottish at all. I believe there is some convoluted story about how the title was passed down two hundred years ago or so.”

  He sighed inwardly at himself. What kind of an idiot was he to blabber on about titles and inheritance?

  Solange continued to study him with piercing eyes. “Is that all the connection you and your family have with foreign powers?” she asked.

  The question was as odd as could be, but he shrugged and answered, “My mother was French. She was connected to the Bourbons. Her grandparents fled the guillotine during the Reign of Terror, or so I’ve always been told.”

  “Have you spent much time abroad?” Her hand grew tense in the crook of his arm, as if she was expecting him to say something negative.

  He responded to her obvious tension by smiling and speaking in a gentler voice than he would normally have used. “I have traveled,” he admitted. “All throughout Europe. I’ve visited the Caribbean as well.”

  “And Africa?” she asked, her eyes sharp with suspicion.

  In an instant, he guessed where her questions were leading. It was obvious she was of African descent. The scrutiny she must have gone through on a daily basis, especially as she traveled with the McGoverns, must have left her wary of how men like him would see her.

  “I have traveled a bit in Africa,” he said, gazing fondly at her and trying to put her at ease. “I spent some time in Côte d'Ivoire some years ago.” Her eyes lit up, as though he’d proven a point she’d been ruminating about, but he went on. “I find the people there to be extraordinary in every way. And the land itself is beautiful.”

  Her moment of victory turned to surprise. “You think so?”

  “Absolutely.” He adjusted his arm, noticing that her grip softened as he did. He was winning her over, perhaps in spite of herself. “I’ve never met such kind and industrious people. The welcome I received was truly touching, especially considering my visit came hard on the heels of my mother’s—” he hesitated slightly before saying, “untimely death.” Memories of that time pinched at his heart.

  He fell silent for a moment as he remembered. When he glanced Solange’s way, her expression had gone completely blank. The brittleness and suspicion that had rippled from her was gone. She blinked when she noticed him watching her and rushed on with, “Where did you stay while you were there?”

  “In Abidjan. At the most charming hotel near the waterfront.”

  Again, she blinked. “You did not stay with friends or…or family?”

  “I would have if I’d had friends or family there,” he said with a slight laugh.

  She shook her head. “If you didn’t have friends or family there, why did you go?”

  He tried his best not to wince. His reasons for going to Abidjan were the same as his reasons for traveling to Paris when he should have been back in England, seeing to the duties of his estate. But revenge was not a suitable topic while attempting to charm a woman.

  “I had business there,” he answered, glancing off over the Seine.

  “What sort of business?” Solange asked.

  He snapped back to face her, smiling at her bold question. “I’m flattered that you should find me so interesting.”

  “I—” A subtle flush of color came to Solange’s cheeks, and she too glanced off at the countryside instead of facing him directly.

  Louis waited for her to continue, perhaps to explain her line of questions, but she remained silent. Her silence gave him the opportunity to study the lines of her face, the curve of her lips, and the rigid way she held herself. Miss Solange, whatever her surname was, had a secret. She was holding onto something with her whole being, and she wasn’t going to let it go easily.

  They reached the edge of one of the palace gardens, and Louis stopped to turn so that they could walk back to the others.

  “I should like to know more about you,” he said with what he hoped was a winning smile. “What on earth possessed you to take a position as companion to Lady Briarwood?”

  He asked the question in as light and teasing a way as possible, but Solange’s brow knit into a frown all the same. “The position was available,” she said.

  Her answer only made him crave more information. “Were you in need of a position?”

  Her lips remained sealed. He wasn’t sure if she intended to answer him, but the point ended up being moot. They were being approached by Damien McGovern and Lord Gregory, both of whom wore concerned frowns and seemed in a hurry to intercept them.

  “Lord Sinclair,” Lord Gregory addressed him. “Might I have a word with you?”

  “And I’d like to have a word with you,” Mr. McGovern said, staring pointedly at Solange.

  Before Louis could question what was going on, Solange stepped away from him, letting go of his arm, and strode to meet Mr. McGovern. Mr. McGovern whisked her off, practically goose-stepping her back toward the picnic. As he did, Lord Gregory marched to Louis’s side and stood in such a way that Louis was forced to turn away from Solange.

  “Is something the matter?” Louis asked. “I haven’t offended anyone’s sensibilities by walking with Miss Solange, have I?”

  “Not at all,” Lord Gregory said unconvincingly. “But I must warn you.”

  Louis’s brow went up. “Warn me?”

  Lord Gregory let out a breath and glanced over his shoulder to Solange and Mr. McGovern’s retreating backs. “Miss Lafarge is—”

  He stopped and seemed to
struggle for the right word, but Louis reacted as though he’d fired a cannon. Lafarge? He glanced quickly to Solange, then shook his head. It couldn’t be. Lafarge was a common French surname. It had to be coincidence.

  “Solange is dangerous,” Lord Gregory went on.

  The hair on the back of Louis’s neck stood up. “In what way?”

  “She’s just—” Again, Lord Gregory seemed to struggle for words. “Let me just advise you to keep your distance from her.”

  Louis frowned, studying the man. Part of him instantly assumed Lord Gregory was interested in Solange for himself. But he knew better. He knew the man’s story, what had happened to him in London years ago and why he was in Paris. After spotting them together at the masquerade ball and later, on the Champs-Élysées, he was willing to venture that Lord Gregory and Mr. McGovern had a particular kind of friendship. So why the concern about Solange?

  “I can assure you that my intentions toward Miss Lafarge are pure,” he said with a slight frown.

  That only doubled Lord Gregory’s unease. “That may be, but I’m not certain her intentions toward you are.”

  Louis could only gape at the man. He had no idea what a statement like that could mean. Was it possible Solange was on the hunt for a husband and thought him a likely candidate?

  The idea instantly filled Louis with a warmth and excitement that he couldn’t shake. Any man would be lucky to call a woman like Solange his own. And he would be in the market for a wife soon. He needed someone who would keep him on his toes, someone dangerous, as Lord Gregory suggested she was.

  “Thank you for your advice,” he said, thumping Lord Gregory’s back and starting back toward the picnic. “I can assure you that I will keep my wits about me where the lovely Solange is concerned.”

  Lord Gregory didn’t look at all pleased by his statement, but Louis wasn’t certain he cared. If the man had intended to warn him off of her, his plan had backfired. He was as enamored of the woman as ever.