“I know what you have in mind, Solange, and you can’t do it,” Damien whispered as he marched Solange back toward the rest of the McGovern clan.
“You do not know what I have in mind,” she snapped in return, every nerve bristling. She resented the fact that, as well-meaning as Damien McGovern was, he was dictating to her. She hated being pushed around and manipulated by anyone, especially when her honor and the honor of her family was at stake. But more than that, she was irritated beyond measure with herself for finding Lord Sinclair so devilishly charming.
“Please tell me you didn’t pick up that gun when I got rid of it that night,” Damien whispered on.
Solange kept her mouth shut. Of course she’d run to retrieve her pistol when he’d tried to throw it away. She had the feeling he knew it as well.
“Don’t kill Lord Sinclair,” Damien continued. They drew near the rest of the cousins—who were abandoning their games to crowd around the tables of food at last—and several people glanced to them curiously. Damien smiled as though nothing was wrong and said through clenched teeth, “We don’t need a murder right now. Not when so many other axes are hanging over our heads.”
He was, no doubt, referring to the salacious photograph of Lord Reith and Damien’s sister, Dorothy, that the scandal rag, Les Ragots, still could publish. He was also probably referring to what she’d witnessed between him and Lord Gregory the night she’d almost shot Lord Sinclair as well. The two of them were lovers—she would have bet anything on it—and if that fact were discovered, it would mean ruin. And who knew what other secrets the McGoverns were keeping? Solange’s time in their company had taught her that there were far more things making the entire family infamous than simply their over-exuberant ways.
“I can assure you, Mr. McGovern,” Solange said with more formality than was necessary as they reached the end of the queue that had formed at the food table, “I have no plans to do anything that will reflect badly on the McGovern family or put them in jeopardy in any way.”
If she had her way, she’d do away with Lord Sinclair quietly, then move on to Monsieur Lafarge without anyone knowing she was connected to the McGoverns, or even that she was the one who had brought about their downfall.
But even as she thought that, the resolve that she’d clung to so fiercely for so long faltered. She couldn’t help but glance over her shoulder to where Lord Sinclair was walking their way, deep in conversation with Lord Gregory. The spring sunlight picked up the highlights in Lord Sinclair’s brown hair and made his complexion rosy and inviting. He walked easily, not at all like a man who had more sins on his shoulders than he could count. And when he passed by the badminton court, he broke away from Lord Gregory to help some of the children that had wandered over from the nearby village to find racquets and shuttlecocks to play with. He paused for a moment to teach them how to hit the birdie as well.
Searing, reluctant warmth spread through her. A man who was responsible for carrying out the black deeds of a murderer and destroyer of lives wouldn’t be so kind and precious with children. He wouldn’t stroll calmly with her, talking freely about his past and his purpose in traveling. She still had more questions than answers, but deep in her gut, she believed Lord Sinclair would tell her everything she needed to know.
Damien cleared his throat by her side, gesturing for Solange to move forward in the queue. Her thoughts had been so distracted that she hadn’t noticed it moving forward. She rushed to the table and began fixing herself a plate, but food was the last thing on her mind right then.
Once she had her plate and was seated on a corner of the blanket with Heather and Sage—the two cousins she was certain wouldn’t attempt to drag her into a useless conversation about unimportant things—she sought out Lord Sinclair and continued to puzzle over him. Something absolutely wasn’t right. She shouldn’t be noticing how broad his shoulders were or how confident his gait as he left the badminton court to head to the food table. She shouldn’t find his smile so bright or so appealing. And she certainly shouldn’t be remembering the way he’d come to her and Lady Briarwood’s rescue at the Moulin Rouge the night before. He’d been gentlemanly and gallant then, in spite of the fact that he’d been conversing with Monsieur Lafarge moments before. In fact, she realized with a start, he’d broken off his conversation with Lafarge to rescue them.
The pieces of the puzzle weren’t fitting together, especially in the way he made her feel. She needed more information. She needed to get him alone, to get him off-guard, and to pry the truth out of him. And she knew exactly how she was going to do it.
Chapter 3
Solange had to wait long after dark for the merry McGovern cousins to finally grow weary and drag themselves up to bed, letting Lord Sinclair take his leave and go to bed as well. She had to wait further as Lady Roselyn needed her help undressing and had to run through the gossip of the day as she did so.
“And I saw the way you looked at Lord Sinclair,” Roselyn said in the middle of a discourse on how adorable Lord Reith and Miss Dorothy were together. “Don’t think I didn’t.”
“Lord Sinclair is a handsome man, my lady,” Solange said, unable to meet her mistress’s eyes, her face heating.
What was wrong with her? Lord Sinclair was the enemy, not someone she should develop a schoolgirl crush on.
“He seemed quite taken with you as well,” Roselyn went on, her smile wheedling. “And isn’t he just the epitome of male perfection?”
Solange swallowed as the memory of his strong arm under her hand as he escorted her returned. She wasn’t too proud to admit that she was as appreciative of male potency as any other red-blooded woman, but to feel that way about someone she’d been so certain was her enemy unsettled her. Was he the enemy?
Her uncertainty made her restless and she snapped, “He’s an earl and I’m nobody, so that’s the end of that.”
Her pulse raced after her sharp outburst, as she waited for Roselyn to scold her. It raced even harder when Roselyn’s grin widened and her eyes danced with mischief.
“I know who you are, Solange Lafarge,” Roselyn said, lowering her arms after pulling all the pins from her hair and crossing the room with a look that sent a shiver down Solange’s spine. “You may pretend to be a lady’s companion and busy yourself seeing to my wardrobe, fetching tea, and picking up after me, but I know you were born to better things than that.”
“I don’t know what you mean, my lady.” Solange moved away from her, bending to retrieve Roselyn’s clothes from the floor and taking them to the wardrobe.
“Lafarge indeed,” Roselyn scoffed, following her to the wardrobe. “Your family name is Kouassi, not Lafarge. Your father is practically royalty.”
Solange focused on hanging Roselyn’s gown in the wardrobe, quietly murmuring, “Not anymore.”
Roselyn continued to move closer to her. “So, if you ask me, I see no reason a princess shouldn’t set her sights on an earl.”
“I am not a princess.” Solange turned to stare at Roselyn. “Thank you for seeing me in such a flattering light, but I am simply who I am.”
“Someone who had a shine in their eyes for a certain earl today and who I think should pursue said earl enthusiastically,” Roselyn said with a giggle.
Solange let out a breath. She liked Roselyn. She adored the entire McGovern family. But they were neither realistic nor sensible.
“Will you be needing anything else tonight, my lady?” she asked, stepping away from the wardrobe and heading for the door.
“I suppose not,” Roselyn sighed, heading for her bed. “But I would sleep much better if I knew you valued yourself enough to see that there’s nothing wrong with you setting your sights on Lord Sinclair.”
“Thank you,” Solange said as she reached the door. Roselyn was dead wrong, of course. And the poor woman had no idea what sort of sights she’d set on Lord Sinclair. But Solange supposed that fantasy and romance were exactly the sort of thing that occupied the minds of wealthy and attractive young
widows.
She shook her head as she left the room. Once in the hall, her resolve to get to the bottom of things with Lord Sinclair hardened. The man was either a villain or he wasn’t, and there was only one way to find out.
She picked up her pace as she slipped up one hall, crossed to another wing of the palace, wary of anyone who might still be up and about to notice her, and made her way down the corridor where some of the gentlemen guests had their rooms. One of the maids had told her which room Lord Sinclair was settled in for the night in exchange for a spool of ribbons. Solange made her way to that room as fast as she could, turning the handle and dashing into the room without knocking.
Lord Sinclair stood by the washstand in the corner in nothing but his drawers, scrubbing his face with a towel. He jerked straight and whipped around in alarm as Solange clicked the door shut behind her, locking it. All it took was for Lord Sinclair’s expression to shift from shock to a wolfish grin for her to question the wisdom of her plan.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, lowering the towel from his face and revealing his broad chest as he did.
Solange reacted powerfully to the sight of him. His body was just so perfect, his muscles so well-defined, with just the right amount of hair on his chest. His drawers did little to hide what lay beneath them, and without intending to, Solange dropped her gaze to his hips. Her breath caught in her lungs as lust raged through her.
“I’m not usually the sort to allow a woman, even one as beautiful as you, to interrupt me in my nightly ablutions,” he went on, his smile teasing. He tossed his towel aside and moved closer to her. “Then again, it is Paris, and I did feel a spark between us this afternoon. And considering how topsy-turvy the McGoverns are, I’m willing to make an exception if you are.”
Solange backed against the locked door as Lord Sinclair closed in on her. He planted a hand on the door behind her, brushing his fingers under her chin and tilting her face up to his. He smelled of soap and musk. The heat of his body tempted her beyond measure. Her senses blurred as she stared at his mouth, which moved closer to hers by the second.
At the last moment before their lips touched, she yanked herself back to her senses and broke away from him, stumbling into the center of the room.
“How dare you assume I’ve come here to pleasure you?” she demanded.
He twisted toward her, blinking in surprise. “Why else would you sneak into my room without knocking and lock the door behind you? Especially after the two of us passed a pleasant afternoon together filled with flirtation?”
Solange’s mouth dropped open. “It wasn’t flirtation, it was—” It was absolutely flirtation. She realized it now. She’d been a miserable failure at pursuing her cause and attempting to bring the blackguard to justice. She was attracted to him, which only enraged her. “I know who you are,” she said, nearly shouting, marching toward him.
Lord Sinclair looked as confused as ever. “I’m Louis,” he said with a shrug, shaking his head. “At the moment, I don’t care to be more than that.”
“You are the son of the man who ruined my life and destroyed my family,” she growled, then gasped at the way she blurted out the truth so artlessly.
Lord Sinclair looked even more confused. “My father never did anything to hurt a fly, God rest his soul. He was the kindest and gentlest of men.”
“You lie.” She grabbed hold of her anger and used it to power her through the moment of truth. “You are the son of Andre Lafarge.”
Lord Sinclair’s expression went suddenly cold. “I am not.” He took a step toward her, thunder in his eyes. “Whatever rumors you heard, they are lies.”
Solange was so taken aback by his sudden fury that she backpedaled a few steps. She swallowed before saying, “It is well known that your mother was his lover.”
“My mother was his victim,” he said, pain joining the anger in his expression and his voice. “She was not a willing participant in the matter.”
“I—” Solange stammered for something to say but came up with nothing.
“Besides.” Lord Sinclair let out a breath and took a step back, his flash of anger waning. “I was born five years before the two of them ever met.”
“You were?” An odd feeling of joy filled Solange. He was telling the truth. She didn’t know how she knew, but she was certain of it.
Which meant that he wasn’t a villain after all. Furthermore, he wasn’t a blood relation either. The heat she’d been so disturbed by flooded through her once again, and God help her, she welcomed it.
“Since you barged in here unannounced, ready to hurl every kind of accusation at me,” he said, “I’ll tell you the truth.” He scrubbed a hand through his hair, his other hand planted on one hip. Given his state of undress, the juxtaposition of his seriousness and his nakedness was beyond alluring. “My mother met Lafarge at some sort of social gathering. She was French and, as I understand it, missing France at the time. What she did not know was that Lafarge detested the French nobility and had made it his mission to destroy as many aristocrats as he could.”
“Yes, I know,” Solange said with a nod, hugging herself as memories of Lafarge’s treachery assailed her. “He sought to destroy anyone with any connection to the French aristocracy as well.”
“And he continues to with his filthy gossip rag,” Lord Sinclair went on, beginning to pace. “But with my mother….” He sighed, then paused and turned to Solange. “He flattered her and made her promises. He saw that my father’s attention to his duty was making her feel underappreciated. He befriended her, and then he seduced her.”
“I’m sorry,” Solange said, not knowing what else was appropriate to say.
“And then he continued to seduce her,” Lord Sinclair went on. “Over the course of years. He blackmailed her with her infidelity to keep her in his bed and to keep her quiet. He…he took things from her. And eventually, when the misery of the whole thing came to be too much for her, she took her own life.” He ended his story in a near whisper, lowering his head in sorrow. After a moment, he raised his head, strength returning to his body, and stared right at her. “Since her death, I’ve been determined to bring him to justice for what he did.”
“Which is why you were in Côte d'Ivoire,” she said, the pieces falling into place. “I saw you there three years ago.”
He blinked, startled. “You saw me?”
The relief she felt at discovering Lord Sinclair wasn’t her enemy battled with her an even greater rage at all Lafarge had done to hurt both of them. She nodded. “Several times. At parties and events.”
He frowned. “Why did I not see you? I’m certain I would have noted someone as vibrant and beautiful as you are.” His warm smile returned and he stepped closer to her.
Sense told Solange she should move away, but raw attraction caused her to hold her ground as he came so close she could feel his heat once more. “Would you have noticed the daughter of a disgraced tribal leader if you’d seen her?” she asked.
“Yes,” he said without question, stopping mere inches in front of her but keeping his hands at his sides.
She glanced up at him, lust swirling in her. “Would you still find a woman beautiful if you knew she was actually the daughter of your worst enemy?” she asked in a hoarse whisper.
His eyes narrowed slightly and his hands flinched toward her. “Mine wasn’t the only mother that bastard seduced,” he said, the truth of things clear in his eyes.
“She wasn’t.” Solange glanced down, suddenly overwhelmed with sadness. “But unlike you, everyone knew the moment I was born.” She looked up at him again, trusting he would understand that her appearance alone had given everything away. “My father—my true father, Gerald Kouassi—accepted me as his own. At least at first. As long as my mother refused to tell him what happened. She claimed a French officer had raped her. At least until I was thirteen.” She stepped away from Lord Sinclair, hugging herself and rubbing her arms. “Until he caught her and Lafarge together.”
/> “The man is a blight on decent society,” Lord Sinclair growled.
Solange nodded in agreement. “I believe that my mother was an unwilling participant in the affair,” she went on, turning back to him. “Like yours was.”
“I believe that is the way Lafarge operates.” He walked closer to her, resting a hand on her arm.
Solange was surprised at how comforting she found his touch. It made it easier for her to say, “My father turned my mother out and me with her. The shame of it led my mother to drink. I had to work to support us, but thankfully, my education and my light skin meant I could work for the French government in Abidjan. At least, until I was able to find employment as a lady’s companion in Europe.”
“With Lady Briarwood?” Lord Sinclair asked.
Solange nodded. “Lafarge was enraged by my father’s behavior. Within a year, he had destroyed the finances and the reputation of the Kouassi family. He bragged to everyone about how I was his daughter, and damn him, taking his name did help my position improve. But I was little more than a trophy to him, a symbol of his conquest of my mother and destruction of my father’s family.”
Lord Sinclair let out a sharp exhale. “Lafarge collects trophies. That is why I am here, in Paris.”
“He’s taken something from you?” Solange asked.
“From my mother.” He nodded. “But not nearly as much as he’s taken from you.”
He stepped toward her, brushing his hands up her arms and across her shoulders to cradle her face. Without hesitation, he leaned in and kissed her lips, lightly at first, and then with passion.
Solange was surprised by the gesture, surprised by how right it felt in that moment. She’d lived her whole life since being disowned in the shadows, but Lord Sinclair’s kiss was pure acceptance. He knew the truth about her, and he kissed her all the same.
It was intoxicating. She circled her arms around him, her breath catching as she dug her fingertips into his back. Lust surged through her, but something deeper with it. Lord Sinclair understood her tragedy, had experienced something similar. He had known sadness and betrayal caused by Lafarge, but rather than push her away and curse her name, he embraced her, devoured her, as though his kiss could heal her wounds. And she wanted to be healed.
Last Chance for Paris Page 3