no one but the two of them.
Good God, he was actually going to be married. To a little spitfire who heated his blood beyond reason. Heaven help him. The thought of having her in his bed almost made up for how she’d got him to the sticking point. And the thought of Liz’s anger when she heard the news of his engagement was almost worth the price. Not that he intended to do his nephews out of their inheritance. He didn’t want children any more than he had wanted a wife.
And that was going to be a problem, based on what he’d learned in Gosport’s library. He found Minette’s boldness practically irresistible. Before coming to England, she’d not led the innocent, protected life of her peers. And if during that time she’d used her feminine wiles as a means of defence he would not blame her one bit. The fact that she also used them as a weapon, against him, gave him pause. And sent blood racing south.
There were ways to prevent the arrival of children that did not require forgoing mutual pleasure. He certainly wasn’t going to let her cry off, as she had suggested.
He would not permit another scandal in his family. Particularly one easily avoided.
And now he would have yet another responsibility he had never wanted. A wife.
No doubt this one would be troublesome. Demanding. Wily. Untrustworthy. Utterly, deliciously sensual. Hell, his mind was wandering again. Theirs was going to be a marriage of convenience. With added benefits. The coldness inside him prevented any deeper feelings. As long as children didn’t ensue, everything would be fine.
He headed for the drawing room, where Gabe said Minette was waiting, knocked on the door and entered. She was standing at the window, looking down into the street, standing to one side so she would not be seen.
As always, her feminine allure called to his baser urges.
But it wasn’t that alone, it was her audacity, her passion, the energy she exuded. Dangerous attributes to a man in his line of work.
Slowly, she turned to face him. ‘Is it done?’
The calmness in her face troubled him. Their dealings had never been calm. No doubt she was trying to hide her triumph at the success of her little plot. He would do well to remember how she had tricked him.
‘The terms are agreed upon,’ he said.
She nodded.
For some reason, he wanted more than cool looks and calm acceptance. He crossed the room and took her hands in his. They were cold. As icy as her expression. Was she suffering qualms? Too bad. It was too late for second thoughts. He lifted first one hand to his lips and then the other. A formal acknowledgement of their future. ‘I will inform my mother of the good news and arrange for an engagement ball at my estate in Kent at the end of next week. That will be time enough to send out invitations. The wedding will take place in three months. After the banns are called.’
She lowered her lashes as if to hide her thoughts, but her gaze was clear when she finally looked at him. ‘Engagement ball? Is it really necessary?’
‘Gabe insists. And I agree. A ball will confirm our assertion that what Sparshott saw was a congratulatory kiss, as well as uphold your virtue and put paid to some of the gossip. An event attended by all the right people showing their approval will do the trick.’
She looked far from happy. ‘What about our other plans? Won’t it interfere?’
‘I thought this was what you wanted. An engagement, so we can go about together without engendering comment.’
‘It was, but is it necessary to involve so many others?’
Could it be that while she wanted the title, she was ashamed of the owner? Or had she been truthful all along and it had been nothing but a dreadful coincidence? None of it mattered. ‘We have no choice but to go through with it in proper style.’
‘You are right. We will deal with the engagement part later.’
Deal with it? He eyed her narrowly as with quick, short steps she headed for a chair by the hearth and perched on its edge. She gestured for him to sit on the sofa. ‘We need to arrange our meeting with the person who can help us find Moreau.’
The reason for this whole fiasco. ‘So it was not some Banbury tale?’
A slight shake of her head, a puzzled frown. ‘Banbury? I do not understand.’
‘It means lies.’
Her face cleared. ‘Mon cher Freddy, you misjudge me but then, you always have. There is a woman who lives in Southwark who can tell us what we need to know. For a consideration, as I mentioned.’
‘Us? I wouldn’t take a dog of mine to Southwark, let alone a young lady.’
The determined chin came up. ‘If you go alone, she will tell you nothing. Women talk to other women. And she is French.’
‘There are other women I can use.’
She shrugged. ‘But you do not know her name. Come tomorrow at nine in the morning. I will guide you to her door.’
With a glare, he rose to his feet. ‘I will take you driving tomorrow. In Hyde Park. It is important that we be seen together. But we will not be going to Southwark, je vous assure.’
‘How prettily you speak French,’ she said with a catlike smile. ‘So perfect. So very English.’
He cursed under his breath. God preserve him from stubborn women. As he saw it, he had two choices. Refuse her request and risk her going off half-cocked without him, or give in.
‘Nine tomorrow morning,’ he said through gritted teeth.
Surely by then Barker could find this woman, now he knew where to look.
* * *
Minette tried to sit still while her maid finished dressing her hair. Anxiety gnawed at her belly. What if Madame Vitesse was lying about her knowledge of Moreau? What if it was a trap? Freddy would be so angry. He would certainly never give her a second chance. No. She had been so very careful. Things had to go according to plan. They must.
‘All done, mademoiselle,’ the maid said, eyeing the effect of her handiwork in the mirror. Curls framing her face. Her hair piled on her crown, ready to receive the straw bonnet whose plumes matched her form-fitting carriage dress of pale blue sarsenet.
Minette rose from the rosewood dressing table and took the bonnet from her maid’s hand, placing it on her head, just so. The maid tied the blue velvet ribbon under her left ear. ‘You look beautiful, mademoiselle. The Duke is sure to be pleased.’
Unlikely, but that was no reason not to look the part.
‘Christine, you must promise not to breathe a word of our intention to visit Southwark today to anyone.’
‘Mais, non, mademoiselle. Your secrets are safe with me. Always.’
Minette believed her. The maid, too, had lost innocent family in France’s grand experiment and had been embarrassingly grateful when offered this position. She would not lie to Minette about anything.
Nicky
