I heard the sigh of escaping excitement behind me as I stepped into the corridor.”
“It didn’t occur to you that the deflation was on account of your departure?” she said.
“No,” he said. “And don’t try flattery. It sits ill on you. In fact, it turns your face slightly green. I do wonder how you get on with your clients. Surely you’re obliged to flatter and cajole.”
“I flatter in the same way I do everything else,” she said. “Beautifully. If I turned green it was due to shock at your flattering me.”
“Then collect your wits before we descend the stairs. If you take a tumble and crack your head, suspicion will instantly fall on me.”
She needed to collect her wits, and not for fear of tumbling down the stairs. She hadn’t yet recovered from the waltz with him: the heat, the giddiness, the almost overpowering physical awareness—and most alarming, the yearning coursing through her, racing in her veins, beating in her heart, and weakening her mind as though she’d drunk some kind of poison.
She started down the stairs.
As the buzz of the party grew more distant, she became aware of his light footfall behind her, and of the deserted atmosphere of the lower part of the house.
Risk-taking was in her blood, and conventional morality had not been part of her upbringing. If this had been another man, she wouldn’t have hesitated. She would have led him to a dark corner or under the stairs and had him. She would have lifted her skirts and taken her pleasure—against a wall or a door or on a windowsill—and got it out of her system.
But this wasn’t another man, and she’d already let temper and pride get the better of her judgment.
Leonie had warned her, before she left: “We’ll never have another chance like this. Don’t bugger it up.”
The hell of it was, Marcelline wouldn’t know whether or not she’d botched it until it was too late.
He said nothing for a time, and she wondered if he, too, was pondering the stories shortly to fly about London, and deciding how best to deal with them.
But why should he fret about gossip? He was a man, and men were expected to chase women, especially in Paris. It was practically his patriotic duty. Lady Clara certainly hadn’t made any fuss about his affairs. It would have been common knowledge if she had. Since Longmore behaved much the same as his friend did, Marcelline doubted it had even dawned on the earl to mention the subject when issuing the ultimatum, whatever that was.
Still, all the duke’s other liaisons in Paris had been ladies or sought-after members of the demimonde. Those sorts of conquests were prestigious.
But a dressmaker—a common shopkeeper—wasn’t Clevedon’s usual thing, and anything unusual could set the ton on its ear.
These cogitations took her to the ground floor. They did nothing to quiet her agitation.
She waited while he told the porter to summon his carriage.
When Clevedon turned back to her, she said, “How do you propose to explain this evening to Lady Clara? Or do you never explain yourself to her?”
“Don’t speak of her,” he said.
“You’re ridiculous,” she said. “You say it as though my uttering her name will somehow contaminate her. That must be your guilty conscience speaking, because it most assuredly isn’t your intellect. You know that she’s the one I want. She’s the one I came to Paris for. ‘Don’t speak of her,’ indeed.” She imitated his haughty tone. “Is that what you do with everything uncomfortable? Pretend it isn’t there? She’s there, you stubborn man. The woman you’re going to marry by summer’s end. You ought to speak of her. You ought to be reminding me of her vast superiority to me—except as regards dress, that is.”
“I had originally planned,” he said levelly, “to write to Clara as I always do. I had planned to repeat the most fatuous conversations to which I was subjected in the course of the evening. I had planned to give my impressions of the company. I had planned to describe my sufferings from boredom—a boredom endured entirely on her account, in order provide her entertainment.”
“How noble of you.”
Something flickered in his eyes, and it was like the flash of a lighthouse, seen through a storm.
She knew she approached dangerous waters, but if she didn’t get him under control, she risked smashing her business to pieces.
“And you’d completely disregard my part in events?” Marcelline said. “Stupid question. It’s tactless to mention the women of dubious character you encounter in the course of your travels and entertainments. On the present occasion, however, I’d recommend against that approach. News of our exciting arrival at the party will soon be racing across the Channel, to arrive in London as early as Tuesday. I suggest you tackle the subject straight on. Tell her you brought me to win a wager. Or you did it for a joke.”
“By God, you’re the most managing female,” he said.
“I’m trying to manage my future,” she said. She heard the slight wobble in her voice. Alarmed, she took a calming breath. His gaze became heavy-lidded and shifted to her neckline. Her reaction to that little attention was the opposite of calming.
Devil take him! He was the one who belonged on a leash.
She started for the gate. The porter hastily opened it.
“The carriage hasn’t arrived yet,” Clevedon said. “Do you mean to wait on the street for it, like a clerk waiting for the omnibus?”
“I am not traveling in that or any other carriage with you,” she said. “We’ll go our separate ways this night.”
“I cannot allow you to travel alone,” he said. “That’s asking for trouble.”
And traveling with him in a closed carriage, in the dead of night, in her state of mind—or not mind—wasn’t? She needed to get away from him, not simply for appearances’ sake, but to think. There had to be a way to salvage this situation.
“I’m not a sheltered miss,” she said. “I’ve traveled Paris on my own for years.”
“Without a servant?”
She wished she had something heavy to throw at his thick head.
She’d grown up on the streets of Paris and London and other cities. She came from a family that lived by its wits. The stupid or naïve did not survive. The only enemy they hadn’t been able to outwit or outrun was the cholera.
“Yes, without a servant,” she said. “Shocking, I know. To do anything without servants is unthinkable to you.”
“Not true,” he said. “I can think of several things to do that do not require servants.”
“How inventive of you,” she said.
“In any event, the point is moot,” he said. “Here’s my carriage.”
While she’d been trying not to think of the several activities
