“Why?”
He gazed up at the moon. “Come to meet my mother.”
Mothers could be too perceptive and ruin her. But then, this mother could not hurt her because she would not take up with this man. Suddenly a stab of sadness had her taking another sip of the cognac. She’d try instead for polite conversation. “Is she formidable?”
“Very.” He drained his cognac. “My five sisters, too.”
“Five?” Inès swallowed in dismay. Female scrutiny was not a challenge she sought.
“Indeed. Each, her own woman.” He waggled a dark brow. “Like you.”
“Monsieur, you presume too much. I do not impress others easily and I do not try.”
“Come.” He faced her, andmon Dieu, his expression bore the look of enchantment. “Be as you are always. My mother is curious about new émigrés from France. She loves to be able to view their chances of navigating theton.”
“I see. And your sisters?” Her mind raced, trying to remember Augustine’s, Lady Ashley’s, words about the single men prominent among theton.Which man had five sisters?“Why would they wish to meet me?”
He gave her a smile that produced two dimples. Two! One in each cheek. She was intrigued that a man could be so graced by the gods!
He came closer. “They like to become well acquainted with London’s next raging beauty.”
She held her expression serene and unaffected. After all, she was a consummate actress. “They will waste their time with me, monsieur.”As will you.
He took the two steps forward, standing so close before her that she inhaled his cologne. Mild sandalwood with a hint of lime.
He towered over her, covering her, absorbing her. “Oh, yes,” he whispered as he put out a hand, cupped her chin, and—mon Dieu—traced with his thumb the outline of her lower lip. “I hear the whispered words among men about the lovely new woman in our midst. I know the clever needs of many an Englishman.”
“They matter not to me.”
“I am certain you choose your own protectors.”
He had not said “lovers,” but he inclined in the right direction. She would need here a man who could, for a time, appear to be her champion. “I choose with whom I associate.”Especially now. Especially here in England.
To argue with him—to argue with any man bent on delighting her when she could and had resisted the finest, richest, most illustrious creatures—was unnecessary. She stared him down—and he still held her firmly. Dare she admit to herself she was transfixed?
“Ah, I see. You do not choose soon.” He dropped his hand at his side. “Not without reason.”
To her surprise, she wished for once that were not so. That she might choose a man for his tenderness and care for her. But she put that to weariness from her flight from France—and to be honest, a bit of fear.
“Come dance with me next Friday. Take another chance to look over all the choices. Take your time deciding who will receive your charms.”
She opened her mouth, intending to say, “No one.”
But he hushed her words with a finger across her lips.“Au revoir, mon chérie, Inès. Next Friday.”
His lively purple eyes did a marvelous thing that reminded her of gaiety and springtime. His lips did that remarkable thing that spoke of humor—and desire.
Ah, oui.His attentions aroused her. If she were free, she would not hesitate to accept him. But she was bound to her task. So his affection she could not take. His desire she would not match. Nor would she allow herself the pleasure.
He might be a rogue, he might be the most refined of lovers, he might be rich, even influential, but he was an innocent in those elements with which she dealt.
She needed a man with access, knowledge, cunning, and charm. That man exhibited a few of those traits, but she neededone with all of them. Not one who could also seduce her, delay her, and confuse her with hours of delight in his magnificent arms.
So she would chance nothing with him.
Nothing.
She watched him leave.
