“Thank you, Father,” Caroline said with a small smile.
Her uncle stood then. “I will return shortly. Be wary if anyone chooses to approach you. Mr. Stark is waiting outside, by the door, if you have a need of him.”
Caroline nodded her understanding while Audrey held her breath, waiting for his exit.
As quickly as Honfleur disappeared down the short hallway, Audrey turned to her cousin. “Thank you for your ready defense of my person.”
“Most assuredly. I shall always defend you,” Caroline said with emotion. “You are most dear to me.”
“As you are to me,” Audrey responded.
Yet, what followed again had Audrey wondering how she had come to this moment in time. Before she knew what was what, Caroline caught her up in a quick embrace and kissed her—not on the cheek, but rather on the lips. Caroline lingered longer than was necessary, and, although the moment was assuredly brief in nature—not a romantic kiss, as were those of which Audrey had read in books—she knew her face had flooded with embarrassment.
Caroline sat back in her seat and smiled widely.
Audrey did not know what to say or even where to look, so she dropped her eyes, retrieved her spoon, and scooped a bite of the stew into her mouth.
Meanwhile, Caroline chuckled. “You are such a pea goose.” Her cousin claimed her own spoon and began to eat, while Audrey stared at the bowl and wished to disappear. “Delicious,” Caroline said suggestively. “Both the stew and your lips.”
Thankfully, any expected conversation had been setaside so they might pretend all was well between them. They ate without looking upon each other. Audrey concentrated on placing the stew in her mouth and chewing, and, even though the savory mix now tasted like straw, the exercise allowed her time to think. Unfortunately, not a single coherent thought was to be had, other than the fact she truly wished she had left this inn with Lord Marksman before Caroline had made their relationship awkward.
He had leftJulia’s bed early this morning. Of late, Navan had become quite bored by their encounters. In fact, the world as he knew it brought him no satisfaction—sexually, physically, mentally, or emotionally.
His valet said diplomatically, “I see Miss Julia has again chosen to spritz your jacket with her perfume.”
Beaufort sighed heavily. “I have warned her repeatedly. Is there someplace in the house where you might air it out that requires a bit of perfume to drive away the doom and gloom of Beaufort House?”
“The maids seem quite satisfied to have your jackets in their room, though I am generally required to present the garment with a hot iron afterwards,” Mr. Abbot said with a bit of tongue in cheek.
“Do not tell me they sleep with it,” Navan ordered. “I would be required to release them all, and I despise training a new maid.”
“You have never trained a new maid or even an old one, my lord,” his valet contradicted him.
“I never present any woman too much of my time. Otherwise, she would think I held her in affection, and…”
“You never hold any woman in affection,” Mr. Abbot finished for him.
“I am off to pretend to woo Lady Caroline Moreau. The woman is the actual daughter of a fake French marquis. From what I have deduced so far, the woman is more likely a burlesque performer.”
“You make a great sacrifice for a country not your homeland,” Mr. Abbot said reverently.
“I do so at Duncan’s request, but, lately, I have been considering a change.” Navan quite literally shuddered. “It is as if someone walked upon my grave. I fear history means to chase me to the ground unless something spectacular happens soon.”
Three quarters of an hour later, Beaufort released the knocker on Lord Honfleur’s door. Hearing someone approach, he placed a smile on his lips, but the woman who opened the door was no maid; she was the one he had been watching for a sennight. He managed to say, “Good day, miss. Lord Beaufort for Lady Caroline.”
“Step in, my lord,” the young woman said, and Navan’s heart gave a lurch. She was more beautiful up close and dressed more simply than she had been garbed as a sheik’s princess at the masque. “If you would care to wait in the sitting room, I shall inform Lady Caroline of your presence.”
What Navan would have liked to do was spend the afternoon with the young lady before him. With her red hair, a few freckles on her cheeks, and a simple day dress, she would fit in perfectly in his homeland. Like it or not, his manhood stirred with desire as he watched the gentle sway of the girl’s hips as she walked away to fetch her cousin.
Frustrated by his reaction to the young woman, especially as he had sworn never to succumb to a woman who would fit more perfectly in his homeland than him, he had simply nodded his agreement.
It was only a matter of minutes before Lady Caroline made her appearance. Ironically, the woman knew he had no interest in her, and, likewise, she had no interest in him. They played their parts in atheatrical, of sorts. If she knew he had viewed her kiss Miss Moreau, perhaps they could forgo much of this charade they practiced.
“My lord,” Lady Caroline said without even a hint of sweetness.
“My lady,” he responded with a bow.A poor player, that struts and frets his hour upon the stage, and then is heard no more. It is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury. Signifying nothing, he thought. “I had hoped you might permit me to show you some of London from my carriage.”
Lately, her uncleand Caroline had rarely been at home, a fact which greatly pleased Audrey. She no longer knew what to say to her cousin, who was much more worldly than was she, but Audrey did not wish to raise the subject of the kiss for fear of sounding foolish. Moreover, what could she say? It would be better to pretend the kiss had not happened. Gratefully, Caroline, too, avoided speaking of the incident.
