He liked Alix, even if she did have the bad habit of stealing a man’s clothes without asking. She had heart, gumption; she was a survivor. Coming from the New World as he did, he respected that. And Rafe, well, Rafe was too burdened down with his responsibilities, always thinking he had to look out for everyone else. He was becoming an old man before his time. He needed a woman to shake him up, to keep him guessing, get the juices flowing. The new Lady Moreham was just that woman.
All he needed to do was make certain the two kept crossing paths.
Eighteen
Lamartine crouched in the fetid hold of the French smugglerLa Chance,cursing the de La Brous and all their ancestors. He thought he’d struck upon a good thing when he’d bribed two of the ship’s crew to bring him aboard, but he was beginning to have his doubts. He’d been hiding among barrels of brandy for four days, while the ship’s captain skulked along the coasts of the English Channel searching for a safe landing spot and trying to avoid the notice of revenue cutters.
He was sick of the smell, sick of the incessant pitch and roll of the ship, the constant noise of ropes and chains and cursing sailors. His traveling suit was stained beyond repair, and he had a suspicion that fleas had taken up residence in his bagwig, which was stowed along with a clean suit of clothes in a canvas bag at his side. Removing what had once been a pristine linen handkerchief from his waistcoat, he mopped at the oily sheen of perspiration on his brow. He didn’t feel at all well, his head ached incessantly,and at night he dreamed that his father and the comte stood over him, arms linked, laughing at his failure.
He tucked the handkerchief back into his pocket and pulled a sea biscuit one of the crew had given him out of his jacket. Grimacing at the taste of stale dough, he thought angrily that he had not failed. He would not fail. He was on his way to England with a perfectly forged letter in his pocket. He would find Madeleine de La Brou and convince her to turn the titles over to him. It was a pressing matter, he would assure her, at any moment the government might claim possession of Valcour.
He clenched his hands; it would behisValcour. The woman would trust him, just as the comte had trusted him. After all, what did women know of business matters? And if she did not see things his way, well then, there were ways to make her understand. As the remainder of the sea biscuit crumbled unnoticed in his fist, Robert Lamartine smiled for the first time in many days.
He would enjoy bringing Madeleine de La Brou around to his way of thinking.
For the firsttime in his life, Rafe Harcrest found himself grateful for decades of dancing masters and tedious balls. He moved through the dance without a thought for the steps, his eyes restlessly scanning the guests at the Kensington’s assembly for a familiar mahogany mane. It was early in the season, but everyone who had arrived in London thus far seemed to be crammed into the Kensingon’s public rooms. Voices rose above the sawing of violins, satin and taffeta rustled in the crush, and feathers and hair turned and nodded beneath the blaze of dripping chandeliers.
Jervis had assured him that Alix and her mother would be attending the party, but he’d yet to catch sight of her. It had been nearly four weeks since he’d last seen her, fourweeks of sheer hell. He glanced at the ebony clock on the mantle across from the dance floor. It was fashionably late.
“If you’re going to dance with me, at least you might pretend to make conversation,” Elizabeth whispered.
“Have I told you that you look lovely this evening?” he asked without taking his eyes from the sea of bobbing heads.
“Several times, I believe.”
Rafe glanced down at his sister. Elizabeth was dressed in a cream-colored satin gown, intricate patterns of flowers and birds embroidered in rose and pale green throughout. Flowers were artfully arranged in her chestnut curls, and a strand of pink-hued pearls encircled her slender throat. “You do, you know, look lovely,” he said.
“I appreciate the compliments, especially since you chose the dress, but could you perhaps contribute something further to the conversation so that I don’t appear to be mindlessly chattering to myself? While I do appreciate that intelligence is not a prerequisite to social success, I hope not to appear a total addlepate.”
Rafe chuckled. “So, sister dear, what do you think of your first assembly thus far?”
“It’s amusing.” Casting a mischievous glance through her lashes she added, “And of course I am adhering to your lordship’s rule of twos.” In a mock stem voice she said, “No more than two glasses of champagne, no more than two dances with any gentleman, always at least two people with me at anytime, especially if one of them is a male.”
“Well,” he said as they began to promenade, “it’s comforting to know that you have been paying some attention to my lectures.”
“I pay attention to a great many things that might escape another person’s notice. For instance, you have been distracted ever since you returned from France. I’ve discussed it with Phoebe and we’ve concluded it must be a woman.”
“Phoebe Davenport talks too much.”
Elizabeth ignored him, “Phoebe says men always get a bit cross when they’ve been a long time without a woman. Is it some beautiful French lady, helpless in the clutches of the new Republic, waiting for your rescue?”
Waiting for his rescue, indeed. The lady couldn’t even stay put.
She lowered her voice. “Only don’t tell me it’s Anne Dinsmore.”
“You could learn a great deal from Lady Anne.”
“Like how to smile and flatter with one face, and how to savage a person’s reputation with the other?”
“I think you’re being rather harsh.”
“I’d lay odds I’m not, only you never bet.”
He was still considering Elizabeth’s comments when Anne glided up to him. She looked as elegant as ever, dressed in pale blue and lace, a row of bows down the front of her gown and an arrangement of lace and pearls in her hair. Anne smiled at him as he took her hand and kissed it.
“Moreham,” she said in reproving tones, “I haven’t had a chance to thank you for inviting me to visit you in the country. It was lovely, so restful, and Louisa’s gardens are a wonder. My only disappointment,” she said with a slight smile, “was your unexpected departure for France. I do hope your affairs there have all been successfully concluded.”
Rafe thought he detected an emphasis onaffairsandconcluded, but decided to ignore her jibe. She was, he supposed, entitled to be a bit annoyed with him. He looked quickly around the room; still no sign of Alix. He offered Anne his hand. “May I lead you in a minuet, my lady?”
