Page 19 of Evie and Louis: The Story so Far

Georgie nodded, understanding the problem all too well. “It’s impossible to get to know any man when you cannot spend any proper time with them. At the parties they are all on their best behaviour and perfectly charming. What are they like when they wake up with a head cold and find the cat’s been sick in their slippers, though? That’s the real test.”

Evie spluttered with amusement, her eyes glittering. “Oh, we should arrange something of the sort, like those fairy tales where the hero has to complete five tasks to win the princess’s hand in marriage.”

“Oh, yes. What else should we ask of them?” Georgie asked, enjoying herself thoroughly now she was with her friend again.

“Umm. Oh, I know. How they react if a beautiful woman goes past and gives them a come-hither look.”

“Oh, yes, because if they go hither, they are definitely out,” Georgie said, nodding.

“Exactly.” Evie grinned.

Georgie looked up to see the duchess gesturing to her from the other side of the hall. “Come along. Everyone is waiting in the drawing room. We’re dreadfully late.”

They hurried to where everyone waited, drinks in hand, smiling and greeting each other with familiar warmth. Georgie saw the glowering duke she had run into so disastrously earlier. He was standing silently, somehow apart from everyone, even though he stood with Jules, the Marquess of Blackstone. Jules lifted his hand to wave at her and Georgie smiled at him, refusing to catch the duke’s eyes, and then her breath caught, and she almost stumbled as another man appeared in the door.

“Mercy,” she whispered, stopping in her tracks, unable to do anything less than gape in astonishment. Whoever he was, he was utterly gorgeous. Tall and lithe with broad shoulders and thick dark hair, his blue eyes were the colour of an exotic sea. He was effortlessly stylish, his evening clothes moulded to his impressive physique and showing long, long legs. Turning towards them, his sensuous mouth tilted up at the corners and his blue eyes sparkled with warmth.

“Louis!” Evie exclaimed in a whisper, making as if she would run across the room to him.

Shocked, Georgie held on to her, giving her a warning glance. Evie coloured, but gave a small nod, and they moved sedately towards him. The man’s gaze followed Evie as she came closer, full of amusement.

“Bonsoir, ma petite,” he said to Evie, the words spoken quietly enough that only she and Georgie could hear the far too familiar greeting.

Georgie shivered as the sound of his deep voice swept over her. Good heavens, the Comte de Villen was everything everyone had said about him.

His azure gaze swept over Evie, and a slight frown creased his brow. “Are you well, Miss Knight?”

“Of course,” Evie said, beaming at him. “All the better for seeing you, you dreadful man. Where have you been? It’s been months.”

Before the comte could answer, the butler appeared and announced that dinner was ready. Evie sighed in frustration, narrowing her eyes at the comte.

“Don’t think you’ve escaped,” she warned him. “I want to know everything you’ve been up to.”

The man’s lips twitched, but he replied with apparent sincerity. “Oui, Mademoiselle. I know you do.”

“Oh, Lou—Monsieur Le Comte, please allow me to introduce my dear friend, Lady Georgina Anderson. Georgie, this is Louis César de Montluc, Comte de Villen.”

“Enchantée,” he said, bowing over her hand. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, my lady.”

Georgie blushed and curtsied, quite unable to withstand his proximity, those blue eyes and that devastating French accent all at once. She could not think of a single intelligent thing to say, so for once she was sensible and kept her mouth shut.

“You here again, Georgie?”

George turned at the familiar voice and grinned at Jules. “Good evening, Jules, and yes, like the proverbial bad penny, I’ve turned up again.”

“Good show. It’s been too dashed quiet here of late, since my two dreadful sisters have married and left home. We need someone to cause a bit of chaos, liven things up a bit.”

Georgie glared at him, wishing she could kick the devil for speaking so. Embarrassed, she shot a nervous smile at the comte. “He’s only funning, monsieur. The marquess has a remarkably peculiar sense of humour,” she assured him, before the man thought she was an ill-mannered hoyden.

“No, I don’t. You always liven things up by doing something dreadful, you know you do,” Jules protested.

“Be quiet,” she gritted out through her teeth, before turning back to the comte, and Evie, who was struggling not to laugh, well aware of Georgie’s mortification.

“May I have the honour, Miss Knight?” the comte asked Evie, offering his arm to take her into dinner.

“You may,” Evie replied, her cheeks dimpling as she smiled up at him.

Evening of the 7th of December 1840, Beverwyck, London.