Page 23 of Evie and Louis: The Story so Far

Nic raised his hands in a surrendering movement. “D’accord, if you say so.”

“Who says otherwise?” he demanded.

Nic’s eyebrows went up, a little surprised by his brother’s defensiveness. “No one, you just always seem thick as thieves, that’s all. You still write to her, don’t you?”

Louis shrugged, which Nic took to be a yes. He had long been puzzled by Louis’ close relationship with Evie Knight. She seemed an unlikely confidante for Louis, because Louis always had access to the most beautiful women for company. No, that was not quite correct. He could understand Louis being her friend. His brother was inherently kind and always had a soft spot for a waif or stray… hence Aggie. Not that Evie was a waif or stray, but she did not fit the mould of the usual debutante either, and Louis would always recognise another outsider. It was what they both were. Oh, Louis might look as though he belonged here among the ton for he was handsome and titled and rich, but underneath was a different matter. Underneath, he was still a boy dressed in rags, who got tossed scraps to eat and slept on the kitchen floor. Louis might not realise Nic knew that was still true, but it was. Even so, he had not expected Louis to make Evie of all people his closest friend, yet Nic was certain he had, which was both puzzling, and a worry.

It could ruin Evie and, if that happened, it would destroy Louis.

Speak of the devil. Here was the young lady herself.

“Monsieur Le Comte,” she said, beaming at Louis. “Will you come and play cards, please?”

Nic watched with interest as the stern lines of Louis’ face softened in her presence and the mask fell, amusement glinting in his eyes.

“Surely, I taught you a lesson the last time we played, Miss Knight? I am not good-natured enough to let you win.”

“I should hope not!” she said indignantly, and with such vehemence that Louis smiled. “I shall beat you fair and square or not at all.”

“Well, if you must learn the hard way.” Louis held out his arm, told Nic he would see him later, and escorted Miss Knight to the card room.

Nic watched them go, lost in thought.

The dress is ready for a fitting.

Tonight.

―Excerpt of a note to Miss Evie Knight (daughter of Mr Gabriel and Lady Helena Knight) from Louis César de Montluc, Comte de Villen – slipped under her door.

12th December 1840, Beverwyck, London.

Georgie didn’t care. No. Not at all. Four days of being ignored didn’t bother her one little bit. She simply did not give a fig. She didn’t. So what if Rochford hadn’t spoken a word to her since the night of the rout? That was his loss. Not hers. Especially not when she was sitting next to the Comte de Villen at dinner this evening.

Goodness, but he was breath-taking. If she wasn’t careful, she’d just spend the entire evening gazing at him like an idiot. It took her a moment to realise she was doing just that and that Evie, sat on her other side, was speaking to her.

“You’ve not heard a word I’ve said, have you?” Evie smiled, her eyes twinkling mischievously.

Georgie returned a rueful expression. “Sorry.”

“It’s understandable. I know women find him dreadfully distracting.”

“Don’t you?” Georgie asked, bending closer to Evie and lowering her voice. How Evie could be around Louis and not just sit sighing over him she couldn’t fathom.

Evie shook her head. “No. I mean, I can see he’s beautiful, obviously. I’m not blind, but he was my friend first. Perhaps when we met, I was just too young to see him in a romantic light and it stuck. Or perhaps he’s just not my type,” she added, laughing at Georgie’s sceptical expression.

“You’re an odd duck, Evie,” Georgie replied, shaking her head.

“Lady Georgina,” Georgie turned her head and was immediately struck dumb by Louis’ brilliant blue eyes. “Your napkin.”

He held the folded square out to her, which must have slid off the silky skirts of her dress.

Georgie swallowed. She didn’t seem able to speak. Or move.

Louis smiled gently, took her hand and placed the napkin in it, and returned his attention to his dinner. Georgie felt the blush all the way to her toes. Hurriedly, she stuffed the napkin back in her lap and elbowed Evie, who was sniggering uncontrollably.

“Shut up,” she muttered, mortified.

Glancing up at the table, her gaze collided with the Duke of Rochford. His sneer seemed more pronounced than ever, perhaps because of the rigid set to his jaw. Appalled that the duke might have seen her behaving like such a prize ninny, Georgie put her head down and concentrated on eating.