Page 16 of The Redemption of the Shrew

He halted. “Miss Glow is pursuing him? That doesn’t sound like her. Nor does passion and tears, if you ask me.”

“No, she insults and confounds him, but who knows how she feels deep inside?”

“No one, I assume. She is a well-bred virgin. Which you are not, thank God. I know how you feel deep inside.”

She giggled and caressed his growing erection. She settled him on top of her and spread her legs, sighing with desire as he entered her. “Ah, and do you like it there?”

After that, they didn’t speak.

~ ~ ~

Two days later, Gloriana returned to the school, anxious but in control of herself. If she encountered Philippe again, at least it wouldn’t be unexpected. Nor would losing Madame Brun as a teacher or friend.

No one had ever given her the cut direct before. She’d battled nausea the entire ride home. Was this how her brother, Lord Garrison, had felt when most of the beau monde turned against him several years ago? For her mother’s sake, she’d had to pretend to reject him as well. It was part and parcel of the role she’d been playing—her hypocrisy, as she saw it now—and after a month into the season, she’d simply refused to discuss his scandal. She’d nursed a short-lived rage against her dear but shameless cousin Daisy, and then had stopped discussing her too. She couldn’t bear to think and say cruel things about the brother and cousin she dearly loved.

So why had she remained unkind to Philippe for five whole years? She’d believed she loved him too.

Well, it hardly mattered. This encounter had given her more reason than ever to put Philippe out of her mind.

“Madame Brun wants to see you,” Mr. Alexander said in his brusque way. He was the son of a wheelwright and had been adopted upon his father’s death by the local vicar. He’d been educated as a gentleman and ordained in the Church of England, but had never quite shed his working-class origins. He dispensed with formality whenever possible, teaching the boys proper manners and forms of address, while at the same time ensuring they retained an appropriate cynicism. “She seems worried. Shall I send for her?”

“No, I shall call.” Forlorn but resigned, Gloriana walked a few doors down to get it over with. Hopefully Philippe had left by now. She put her head high and her nose in the air—what a familiar, regrettable posture, dictated by pride—and rapped on Madame’s door.

The maid who answered it gave no sign of a change in attitude within the household. “Bonjour, Mademoiselle Glow.” She ushered Gloriana into the drawing room.

Madame Brun set down her stitchery and rose to greet her. “Bring coffee, Anne-Marie,” she said, and after the maid left, she continued, “I am so glad you have come. I worried that you might refuse to see me.”

Gloriana found that she was wringing her hands and clasped them tightly behind her back. “Pray get to the point quickly, Madame. If you can no longer teach at my school, please say so.”

The Frenchwoman’s eyes widened. “I am happy teaching at the school, but I feared you might dismiss me.”

“No, no, I would prefer you remain.” Gloriana paused, awkward and uneasy but doing her best to mean what she said. Madame Brun was a lush brunette whom any virile man might desire, but such stupid emotions as anger and jealousy had no place here. It was common knowledge that Philippe took a mistress from time to time, as any gentleman would, but not someone with whom Gloriana might be acquainted. Not someone he had loved and had children with for years and years. “The Marquis de Bellechasse . . . dislikes me intensely. I thought he might forbid our association.”

Madame rolled her eyes. “My brother is a fool. All he forbade me to do was apologize on his behalf, but I shall do so anyway.”

Flabbergasted, Gloriana could do nothing but stare. “Your brother.” I’m such an idiot. Here was a perfectly logical explanation for the resemblance between Philippe and young Charles, but she’d jumped to a stupid, insulting conclusion. She hastened to cover her confusion. “I wondered, but since he wouldn’t allow you to introduce him, I could do nothing but guess.”

Madame Brun tipped her head to one side, her gaze very French and disconcertingly shrewd. Suddenly she laughed. “You thought I was his mistress!”

Heat swarmed up past Gloriana’s ears.

“Oh, là, là, I have guessed correctly, n’est-ce pas? You did not know I have a brother. You were jealous! I do not blame you. He is a very good-looking man. All the young ladies sigh for him.”

Gloriana clutched her hands tighter and shook her head. “There is no attachment between the marquis and me.”

“No? Then why is my poor Philippe so rude? So great an anger does not come from nothing. He refuses to explain.”

Thankful for this reticence on Philippe’s part, Gloriana admitted, “We treated each other unkindly in the past. I should not be surprised at whatever ill-mannered action he chooses to take now.”

“He is a gentleman and should know better.” Madame Brun broke off as the maid came in with the coffee pot and cups on a silver tray and then left, closing the door.

“I am a lady and should know better, too,” Gloriana said ruefully. “I thought . . .”

Madame Brun passed her a cup of steaming coffee. Gloriana closed her eyes and inhaled the delightful fragrance. “Ah, how lovely. Your coffee is always perfect.” Perhaps this embarrassing conversation could end now.

“The English do not understand coffee.” The Frenchwoman poured for herself and passed the sugar. “You thought . . .?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Gloriana nipped a lump off the loaf of sugar and dropped it into her cup.