Page 51 of The Redemption of the Shrew

His sister, composed once more, came in with the coffee tray. He stood. “I must go now. Do not attempt to contact me.” He bowed and left.

~ ~ ~

When Philippe came down to breakfast the next morning, Sophie was waiting. “Why did you leave so abruptly, so rudely? You had another perfect opportunity to take her in your arms, and you wasted it!”

“Give me some coffee before you scold me,” he said. “Perhaps then I shall concoct some excuse to satisfy your hunger for romance.”

She poured him a cup of delicious, steaming brew. “Why do you think I left you alone so long? You should have kissed her and comforted her. For a Frenchman, you are a very poor lover, mon frère.”

“Fortunately, I do not have to live up to your exacting standards. I pity the man obliged to do so.” He savored the aroma of the coffee and looked up to see that she was blushing. “Oh là là! Who is this man of whom you dream?”

“It doesn’t matter,” she said irritably. “You know I cannot marry again.”

“Sooner or later you will be able to do so. You must introduce me to your suitor.”

“No, for if you tell him the truth, he may leave me.” Her voice trembled slightly. Seemingly, she truly cared for this fellow, whoever he was.

Anyone who would abandon his sister for such a stupid reason was unworthy of her. “A fickle sort of man.”

Indignation suffused her features. “He is not fickle. He has a reputation to consider.”

“A man who puts his reputation above love does not love at all.”

“I am the one guarding his reputation,” she retorted. “You do not understand Gloriana, and now you don’t understand me.”

He didn’t want to discuss Gloriana. “Most likely, he is afraid to meet me, and rightly so.”

“You are the one who is afraid,” she retorted. “You are afraid to say you love Gloriana.” She glowered. “Quant à mon ami, he does not fear you.”

Philippe shrugged. “You are a grown woman and may make your own decisions. What a pity you will not let me make mine.”

“I would be happy to let you make a good decision, mon cher.” She put her hands on her hips. “Didn’t you see how she met the news that you had been accused of spying? She fainted!”

“Because she knows it’s her fault,” he said. “Hythwick hardly noticed me until the day I saved her from him.”

“That may be part of it, but did you not see the despair on her face when you told her you must marry?”

He’d been looking out the window at the time, facing a bleak prospect. He’d only ever wanted one woman, but he could see no way to marry her. He certainly didn’t trust himself to read her expressions.

Later, she’d turned her face away when he’d suggested friendship. Surely that meant love was far from her mind.

“Now is not a good time for love. Perhaps, after I have my revenge, and after I return the book to Gloriana, we shall become friends, but—”

“Friendship! She does not wish for anything so tame.”

Alas, nor did he.

~ ~ ~

Gloriana gave up trying to quash the yearnings of her heart. Her love for Philippe, or infatuation, or whatever it was, would have to fade in its own time. Meanwhile, she would put on a brave face and accept that he would marry another woman.

The sooner the better, her practical side decided. Once he was taken, she would no longer long for him. She laughed at herself—a good sign. Five years ago, she might have fancied herself a martyr to love. Now she was merely sad.

But no less determined to find a way to get the book without Philippe’s help. She brought her stitchery to the drawing room and sat down to think.

If only she knew of a dishonest servant in Hythwick’s household. There was a reason servants were suspected of theft—because all too often they really were thieves. Alice Stowe had once arrived home from a ball in the wee hours to find her footman tied up in the butler’s pantry, claiming he’d been overpowered by burglars. The silver was gone, but the Bow Street Runners, who’d seen this ruse before, found the stolen items in the home of the footman’s cousin and accomplice.

But Gloriana had no contact with the servants at Lord Hythwick’s, and a dishonest one might not be reliable. A discontented one, however . . .