Page 62 of A Figure of Love

She’d listened to her cousin talk, served tea, and finally begged they excuse her, her usually sunny face tight and drawn.

Gareth had extricated himself from Bardot’s clutches soon after, leaving him alone in the library.

∞∞∞

Serena paced like a cat in a cage. It was past one o’clock, and she knew Gareth had returned to his room not long after midnight because she’d heard his distinctive step as he’d passed her door.

Etienne’s room was directly across from hers. Serena knew that because she’d asked Jessup to put him there. The old butler had not shown any interest by even a flicker of his eyelid, but she’d known that her request surprised him. No doubt he believed they were lovers. People tended to think she had looser morals, being French. It didn’t matter that the reality was the opposite; French women from her class would never have been allowed the liberty she had in England. It was unfortunate Jessup would now question her morals, but that was far better than him knowing the truth.

She’d heard Etienne’s door open and close a half hour after Gareth went to bed, so she’d pulled a chair close to her door and sat, preparing to spend the night at her vigil. But her legs and feet had twitched so badly she’d had to pace, her ears straining to hear movement outside.

Sure enough, the nearly inaudible sound of a door clicking shut reached her ears just as the clock out in the hall struck two.

Serena opened her door and caught him headed toward the staircase, garbed in his night clothes.

“Etienne!” Her whisper was like the crack of a pistol in the dead silence of the hall and he jumped and gave a gratifying squeak of surprise before whirling around.

Serena opened the door wider and motioned for him to come inside. She shut the door soundlessly behind him and turned; Etienne’s color was high and his chest was heaving.

“What do you want?” he demanded, his fists resting on hips covered by a ridiculously gaudy purple and gold-trimmed robe.

“Where were you going?” she demanded in French.

His eyes flickered over her, his lips twisting when he saw she was still dressed in her clothes from dinner. “Waiting for me, were you?”

“Please tell me you are not planning to steal from this house.”

He lifted a shoulder and dropped his arms before spinning on his slippered heel, prowling her room with deliberation. “What is it to you?”

“It is my job, Etienne. A position that is paying me well—which means I can pay you well. But not if I get sacked because my cousin has light fingers.”

Again he shrugged, lifting the lid of her jewelry cask with one finger and then letting it fall again when he saw the cheap paste jewels it contained.

“The shipment I was expecting in Dover was lost. One of the men who worked for me was captured by excisemen, two of the others killed.”

Serena’s fingers itched to strangle him. “What did you expect? The English have been patrolling the coast in ever-increasing numbers, even I know that.”

“They know who I am.”

Serena covered her face with both hands and sagged against the door. “Please tell me you did not use your real name.”

He turned on her, all the fear he’d been hiding now evident on his face. “Don’t be a fool! But they know what I look like, and it will not be long before descriptions of me circulate the coast.”

“So stay in London.”

“It’s not so simple.”

“Why not?” Serena had to fight to keep from yelling.

He grimaced and shoved a hand through his carefully disheveled hair, disheveling it further. “I owe money.”

Serena could not have heard him correctly. “I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me, dammit!”

“I cannot believe this.”

For once, he had nothing snide or witty to say. “I had a run of bad luck, on top of another run of bad luck. If the shipment had come in this week, I would have been fine. But now?” He heaved a sigh of self-pity that made her want to take his head off.