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"Eva Winthrop appeared at the door the next morning. She was arrogant and rude, she did not even ask to hear my side of the story but immediately informed me that Miranda was a minor and that I had committed a criminal act. Miranda chimed in and said that I was a beast who had tricked her into marriage and forced her into bed. The two of them, mother and daughter, turned on me, called me names I will not, to this day, repeat."
"Are you saying that the money you got from Eva was money you more than deserved?"
"For God's sake, man, use your head! My name, my title, my home and my lands go back to the very beginning of my country. Look around you. Do I look as if I needed Eva's money?"
"I only know what Eva told me," Conor said, his eyes on de Lasserre's face. "She said she bought Miranda's freedom from you."
"That is ridiculous! I gave her the girl and our marriage license, both quite willingly. Oh, she tossed a handful of notes on the floor, as if I were a beggar, but—"
"A handful of notes?"
"The equivalent of five hundred of your dollars, perhaps. I didn't stop to count. I gathered it up and ran after her but she and Miranda were gone."
"Five hundred dollars," Conor said softly. "Well, who could blame you for keeping such a pittance?"
"I did not keep it! I took a taxi to the Gare d'Austerlitz. As always, there were half a dozen young putains, just about Miranda's age, plying their trade on the streets. Like an angel of mercy, I dispensed Eva Winthrop's leavings into their grubby hands until it was gone." He smiled coldly. "All things considered, it seemed a most appropriate charity."
A muscle knotted and unknotted in Conor's jaw. "You've been very forthcoming, Count."
"I see no reason to deny the truth."
"No. Neither do I. There's just one other thing I wanted to ask you."
"Yes?"
"How do you feel about underwear?"
"What?"
"Underwear. You know, panties. Camisoles. Maybe garter belts." Conor's smile curled at the edges. "Silk stuff, mostly, with a few pieces of lace mixed in."
De Lasserre's face was like a mask. "I have no idea what you are talking about."
"I hope not."
"What are you saying, O'Neil?"
"Let me put it in words you'll understand." Conor's smile fled. "I'm telling you not to fuck with me."
Edouard de Lasserre stiffened. "Get out of my house!"
Conor nodded. "Don't bother s
eeing me out. I'll just keep going until the air starts smelling clean again."
The Count was still sputtering as Conor slammed the front door behind him.
* * *
It was a long drive back to Paris.
Snow had made the traffic heavier than usual and there was a fender-bender just outside the city. Cars and trucks were caught in a snarl so dense it would have done D.C. or even New York proud.
That was fine. It gave Conor plenty of time to think.
Miranda Beckman was a complete enigma.
Had she sent Eva that note? She had reason to want to upset her mother but so did Edouard de Lasserre. And it was a cinch to make a case for the sad, frumpy Amalie.
