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“I saw you come out and thought you looked . . . upset” He had to be cautious here and ease her wariness.
For a moment she didn’t say anything. She turned her head to look out into the garden, and he admired the graceful line of her neck, the curve of her cheekbone. Then she said, “The music reminded me of another time.”
That was all. There were no forthcoming details, no expounding. He sensed her reluctance to give him any personal information. He was accustomed to women responding to him, trying to hold his attention; this woman’s very lack of response was intriguing.
“My name is Louis Ronsard,” he said, settling into the chair beside her.
“I’m pleased to meet you,” she said politely. “I’m Niema Jamieson.”
“Niema.” He said the name slowly, tasting the sound of it. “What a lovely, unusual name.”
She gave a small, quick smile. “Too unusual, sometimes. People seldom know how to pronounce it if they see it spelled out—they usually pronounce it ‘Neema’ instead of ‘Nye-ema,’ and if they hear it they don’t know how to spell it. When I was a child I often wished my mother had named me Jane, or Susan, or anything straightforward.”
“Is it a family name?”
“Nothing so dignified,” she said, and the smile became a chuckle. He was delighted by the transformation of her face, from sadness to humor. “She liked the rhythm of the name Naomi, but not the name itself. So she substituted vowels until she found a combination she liked, and”—she spread her hands—“Niema was invented.”
“I think it’s lovely.”
“Thank you. I’ve become accustomed to it.” She glanced over her shoulder into the ballroom. “It’s been nice talking to you. I think I should—”
“Of course,” he said, getting to his feet. “You don’t know me, and you’re uncomfortable being alone with me.” He paused a beat to give her an opportunity to demur, but she didn’t, and he was amused. “Will you reserve a dance for me, Mademoiselle Jamieson?” He purposefully called her mademoiselle, to give her an opening to tell him she was widowed.
“Madame,” she corrected, and he was pleasantly surprised by her accent. He was less pleased when she left it at that, withholding the fact of her widowhood; a woman who was interested would have made her marital status clear.
His own interest increased. Ronsard seldom had the opportunity these days to enjoy the chase. Women were all too willing, which was a nice state of affairs, but sometimes a man wished to be the predator.
His question hung in the air between them. Finally she said, “Yes, of course,” but her tone held only politeness, not any eagerness for his company.
He was both piqued and amused. Perhaps he had become spoiled, but he knew he wasn’t repulsive. Far from it, in fact. This woman, though, seemed totally unaware of him as a man.
Politely he offered his arm, and she laid a graceful hand on it. Her touch was barely perceptible; she didn’t cling, didn’t actually hold him. Together they walked back into the ballroom, drawing more than one pair of eyes. Ronsard saw Madame Theriot frown and whisper something to her husband. So, she wasn’t pleased that her young friend had become acquainted with the notorious arms dealer?
Ronsard smiled at Madame Theriot, then turned to his prey and made her a small, graceful bow. Something in his manner must have alerted her, because her eyes suddenly widened and her soft lips parted. Before she could pull away he pressed his lips to her hand, a brief salute that he didn’t allow to linger, and caressed her with his eyes. “Until later,” he murmured.
CHAPTER
FOURTEEN
Niema took a deep breath as she walked across the ballroom. A major hurdle had been crossed, and so swiftly, so easily, she was astounded. The plan had been for Eleanor to introduce her to people who had spoken with Ronsard, but not to the arms dealer himself. Eventually their paths would have crossed, but it would have looked odd for Eleanor to be the one who made the introductions, as she naturally would not have liked for her best friend’s daughter to associate with someone like Ronsard.
None of that had been necessary. Out of the corner of her eye, she had seen him speaking with someone she had already met—his name escaped her—and both of them had been watching her. At that moment the orchestra had begun playing a particularly lovely piece of music and inspiration struck.
She allowed sadness to play across her features for a moment, then excused herself to the gentleman who was something boring in the French government. She leaned over and whispered to Eleanor, “He’s watching. I’m going to slip out onto the patio.”
Eleanor, whose acting skills were worthy of Hollywood, immediately saw the opportunity and what Niema was doing. She put on a concerned face and touched Niema on the arm—nothing dramatic, but a touch of sympathy that wouldn’t go unnoticed.
Then Niema had simply sat on the patio and waited. Within five minutes, Ronsard joined her.
He was remarkably good looking. The photos she’d seen of him didn’t compare to the man in the flesh. He was tall, with dark blue eyes set on a slant above his exotic cheekbones, and he wore his long dark hair loose on his broad shoulders. The hint of savage in an elegant tuxedo was a devastating combination.
His voice was smooth and low, his manners impeccable, and his eyes managed to convey both his interest and his concern over her sadness. A romantic, handsome Frenchman at a formal party was enough to give any woman weak knees.
As soon as she reached Eleanor, the older woman gripped her wrist and leaned over to whisper in Niema’s ear, all the while frowning at Ronsard, as if she were informing Niema of his reputation. “Mission accomplished?”
Niema put a startled look on her face, then an alarmed one. She darted a quick glance at Ronsard. Yes, he was watching. She quickly looked away. “He asked for a dance,” she murmured.
Eleanor, who knew only the basic story and that Niema was to draw Ronsard’s attention, turned away with a practiced smile as the prime minister’s wife approached, and Niema’s attention was claimed by a young staffer from the embassy who was from New Hampshire and was evidently suffering from homesickness. Since Niema had never been to the state, she hoped he didn’t start asking specific questions.
