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“The men I associate with are amoral, unscrupulous imbeciles.”
“And yet, you spend most of your time and energy scheming how to reach the top of that unsavory heap.” Her aunt loved her, but she was not fond of her dealings and never lost the chance to let her know. “You should’ve taken her to Cassandra’s party like she asked.”
“No, I shouldn’t have. She’s gotten what she asked me for, and if she doesn’t like the entertainments I took her to, she can find her own.” Even as she said it, she knew it was a lie. The mere thought of Manuela traipsing around Pigalle rose the hairs on her neck.
She knew she was playing a dangerous game. That the heiress was too smart not to realize what she was doing. To eventually recognize Cora had been appeasing her with tame dinner parties and insipid soirees.
But what was she to do? Admit that she was terrified? Confess Manuela tested each of the barriers Cora had worked so hard to erect around herself every second they were together?
“You know what happened the last time I let my feelings for a woman interfere with my business, Tia,” she finally said, without turning to look at Osiris.
“There was no way to know Sally would do that, my dear.”
Cora flinched, hearing the name said out loud after so long. The thought of the spectacle she’d made of herself, of the humiliation that had come later, turned her stomach even after all these years.
“If I had not been so busy making a fool of myself all over London chasing after Sally Fraser, it wouldn’t have taken so long to realize what she’d been up to.”
And she was doing it again, letting Manuela distract her from important business. She’d put off two different meetings this week to gallivant around Paris with the heiress, and now that she finally had a night to herself, all she’d done was ruminate on every word they’d exchanged.
She had a million things to worry about. The first of which was sending word to their agents in Venezuela letting them know to start the process of hiring a labor force to lay down the railway. She had proposals to go over, investments to consider. There were at least a dozen matters for her to occupy herself with tonight that were more important than speculating where Manuela Caceres Galvan was spending her evening.
A soft knock jolted her back to the present.
“Come in,” she called, grateful for the distraction. She hadn’t asked for anything to eat, and it was too late for any unannounced visitors. It was a sad state of affairs when she looked forward to dealing with a domestic emergency to get out of her own head. She expected one of the maids, but it was her butler Laurent who stepped into the room with the tray he used for correspondence. Sitting on top of it was a small envelope.
“Your Grace, this arrived just now.”
She didn’t recognize the handwriting, but the moment she got a whiff of turpentine and lavender she knew exactly who it was from. She put down her glass, heart thudding in her chest, knowing that whatever it was it would make a liar out of her.
She tore into the envelope, certain this was just another stunt. After reading the few lines she had to cover her mouth to keep from laughing out loud. That little diabla.
“She’s gone off to Montmartre,” she said, standing up. “Laurent, tell the driver to prepare the carriage. I’m going to Claudine’s,” she informed the servant as impassively as she could manage, then turned toward the two eager faces on the other side of the room.
“I’m merely going up there to mitigate any potential disasters, so don’t get any ideas,” she warned. Alfie nodded quietly, but the twitch around the corners of his mouth told her he didn’t believe a word she said. Tia Osiris had no such restraint.
“If the lying helps you, dear, we won’t say a thing.”
Cora only rolled her eyes. “This is all Cassandra’s fault.”
“What exactly did Cassandra do?” Alfie asked, getting to his feet.
“She was the one who told Manuela about the party at Claudine’s place, and now she’s gone there alone.”
“Didn’t she make her way here from Venezuela without your assistance, querida?” Tia Osiris asked innocently, while Cora debated whether she should change her clothes and decided it was best not to waste time.
“She has not been to Montmartre. She’s not used to the crowd there.”
“I thought you said Claudine runs a tight ship.”
Claudine Dosantos was a Brasileira who had come to France as the mistress of an aristocrat. When the man passed away, he bequeathed her ten thousand francs that she used to open Le Chat Tordu, a brasserie and gathering place for women. There were other establishments like Claudine’s, but at Le Chat Tordu, the clientele mostly consisted of women from the Americas living as expatriates in Paris.
“She does,” Cora said grudgingly. It wasn’t the issue of security that had her running off to Montmartre. It was more the thought of sultry, delectable Manuela, with her beguiling smiles and those alluring curves, in the midst of all those ravenous ladies of Montmartre.
“Perhaps I should come with you, just to be safe...” Alfie offered.
“That is not a good idea,” she told him, making Tia Osiris laugh. “I will be perfectly fine on my own.”
“Let her go, Alfred, and we should make ourselves scarce too. I presume my niece is going to want the house to herself when she returns.” Her face heated at that, but there was no use denying it. Not when the urgency to go to Manuela felt like it could propel her to Montmartre’s summit. This had been unavoidable from the moment they’d met.
