Lady Cecilia Is Cordially Disinvited For Christmas

by Jeane, Sheridan

  “It’s lovely out here,” Cecilia said as they walked a short way along the path next to the hotel. “It’s hard to imagine that winter will soon be upon us. My parents will escape it this year since they’re leaving for Cannes shortly. I almost envy them.” Perhaps, for a change, Father would be correct in his predictions. If the region became a new favorite destination for British travelers, as many prophesied, investing now would show brilliant timing on his part. But from what she’d learned, the area was still quite rustic. It was hardly more than a fishing village. No matter what happened, her parents’ futures would be tied to the place. She could only hope her father’s ability to forecast trends had improved. It would be a tragedy if he were to lose yet another fortune.

  “I must admit,” Mr. Kenning said, “Cannes has an allure about it that is difficult to deny. I’ve heard your father plans to invest there, and I’m inclined to believe he’s quite forward-thinking in attitude. In a few years, you may find that he led the wave of British arrivals there.”

  “I hope you’re right. After Mr. Montlake and I marry, we plan to set up residence here in London, so I won’t be there to witness the construction of the hotel he plans to build. Father’s goal is to transform Cannes from a fishing village into a destination that will attract everyone in England. It’s a daunting task.”

  A small sound near a door leading back into the hotel caught Cecilia’s attention, and she turned to look. As she stared more closely, she was surprised when she identified the bit of pale green dress peeking out from the slightly open door. This was the second time tonight. Evangeline must be slipping.

  “Someone’s watching us,” she told Mr. Kenning.

  He tensed. “What do you mean?”

  Cecilia made a slight gesture toward the door. “My sister’s peeking out from just over there. Our parents won’t allow her to attend the ball, since she’s only fifteen. She’s quite disappointed.”

  Kenning’s shoulders relaxed and he glanced in the direction she’d indicated. “I see her. Or, at least, I see her dress. Shall we go and speak to her?”

  “You wouldn’t mind? I think it would make her quite happy.”

  “Think nothing of it,” he said, turning toward the spot where Evangeline was hiding. “I remember what it was like to be her age.”

  As they approached her sister, Cecilia called out, “We can see you.”

  Evangeline didn’t even hesitate, but immediately stepped through the doorway. “Is the ball as much fun as it looks?” she asked as she moved toward them. But then she stopped short and peered at Mr. Kenning more closely. “I’m sorry. I thought you were Mr. Montlake.” She frowned. “You gentlemen all look alike when you’re dressed in those identical black cutaway jackets.”

  Cecilia introduced them. “We were just taking a short walk and were about to turn back. They’re playing a quadrille,” she said, wrinkling her nose.

  “Ah,” Evangeline replied, looking faintly disdainful. “The dreaded quadrille. Why do you dislike it so much? It isn’t much different than dancing a schottische, and you claim that dance as your favorite.”

  “I don’t know why, I just don’t.” Cecilia hated it when her sister tried to argue her out of her likes and dislikes. Why did her preferences matter so much? After all, she never chided Evangeline for not liking to eat peas. How was not liking a particular dance so different? She searched for a new topic of conversation. “Mother seems a bit weary tonight.”

  Evangeline frowned. “Perhaps she should rest.”

  “You know she won’t.”

  Evangeline let out a sigh. “But she should. You know it’s the logical and prudent thing to do.”

  “Mother’s determination won’t be swayed by logic. She already decided to attend the ball. You know there’s no swaying her once she sets her mind to something.”

  “How was I born into this family?” Evangeline asked, not for the first time. “Not one of you is the least bit logical.”

  “But we make up for it with our charm and intuition,” Cecilia quipped.

  A man’s voice came from behind her. “And you have that in spades. I can vouch for it,” Devin said.

  As Cecilia turned to face him, a smile spread across her face. It was nice to hear him compliment her. Well, he sort of complimented her, didn’t he? “Look who we found,” she said, gesturing toward her sister.

  “Miss Evangeline,” Devin said. “This is a surprise. I thought you’d be in your bedchamber, enjoying the novelty of having it to yourself while your sister was at the ball.”

  “I tried, for a while, but since I couldn’t ignore the music of the orchestra drifting upstairs, I found it hard to concentrate on reading David Copperfield.”

  “I thought you already read that,” Cecilia said.

  “It bears a second, and even a third reading. Mr. Dickens is a wonderful writer.”

  Cecilia opened her mouth to retort, but Devin interrupted her. “I believe our waltz is about to begin,” he said, cutting off the teasing comment that was already on Cecilia’s tongue.

  She shot him a sidelong glance. He’d done that intentionally.

  Mr. Kenning cleared his throat. “Miss Paring, if you don’t mind, could Mr. Montlake escort you back to the ballroom? I’d like to walk farther down the path.”

  “Of course,” Cecilia said.

  Devin offered his arm and she took it.

  “A good evening to you both, Misses Paring, and a good evening to you too, Mr. Montlake,” Kenning said, and then took his leave.

  The buildings surrounding the garden blocked most of the cross breezes, but the brisk wind that swirled straight down on them from the sky above had changed. It was significantly cooler now, and Cecilia could sense a change in the air that suggested a storm was coming. As gooseflesh pebbled her forearms, she wished she had her wrap with her. She moved closer to Devin, pulling his arm a bit more snugly to her side. His muscular arm pressed intimately against the side of her breast, sending a tremor of sinful delight coursing through her entire body. After a moment, the heat he radiated suffused her with warmth and her gooseflesh faded away.

  As an afterthought, Cecilia glanced back at her sister, but Evangeline was already gone. She’d disappeared as though the breeze had whisked her away.

  Was that Mr. Kenning walking past one of the torches? She couldn’t be certain. He was farther away than she’d expected. A moment later, she couldn't see him at all.

  It suddenly occurred to Cecilia that she and Devin were alone in this dimly lit garden. She should take advantage of this rare occurrence. She stopped on the path and turned to face him. "I'm nervous," she said.

  "Why?" He brushed the back of his hand against her cheek and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "Is it the auction? Are you worried about the outcome?" When she didn't say anything he continued. "I don't care about the auction. All I care about is you."

  Cecilia's jaw dropped, just a little, but she quickly regained her composure. "But I thought…"

  He wrapped his hands around her elbows, pulled her closer, and gently kissed her. "It's you I want, Cecilia Paring," he murmured. "Remember that."

  A tingle ran down her spine. She hadn't realized how much she needed to hear him speak those words of comfort until this moment. But was he being honest? She licked her lips. “Are you certain I’m the right woman for you? I’m hardly a proper barrister’s wife.”

  “I’m certain you’ll do an admirable job once you’ve learned how to behave with a bit more decorum.”

  Cecilia’s stomach turned over. This is exactly what she’d been afraid of. She licked her lips. She needed to tell him she didn’t want to take comportment lessons. “Devin, I really must tell you—”

  The door to the ballroom opened, and Devin took a quick step away from her, ending the moment of intimacy.

  Drat!

  “We should return to the ballroom,” he said, not even looking at her. He’d acquired that distant, barrister-like look again. The one that made him appear
intimidating. He took her arm in his and they slowly wandered back, giving the couple approaching them a nod of greeting.

  As they stepped into the ballroom, Cecilia very nearly walked directly into Monsieur LeCompte. She’d met the tall, slim Parisian when she’d returned to London just a couple of weeks ago. He’d immediately impressed her with his knowledge of the people living here, especially the French expatriates who’d taken up residence in the city. He seemed to know all about their comings and goings and their activities.

  She had been curious about him at their first meeting and had started observing him closely. She quickly discovered that there was more to him than he let people see. As she watched him at the various events they’d both attended, she’d come to understand that he wasn’t the shallow man he pretended to be. He was much more complicated than that, but her inner sense told her that he was essentially good, and she’d learned to trust that sense. It had never steered her wrong. She’d learned to trust her intuition.

  “Bon soir, M LeCompte,” Cecilia said.

  M LeCompte’s cool gray eyes were focused intently upon Cecilia, and judging by his raised eyebrows, she’d managed to pique his curiosity. “Mademoiselle Paring,” he said, with a slight tip of his head. “Quelle surprise. You left with Mr. Kenning yet you return with Mr. Montlake.”

  Startled, Cecilia could only stare at him blankly. It had never occurred to her that anyone would note that she’d acquired a different escort, let alone comment on the fact. It was unnerving to find that he was watching her so closely, but she did her best to shrug off her disquiet. “It isn’t surprising at all. Mr. Montlake is my partner for the next dance.”

  “And so he stole you away from Mr. Kenning?” M LeCompte shot Devin a conspiratorial grin. “You must be a very eager fiancé.”

  A muscle tightened in Devin’s jaw as he moved a little closer to her in a protective gesture. “You’re very observant,” Devin commented in a relaxed tone. It was so perfectly calm that Cecilia could imagine him using it in a courtroom.

  “It is a skill I have cultivated,” LeCompte replied, with a one-shouldered shrug.

  “And you’ve chosen to practice that skill by observing me with my dance partners?” Cecilia asked in a chilly tone.

  “Do you believe that others haven't noticed as well? That would be most foolish. It isn’t every day that London hosts an auction such as the one your father has planned. It’s only natural for everyone to be curious about your family.”

  Curious about Father turning his title over to his nephew and moving to France was more like it. Cecilia considered LeCompte’s words and then surreptitiously peered around the room. A number of people suddenly glanced away, avoiding her gaze. LeCompte was right. People were watching.

  M LeCompte lifted his hands, splaying his fingers. “It’s nothing untoward, I assure you. I simply like to observe people— to understand them better.”

  To observe people, or to spy on them? There was a fine line between the two.

  “I believe we understand each other,” Devin said. Something in his tone made Cecilia believe that he’d read the undercurrent in LeCompte’s comments as well…

  Be circumspect. Be watchful.

  “Perfectly,” LeCompte said with a slight tip of his head. “This has been most illuminating.”

  The strains of the waltz began. “If you’ll excuse us,” Devin said, “I believe this is our dance.” He moved forward, guiding her toward the dance floor.

  When Cecilia glanced back, she saw LeCompte disappearing through the doors leading into the gardens.

  * * *

  To keep reading, buy It Takes a Spy…