“Mon dieu, how quick the two of you are to discuss business. Sybil, you needn’t compel yourself to be part of the sordid discussion Roderick and I must have. Why don’t you freshen up after your journey while he and I talk things over?”
His hand closed around my wrist as if it were a lifeline. I covered his hand with mine to reassure him and said, “Better yet, perhaps the three of us could go out together this evening. I am eager to see how much remains of the Paris I remember from ten years ago. Is the Jardin Mabille still in operation? I remember it as being a perfect fairyland at night.”
She pulled a doubtful face. “It is no longer the most fashionable place to be seen, but if you and Roderick truly wish it...?”
He shrugged. On him the motion emphasized the strength and breadth of his shoulders, and I was reminded of how forbidding he could be when he chose. “We aren’t going in order to be seen,” he said.
“Le Jardin Mabille it is, then. I shall see you there at half past eight.” She slid her feet into the mules she had left by the doorway and blew a kiss to the room at large. Throwing an “À bientot!” over her shoulder, she glided out of the room. The sound of the door shutting behind her punctuated her exit like a chord from an orchestra.
Roderick looked at me in consternation that would have been comical had it been anyone else. “What on earth happened before I arrived?” he demanded plaintively.
With a rush of remorse I realized that it must seem to him as though I had switched loyalties and taken Julia’s side.
“She caught me by surprise, that is all,” I reassured him. “Nothing has changed—except that I am beginning to understand how powerful her charm can be.” I wrapped my arms around him and rested my cheek against his bosom, and soon I felt his arms close around me, holding me secure.
“Be careful,” he said softly. “She only gets close to people from whom she wants something.”
I tightened my arms around him. “She’ll soon find that she has nothing to gain from me, no matter how charming she is. I must admit that she is quite different from what I expected. Has she changed from the way you remember her?”
“It’s hard to say until we find out what lies she has told us.” He sighed. “With Julia, there are always lies.”
“She is not going to come between us, if that is what she’s angling for,” I said firmly. “You and I are as one person in all of this—just as if we were already married.”
“I like the sound of that.” I could hear the smile in his voice, and I felt a touch on my hair when he kissed the top of my head. “It’s a shame she’s right about its being so complicated to get married here.”
“She is?”
“Sadly, yes. But we’ll conclude this business with her as quickly as we’re able, and then, my Sybil, we will put Paris behind us and be married wherever we please.”
For a moment I contemplated this prospect with all the delight it merited. Then a less pleasant thought suddenly intruded.
Julia had worn mules—slip-on high heels without backs. Being so easy to slide on and off, they were ill suited for outdoor or street wear. They were usually worn only inside one’s home, which meant just one thing.
She was staying in the same hotel.
I resolved then and there to be far less susceptible to her charm—and to be much more on my guard.
“Sybil? You’re very quiet all of a sudden.”
“Yes,” I said, and my voice was steely. “We should make certain to lock our doors at night. We don’t want any intruders stealing into our bedrooms.”
Chapter Four
It was clever of Julia to disarm me so. I had been bracing myself for a femme fatale, a sultry, smoky-voiced siren accustomed to luring unwary men to their doom. At first I had found the actuality a pleasant surprise. But Roderick’s comment about lies was sobering, as was the realization that Julia had evidently engineered the business with the suites. Indeed, she might well have been lying about not expecting me. I would have to be more wary.
Roderick was waiting for me in the sitting room of my suite when I finished my evening toilette. “About time,” he grumbled, but the protest was for form’s sake only, as the sight of me in my rose-pink silk with the deep neckline and white lace trim made him cock an eyebrow in admiration.
“I enjoy making you wait,” I said. “You appreciate the final result more.” And he looked very handsome indeed when out of temper, which I appreciated in turn.
His smile was devilish. “Ever the coquette,” he said, drawing me to him and holding me so tightly that I feared he would crush the silk of my dress. “You just delay your entrance to make it more dramatic.”
“I need all the drama I can muster if I am to compete with your antics, Roaring Brooke.” The words were breathless, since he still held me around the waist—and since one look into his eyes told me that the effect of my beautiful dress was to make him wish to remove it from me.
He was at his most devastating in evening clothes, the stark white of his shirt front and impeccable black of his suit contrasting so splendidly with his olive complexion and stormy, changeable eyes. “I think it is safe to say,” he murmured, “that you make quite an impression.” His kiss left no room for doubt.
“Now it’s you who will make us late,” I said at length. My senses were swimming from his touch, from the scent of bay rum and sandalwood that always clung to his skin, from the warmth of his hands that I felt even through the fabric of my bodice, corset, and chemise.
“Let her wait,” he said, and the tickle of the words against my skin was too much to resist. I put my lips to his again.
An imperious throat clearing halted us.
“It is eight twenty-five, madam.” Mrs. Vise. Of course.
I bit back a reproach. Occasions like this were precisely why I kept her on—for without anyone to remind me of practical matters like appointments, I would find it all too easy to slip into an endless idyll with Roderick. Reluctantly I loosed my hold on him, and he did likewise.
“Time to pay the piper,” he said in resignation, taking my mantle and wrapping it around my shoulders. I must have misheard him, however, for it sounded as if he had said viper.
As we were running late, we hired a closed one-horse carriage called a fiacre to take us to the Jardin Mabille. I enjoyed the spectacle of the brightly lit store fronts and cafés that we passed en route. It was possible for a few minutes to forget our mission in Paris and only be aware that I was with the man I loved in an exciting, beautiful city.
Despite having been shelled by the Prussians, or so I had heard, the Jardin Mabille was as magical a place as ever. After disembarking from the coach we passed through the huge arched entrance back into open air to find hundreds of colored glass lanterns strung between iron palm trees. Above us, a starlit sky was our only ceiling. From a covered Chinese pavilion an orchestra played dance tunes, and many couples were dancing, while more strolled along the sand paths. I knew that a great many of the beautifully dressed women were lorettes, a somewhat respectable variety of kept woman, on the arms of their lovers. But the general atmosphere was decorous enough that one could feel safe.
Julia was awaiting us at a table in the company of a handsome young chestnut-haired man who presented me with a nosegay of violets before withdrawing with a smile to leave the three of us to our conversation. Julia rose to kiss me hello and would have done the same to Roderick had he not fixed her with a gimlet eye.
“Still so aloof?” she exclaimed in French, not at all out of temper.
“If that’s what you wish to call it. Let’s converse in English, if you please, for Sybil’s sake.”
“How sober you have become,” she said cheerfully, switching to English. “Sybil, do you have no French at all? You will find yourself at a disadvantage if so.”
“I speak a bit, but it has been a long time since I spoke it with any frequency, so I sometimes have difficulty following rapid conversation.” I knew Roderick had insisted on English so that I wou
ld not have to worry that Julia was trying to slip anything past me.
She looked beautiful in a frothy white voile dress trimmed in blue velvet ribbon, with a dark blue sash that emphasized her slender waist. Her black hair was upswept and dressed in elaborate coils, with one long ringlet resting against her throat. A stunning necklace of opals and sapphires helped to cover the expanse of bosom bared by her dress’s low neckline.
“What a heavenly dress,” I told her.
“And yet Roderick does not seem to approve.” This sally met with a stony look from him, which made her laugh. “I shall have to see if I can melt that frozen reserve, non?” With a wink at me, she reached out with the nosegay of red roses she carried and drew them lightly along Roderick’s cheek. “Do you remember when I would scatter rose petals in our sheets, so that the heat of our bodies would awaken the fragrance?” she murmured to him. Her dark eyes were soft and dreamy on his, as if they held the memories of countless trysts together. “When we finally left the bed, our skin would carry the scent of the flowers as well as each other. You do remember, don’t you, chéri?”
“No,” said Roderick shortly. He was looking at his most dangerous, especially since he had not taken time to be shaved again, so his jaw was as dark as a pirate’s. “Let’s not be sidetracked by reminiscences. That isn’t why we’re here.”
“Come now, you must remember,” said Julia cajolingly. “There was the château in Provence, that one summer. I practically stripped the gardens bare of blossoms to strew in our sheets.”
This was more like the Julia I had expected in the first place: dwelling on their romantic past, leaning toward him as she spoke, touching his arm possessively. It was taking a great effort of will not to picture the two of them curled up together in that bower, which was probably her intention.
“That sounds rather unhygienic,” I said brightly. “You might try using eau de parfum next time. Oh, but I was forgetting—there won’t be a next time.”
Even that pointed reminder did not ruffle her composure. “I don’t recall Roderick having any complaints,” she purred.
But her attempts to beguile him were not succeeding. Roderick’s dark brows drew together in a frown, and he picked up the delicate hand resting on his arm and placed it deliberately on the table before taking my hand and drawing it through his arm.
“This is getting us nowhere,” he said. “Can we not get down to brass tacks?”
“I see. You don’t wish to make Sybil uncomfortable. That is very gallant of you.”
“Sybil is an independent adult and entirely capable of speaking for herself. I’m saying on my own account that I don’t want to think about those times.”
Julia put her head on one side so that her opal earrings swayed flirtatiously. “The times when we didn’t bother getting dressed for days on end?”
“Stop it, Julia.” His voice was a warning growl, but it caused her eyes to widen in excitement.
“Ah, there he is, the god of thunder! I well remember what that look means.” She made it sound quite indecent, and I felt a pang as I realized that I was not the only woman to have aroused Roderick’s passion alongside his temper.
“It means that I am out of patience,” Roderick boomed, causing those at nearby tables to turn and stare. “Shall we get down to the reason we are here? Otherwise I am taking Sybil back to the hotel. We’ve had a long day, and you are making it infinitely longer.”
This won a little moue toward me, as if to say, We must humor him in this mood. “As you prefer,” she said offhandedly. “But I must warn you that you will be considered quite rude in Paris if you do not sometimes permit a few niceties of social intercourse.”
Roderick gave a humorless grin, looking as if he should be holding a knife between his teeth. “You should remember that I never cared a hang for social niceties,” he said ominously. “Now tell me what I need to know.”
“Oh, very well,” she said with a sigh, casting her eyes down with a flutter of eyelashes. “How very businesslike and dull you can be.”
“Roderick is never dull,” I had to put in, and he pressed my hand in response.
“I cannot talk about this matter without sustenance,” Julia said with a pout, but to her credit, as soon as we had been served with ice cream and cognac-laced coffee—the most substantial refreshments available—she began her story.
“Danton Fournier is an old acquaintance from before the war. How he came to possess my letters is not important, but their contents could destroy my career in Paris and possibly even force me to have to leave France altogether. I said some slightly indiscreet things, but I should certainly not be punished to that extent.”
“Slightly indiscreet?” Roderick repeated, his voice dripping with skepticism.
Her eyes flashed. “You do not need to know what the letters said. All that matters is the price that Fournier demands—which is that I become his mistress.”
“Can you not go to the police and expose this man for what he is trying to do?” I interjected, but she shook her head vigorously.
“He will publish the letters immediately if the police should come to hear of the matter.”
“Have you offered him money?” Roderick asked.
“Men like him are not satisfied with money. They want power, control.”
“Perhaps you haven’t offered enough.”
She gave him an impatient look. “My money is invested in many places. There is only so much I can lay hands on at once.”
“That necklace cost a pretty penny,” Roderick observed. “Pawn it, and you’re well on your way.”
She placed a hand protectively over it. “But it has great sentimental value to me,” she said, gazing deeply into his eyes, and I felt a little chill as her meaning reached me. Roderick had given her the necklace.
It should not have surprised me, I suppose. But to wear it tonight showed a lack of tact on Julia’s part... or, on the other hand, a calculation that was rather audacious.
But Roderick was having none of her attempts to rekindle their former connection. “Julia, you haven’t a sentimental bone in your body.”
She chuckled softly. “I cannot deny that you are an expert on my body.”
For just a moment I considered how satisfying it would be to upend my dish of melted ice cream over her head and put an end to her honeyed seduction. I could picture her sputtering with outrage as the liquid dripped over her hair and onto her bosom, leaving sticky traces on her magnificent necklace...
“I don’t see how I need come into the matter at all,” Roderick said, stubbornly focusing on the matter at hand. “Why don’t you just bed the man?”
I gave him a rebuking look, but Julia merely wrinkled her nose as if smelling a too-ripe cheese. “If you had ever seen him, you would not suggest that.”
A snort of disbelief from Roderick. “When did you become so particular?”
“When I met you, of course, mon beau.” She leaned closer and dropped her voice to an intimate murmur. “How am I supposed to resign myself to some tubby, balding bourgeois after having been loved by you? All other men are distasteful to me now.”
This seductive overture was wasted on Roderick, who threw his head back and gave one of the caustic laughs I disliked. “Come, Julia, you must think me a simpleton. I refuse to believe you’ve been a nun since you washed your hands of me.”
She smiled so as to display her dimples, and I had to admit the effect was charming. “Well, you know better than anyone that I am a woman of great passion.”
“So grant Fournier a bit of that passion, and be rid of the problem.”
She pouted. “You don’t understand,” she told him petulantly. “It is most unwise to be known as his mistress. He has made many enemies, and I am likely to be shunned if he and I are linked.”
“Ah! Now I see. Your self-interest rules the day, as always. Well, what do you think I can do about it?”
At this opening she perked up like a watered daisy. “You can give him a be
ating,” she said. “Thrash him until he gives up the letters and promises never to bother me again.”
Roderick shook his head. “I am not going to be your hired thug—certainly not after what happened last time.”
“You are certain?” When his implacable expression showed no signs of changing, she sighed. “Eh bien, since you feel that way, I have come up with another idea, one that does not involve anything as crude as force.”
“Well?” he said coolly. “It had better be good.”
“Oh, it is a marvelous plan. Quite brilliant. But it will take a few days—and will require your help, Sybil.”
“My help?”
“As soon as we met, the idea just sprang into my mind. It is the perfect solution, if you are willing. Don’t glower so, Roderick! Let me at least tell you about it before you refuse me.”
Somehow the way she addressed him in such peremptory tones disturbed me more than when she flirted and smoldered at him; it spoke to a degree of familiarity between them that went beyond passion and even love to everyday domestic intimacy. But I brushed the thought away. If I could help Roderick extricate her from this tawdry matter of the letters, it could help him immeasurably—and soon we would be away from her and her silken snares forever.
“Let’s hear her out, at least,” I said to him in an undertone, and he reluctantly sat back in his chair. As he regarded Julia with a skeptical eye, she set forth the new plan.
“Soon the Théâtre Caprice will present the French premiere of a Gothic melodrama from England, Le Château Fantastique. I play the heroine, of course. Now, what if Sybil were to take my place one night? It would give me just the alibi I need. It would be child’s play to send Fournier a letter to lure him to some distant place, and then I shall have the perfect opportunity to retrieve the letters from his house while Sybil is on stage pretending to be me!”
“You mean for me to perform your role in the play?” It was staggering in all the preparation that it implied. “That seems rather elaborate, surely? I’m not certain how quickly I could learn a role all in French.” Not to mention my cues, which were equally important. And communicating with the head of the troupe... “Who did you say the manager is? Kenton Ivey?”
The Last Serenade (Sybil Ingram Victorian Mysteries Book 2) Page 5
