And she was. He was tempted to suggest having dinner sent up so that he could have her to himself, in fact. But no, he had promised her Paris. Helping her into her wrap, he led her downstairs, and out into the now-twilit streets.
“Stay close to me,” he cautioned her. “Paris is not Mayfair, neither as well lit nor as safe, even in the better areas.”
She drew nearer, her eyes wide as she took in the scene surrounding them—the thronged humanity of all social classes, the scrawlings upon the walls, proclaiming, “Vive l'empereur!“ in defiance of Napoleon's defeat. Prostitutes lounged in doorways, street vendors hawked their wares in French and broken English.
Instinctively, Jack wanted to protect Nessa from the evils that he knew lurked around every corner and within every alleyway. He'd been mad to bring her here.
“This is wonderful! Amazing!” she breathed. “I've never seen anything like it. How exciting!”
He groaned inwardly, not only at her words, but at the memory of his own similar enthusiasm upon his last visit to Paris— and of the wild excesses it had led him to. Was he so certain that he could not be similarly tempted now? That Nessa would not? It would be best, he decided, if their visit here were kept short. Tomorrow he would make certain inquiries…
They reached their destination none too soon for his taste. Jack's anxiety receded as he watched— and shared— Nessa's enjoyment of gustatory pleasures beyond her dreams. Whatever else he might say against Paris, the food here was the best on earth.
“Now I understand the wages true French chefs command in England,” Nessa commented when she finally pushed back from the marble table after their prolonged and leisurely meal. “And I begin to believe those who claim to travel to Paris solely to dine here. That was magnificent.”
“Now that you have experienced the best Paris has to offer,” he teased, “we may as well return to England. Anything else we do here is bound to be anticlimactic.”
“Oh, I think not,” she replied, her eyes dancing. “The very atmosphere of this city inspires me to things most climactic, in fact.”
Jack grinned, his body responding instantly to her innuendo. “Indeed? Then I suggest we return to our hotel without further ado.”
~ ~ ~
NESSA STRETCHED luxuriously upon awakening to her first full day in Paris. If last night had been any indication, she was going to thoroughly enjoy her stay here! A fabulous meal, followed by even more fabulous lovemaking with the man who had made this possible.
Turning to express her gratitude yet again, she discovered that Jack had already risen. He was on the far side of the enormous room, almost finished dressing. Before she could speak, a tap came at the door. Jack opened it to receive a tray of something that smelled positively heavenly. The moment the door closed again, she sat up.
“Mmm! Is that our breakfast?”
He turned with a grin that melted her insides to water. “It is indeed, and an excellent one, I should think. One reason I chose this hotel was the reputation of its kitchens.”
She bounded out of bed, only belatedly remembering to snatch up her silk wrapper when Jack's eyes brightened appreciatively. “After breakfast,” she promised. “You wouldn't want me distracted by that mouth-watering aroma, would you?”
His blue eyes smoldered. “No, I'll want your undivided attention, as I plan to give you mine.”
Sitting at the small table, Nessa saw only familiar foods: eggs, meats, pastries, coffee. But everything was hot— something rarely experienced in England— and the quality set it apart as well. The coffee was the best she'd ever tasted, full, rich and strong.
“That was nearly as good as last night's dinner,” she declared as she drank the last drop, to wash down her final bite of croissant. “If we spend many weeks in Paris, I fear I shall become as large as a cow!”
“Then I must make certain you take enough exercise to compensate.” Jack tossed his napkin onto the table and rose. “I have a particular activity in mind right now.”
Nessa came to him eagerly, and soon they were engaged in a most pleasurable exercise indeed. As so often happened after she was sated, however, she had to fight the urge to tell him she loved him. She had faced that truth some time ago, but after the incident with Miranda Dempsey, she felt reluctant to voice feelings that might not be reciprocated. When it was time, she would know.
Wouldn't she?
Today, however, she refused to dwell upon the matter. Paris awaited! “Where shall we go today?” she asked, almost before her breathing had slowed to normal. “One of the palaces?”
“I am wounded! Could I distract you no longer than that?” But he smiled indulgently. “The Louvre, I believe. Then perhaps the Tuileries?”
“Oh, yes! And then, tonight, the Palais-Royal? Please?” She'd read and heard numerous stories of its shops, cafés and gaming establishments.
For a moment she thought a fleeting frown crossed Jack's brow, but the smile never wavered. “Of course. Up with you, then! We have a busy day ahead of us, it would seem.”
Back in the streets of Paris, Nessa again felt assailed by the odors— mostly unpleasant— and the crowds. Why, all of Europe must be here! English gentlemen and officers in their blue and red coats, Frenchmen in their more sober black, ladies of all nationalities in every color of the rainbow, in everything from simple English styles to the more ornate French and German ones.
Just ahead, she saw an English officer exchanging angry words with what must be a French officer. The Frenchman then slapped the other resoundingly across the face, and the Englishman bowed. Turning aside, they continued their conversation at a less audible volume.
“Does… does that mean they are to duel?” she asked Jack, amazed at such a display.
He nodded. “Unless things have changed since I was here in August, dozens are fought every morning. The French are a hotheaded race, and with no war to occupy them now, our own idled officers are more than happy to oblige their thirst for violence.”
She looked at him uncertainly. “Did you fight any duels when you were here last summer?”
Again he nodded, not quite meeting her eyes. “A few. I'd like to think I'm a wiser man now, though. For one thing, I've more to live for.” He winked at her.
Nessa felt chilled and warmed all at once. The very idea of Jack putting himself in such danger, doubtless over such trivial things as the cut of a coat or a turn of the dice, made her almost ill. In vain she reminded herself that he'd undoubtedly faced greater danger in the army. Somehow the thought did not comfort her in the least.
“Jack! Jack Ashecroft! Is it really you?” A shrill, feminine voice broke into Nessa's disturbing thoughts. With a swirl of puce skirts and heavy perfume, a plump, pretty blonde blocked their way. Seizing Jack by both arms, she planted a resounding kiss square on his mouth.
He grabbed her bare shoulders and set her away from him, looking more startled than upset, Nessa thought. “Peggy! I had no idea you were still in Paris.”
She appeared ready to launch herself at him again, when Jack continued hastily, “Pray, let me introduce you to my wife.”
The woman's rouged cheeks turned even pinker, as she noticed Nessa for the first time. “Your wife?” she cried, her blue eyes nearly starting from her head. “Say it ain't so, Jack!”
Jack released her shoulders, now that the danger of another attack had passed. “I'd rather hoped for congratulations, not disbelief. Lady Foxhaven and I were wed before Christmas.”
Peggy cocked her head pertly to one side. “Foxhaven? Weren't that your grandpa's name? So you're a markiss now, are you? Well, don't that beat all! Guess you had to wed so you could get yourself an heir, eh?” She nudged Nessa with her elbow, her eyes twinkling again.
Nessa managed a smile, both attracted and repelled by the woman's forthright, vulgar manner. “We're working on it,” she said brightly.
Both Jack and Peggy stared at her for a moment, then the other woman let out a loud peal of laughter. “Looks like you found
yourself a right 'un, Jack! Glad to see you ain't stuck with some starched up society type. Bring her 'round tonight and I'll introduce her to the other girls.” With a saucy wink, she turned to sashay away from them down the street.
Glancing up at Jack, Nessa saw that his color had risen considerably. He cleared his throat a couple of times before meeting her eye.
“That was Peggy,” he said unnecessarily.
“So I gathered.” She couldn't helped being amused at his embarrassment, even if the encounter had been rather unsettling for her, as well. “A good friend of yours, I take it?”
“Just a… a casual acquaintance, really.” He didn't quite meet her eye. “Manners are freer here, and even the English who spend enough time in Paris tend to adopt them.”
“Ah,” she said noncommittally. “Shall we continue on?”
He nodded and they resumed their walk, but this was not the last such encounter. They had nearly reached the Louvre when a disheveled young man accosted them.
“Jack Ashecroft, as I live and breathe! And who is this pretty lady? 'Tis one I've not seen in Paris before. Did you import her from England, perchance?”
“Hello, Teddy. Still getting drunk before noon, I see. This is my wife, Lady Foxhaven.” Jack, Nessa noticed, was careful to interpose himself between her and this newcomer.
“So Uncle Luther stuck his spoon in the wall, did he? And you've become a sober married man. Guess there's no use in my suggesting a ménage à trois then, eh?” With an elaborate bow toward Nessa, he went off laughing.
Nessa looked curiously at Jack. “What did he mean?”
Again Jack began the throat-clearing that she now knew signified embarrassment. “Er, nothing. Teddy always was a nodcock. Wonder if his family even knows he's still alive?”
Though she suspected there was more to that comment than the literal meaning, “household of three,” she allowed the subject to drop. “I had no idea I'd married such a very popular fellow.” Nessa forced herself to speak lightly, though in truth she was rather unnerved by such flagrant evidence of his former lifestyle.
They entered the Louvre then, and Nessa forgot all other concerns in her awe at the artworks displayed there. They spent the next few hours lost in beauty and amazement, only recalled to reality by increasingly insistent hunger pangs.
Jack suggested Tortoni's for afternoon refreshment, and Nessa eagerly agreed. That celebrated establishment was crowded with people of all nationalities, but as Jack appeared to know several of those present, including the waiters, they were served in surprisingly short order. They had finished their meal and were just beginning the famed ices when shouting on the opposite side of the room rose above the general din.
A French officer and a man Nessa thought might be Prussian from his accent exchanged first words and then blows. A moment later, at least a dozen other patrons joined the fray. Chairs and tables were overturned, and a shot rang out.
“That is our exit cue, my dear,” said Jack urgently. “This way.” He ushered her outdoors, pushing his way through the crowd surging in the opposite direction to join or witness the melee. More shots sounded behind them, along with a piercing shriek.
“Goodness!” Nessa exclaimed shakily once they'd gone a safe distance down the street. “Does that sort of thing happen often in there?”
“There and most other places in this volatile city. Are you all right?” Jack examined her face with a concern that warmed away her fear.
“Perfectly,” she assured him. “I… had not realized Paris was such a dangerous place.”
“Debauchery and danger often go hand in hand.” He tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and turned toward the Tuileries. “When people lose respect for themselves and their own lives, 'tis but a short step to losing respect for others, and fiery young men must have an outlet for their passions.”
Nessa swallowed. “And you were one of those?”
“I… suppose I was, though I pursued amusement more avidly than violence.”
She wasn't sure whether that made her feel better or not.
During the remainder of the day and evening, Nessa began to realize that her girlish fantasies about wickedness had had little basis in reality. Here, the actuality was all about her, impossible to escape.
Prostitutes— they could be nothing else— boldly approached passersby in even the most genteel sections of the city. Gambling dens appeared to occupy almost every corner, and shots rang out frequently, either close at hand or in the distance. Wild laughter floated from doorways, and the moans of what must be sexual couplings from open windows above.
No longer did she envy the freedom of the women she saw everywhere displaying their legs and bosoms. Instead, she felt almost ashamed to share their gender. The Tuileries and its gardens, just beginning to hint at spring glory, were lovely, and the Palais-Royal amazing in its colorful variety, but by midway through the evening Nessa was both tired and oddly depressed.
Jack seemed to sense something of her mood. “Why don't we return to our hotel and have dinner sent up to our suite,” he suggested as they completed the circuit of shops and cafés. “I think we've both had enough of Paris for one day, don't you?”
Though she hated to admit it, Nessa had to agree. No doubt her enthusiasm for new experiences would revive after a good night's sleep, but for now she confessed herself sated by them.
The next morning, however, she awoke to a vague queasiness. “I fear all of this rich French cuisine has rather overset my digestion,” she told Jack apologetically. “Can we perhaps ask that something simpler be sent up for today's breakfast?”
Immediately he was all concern. “Certainly, my dear! I'll send Parker down at once. Is there anything else you require?”
“Now, you needn't play the mother hen,” she teased, though she could not help feeling touched. “I shall be fine, I am certain. Nor will you escape showing me more of Paris by exaggerating my little indisposition.”
Indeed, after some tea and toast she felt much more the thing, and ready to see a few of the monuments which had been erected in Napoleon's honor. But though they took things easily that day, she found she could not summon up her former eagerness to see all that Paris had to offer. And there were still interruptions by some of Jack's former acquaintances, from noble to homeless.
It was all too easy, with the evidence before her, to imagine just the sort of life Jack must have led before she met him. Former officers referred to wartime exploits and the women who had followed them from camp to camp. Others made comments about the money they had lost to Jack or, less frequently, that he had lost to them.
And it seemed that every woman in Paris knew him far too well!
By the end of their fourth day in Paris, Nessa felt she'd seen enough of debauchery to last her a lifetime— though she could not bring herself to admit it aloud.
~ ~ ~
FOR HIS PART, Jack was finding Paris both tedious and unpleasant, with its constant reminders of a life he'd left behind—a life he discovered he did not miss in the least. Yes, there were occasional temptations to renew old friendships, but the drinking, dicing and wenching no longer appealed.
Two months ago that knowledge would have disturbed him, but now he felt profound relief. Evidence that Paris' dubious charms were palling on Nessa brought him even greater relief. He began to realize that Nessa had a core of purity that even Paris could not touch, however she might try to hide it.
Still, he was worried about her. Her stomach had been unsettled for the past three mornings, and though she always seemed to recover by early afternoon, he could not be entirely easy about her. No doubt the noxious atmosphere of Paris was taking its toll on her system, brought up as she had been to the clean air of the English countryside.
He'd meant to stay in Paris for a week at the least, but now he began casting about in earnest for alternatives. By the evening of their fourth day there, he had found one.
“What would you say,” he asked her over dinner that nig
ht, “to spending the next two weeks in the French countryside rather than the city?”
Nessa set down her fork and looked curiously at him, both hopeful and wary, he thought. “The countryside? But how? Where?”
“I sent a message to an old friend who owes me a favor,” he explained. “This afternoon I received his reply. He owns a charming little cottage less than twenty miles from Paris, on the outskirts of a particularly pretty village. I remembered visiting it last summer, which is why I inquired. He rarely stays there, and has agreed to let us make use of it for as long as we like.”
Her eyes shone. “Oh, may we really?” But then she seemed to recall herself. “That is, I am enjoying Paris immensely, of course, but a change might be nice.”
Valiantly, Jack kept his expression solemn. “Just what I'd thought, as well. We'll leave tomorrow, if you have no objection.”
“No objection at all,” she said with a smile, belatedly adding, “Assuming, of course, that we may see the rest of Paris later on.”
“Whenever you wish to do so,” Jack agreed. He hoped, however, that his suspicions were correct, and she'd truly had her fill of Paris by now.
The next morning, the first of March, they left early, as Jack recalled that the roads they would traverse were not the best. Though Nessa again woke to an upset stomach, she refused to delay on that account.
“I shall be fine within the hour,” she promised. “I always seem to be.”
By the time the carriage was loaded, her prophecy had been fulfilled. Two hours later, however, as they bumped along rutted, twisting lanes, she appeared to be in some distress again. Finally, she asked him to stop the coach so that she could step outside for a breath of air. A moment later, he was supporting her as she rid herself of her breakfast.
“I'm terribly sorry, Jack. Normally I'm not made at all ill by travel. Even that rough channel crossing we had did not upset me, if you'll recall.”
Scandalous Brides Page 107
