by Shana Galen
“Show him in, Evans,” Lady Ravensgate said, replacing the card on the tray. When he’d gone, she patted the seat beside her. Collette walked on leaden legs to take a seat. “Isn’t this interesting?” Lady Ravensgate said. “I wonder if Mr. Beaumont might be of some use after all?”
“How?” Collette asked, but her question remained unanswered as Mr. Beaumont swept into the room and bowed deeply. Then he rose and—Collette did not know what to term his next act except to say that he struck a pose. He made a dashing figure in his fawn breeches, dark green waistcoat, and brown coat. His silver-tipped walking stick and the tall hat under his arm completed the picture of a fashionable gentleman.
“Mr. Beaumont,” Lady Ravensgate began. “What a lovely surprise.”
“It is, isn’t it?” Beaumont indicated the chair opposite the two ladies. “May I?”
“Please. Would you care for tea?”
“I never refuse refreshment,” Beaumont answered, his gaze on Collette. She could feel her skin prickling with awareness wherever his gaze roamed. Her cheeks heated as he studied her face. “And how are you, Miss Fournay?” he asked. “Is that your embroidery?” He indicated the hoop Lady Ravensgate had set aside.
Collette began to shake her head, but Lady Ravensgate put a hand on her arm. “Yes. She is quite accomplished, is she not, Mr. Beaumont?”
“I dare say she is. And I do so appreciate all the various accomplishments of ladies.”
Collette wondered if his words had a risqué implication, but his face betrayed nothing. Lady Ravensgate rang for the tea tray and then launched into the usual chatter expected during a call. The weather, Mr. Beaumont’s family, and the forthcoming entertainments in Town were discussed. Collette listened silently, unable to think of a single word to say. At times Lady Ravensgate peered at her, and Collette knew she should try and speak. She would even open her mouth, but then Beaumont would look at her, and she would forget what she wanted to say.
He was so handsome he made her head spin. And unfortunately, he knew he was handsome and charming. Even as she was annoyed and disgusted by his conceit, she was still charmed by his rakish smiles and elegant manners.
Finally, the quarter hour drew to a close, but just as Collette anticipated Mr. Beaumont taking his leave, the housekeeper knocked on the door. “I’m ever so sorry to interrupt, my lady. I need to speak with you immediately.”
Lady Ravensgate looked from Beaumont to Collette. She could not possibly leave the two of them alone. Now was Beaumont’s moment to take his leave. A gentleman would understand the necessity. But Beaumont merely lifted his teacup and took a sip.
“Do excuse me,” Lady Ravensgate said. “I shall return in a moment.”
Collette gave her a pleading look, but Lady Ravensgate ignored it and followed the housekeeper out of the room.
“So now it is just the two of us,” Beaumont said. “How cozy.”
Collette swallowed, then lifted her own teacup and took a sip.
“You are quite refreshing,” Beaumont said as the silence dragged on. “I thought women who did not prattle on for hours were only a myth.”
Collette’s eyes widened at the insult to her sex. “And I thought men who babbled nonsense were a fable.” She spoke without thinking, keeping her gaze above his head, where she would not be distracted. Too late, she wished she could take her words back.
But to her surprise, Beaumont chuckled. “Oh, I see.”
Collette frowned. “See what?”
“You are that sort.”
Her face heated, but this time it was not with embarrassment but anger. “What sort is that, monsieur?”
“The sort who says little, giving her words even more power to pierce one’s soul with their sharpness.”
Collette narrowed her eyes. She had forgotten to be awed by his attractiveness and looked at him directly. “And have I pierced your soul, monsieur?”
“Of course. Why do you think I am here?” He rose, saving her the awkwardness of answering. Strolling casually around the room, he picked up one item after another. A small porcelain figurine. A vase. A snuff box. “I never thought I would say this, but I do wish you would speak more often. I like the sound of your voice. Your English is very good, but you have just the right—what is the word? Ah…soupçon of a French accent. Perhaps you might tell me more about hedgehogs.”
It would be a cold day in hell before she mentioned hedgehogs again. “I am not so able to control my accent when I am angry,” she retorted.
He lowered the vase he’d been examining. “Do I make you angry?”
Collette knew better than to answer.
“How is it your English is so good?” he asked her in flawless French.
“How is your French so perfect?” she retorted.
“I spent a good part of the war in France,” he said unapologetically. “What a disappointment that we never met when I was there. You lived in Paris or the countryside?”
Collette watched as he crossed the room, her turning over the comment he’d made about the war in France. Lady Ravensgate had said he was a war hero. Might he have had some contact with the codes she sought? But she had to avoid any discussion of her life in France before. Although it was extremely unlikely most Englishmen would know anything about her father or have heard of him, she could not take the chance that she might say something that would give away her relationship to him.
But she would have to risk it. “Who did you serve under in the war?” Collette asked. “Perhaps we were in the same town.”
“Lieutenant Colonel Draven. And if I was in the same town as you, you would not have known it.”
Collette’s blood chilled, and she went absolutely still. How had she not known Beaumont served under Draven? Why hadn’t Lady Ravensgate told her? Had she not known? And then suddenly Collette forgot all her suspicions concerning Lady Ravensgate because Mr. Beaumont had neared the desk she’d been using to decode her letter, and in her surprise at his arrival, she had neglected to conceal both the letter and her improvised templates.
“Have you been working at your correspondence this morning?” he asked as he neared the desk.
“Yes,” she said hastily. Then, “No!” Oh, she had to do something to distract him. Something to move him away from the desk. Short of jumping up and blocking him, she was at a loss. And then her knee knocked the tea tray and she acted impulsively. She caught the table holding the tray with her foot and knocked the leg over, sending the pot of tea, the dishes, and the cakes and sandwiches tumbling to the floor in a huge clatter. Collette might have jumped if she hadn’t been expecting the cacophony. Instead, she watched Beaumont’s reaction. The noise did draw his attention, but he hesitated before moving to help her. Was it her imagination or had Beaumont wanted to get a better look at the contents of the desk and only gave up because as a gentleman he was honor bound to assist her?
“Are you hurt, Miss Fournay?” he asked, coming closer.
She fell to her knees and righted the tray and the table. “Nothing but my pride, sir. I cannot think how this happened.”
“Do not concern yourself. I will have it all set to rights in a moment.” He knelt across from her.
“You mustn’t. I shall call a footman.” And then the footman could alert the maids and see Beaumont out.
“Not necessary,” Beaumont said, already at work. “I have it all in hand.”
But Collette had reached for the small bell that had toppled off the tray, which Lady Ravensgate used to call the servants to this room, as it had not been outfitted with a bellpull. Beaumont’s hand caught hers. Collette inhaled sharply at the touch of his skin on hers. In addition to her carelessness at leaving her correspondence out, she had also forgotten to don her gloves. Beaumont had taken his off to take tea, and now they touched skin to skin.
He pulled her hand away from the bell, holding it lightly b
ut firmly. “You needn’t trouble the servants.” His warm hand engulfed hers, and when she tried to draw hers away, he didn’t release her. “Would it be scandalous of me to remark on how soft your skin is?” he asked, voice low and seductive. “I’m not certain I’ve ever felt skin like yours.”
Collette hardly knew the rules of English society, but she did know what whatever the etiquette might be, the feeling she had with her hand in his was most improper. She had the urge to link her fingers with his and to hold on to him more tightly. He had such a strong, sure grip, and she was so weary of floundering.
Instead, she looked him directly in the eyes. Those lovely, lovely violet eyes. “Release me, monsieur.” During courting rituals the hedgehog sow continually rejects the boar, turning to give him her flank.
“Ah, the French again,” he said, still not releasing her. “Does that mean you are angry? Or perhaps you feel another emotion?”
Desire. That was what he had to mean, what he must refer to. Was she that transparent? No matter. What she felt and what she did were two very separate matters. She might find Beaumont handsome and arousing, but Lord help her if she ever dared act on those feelings. Very deliberately, she pulled her hand back and rose to her feet. “Thank you for your call today, Mr. Beaumont,” she said pleasantly. Inside she shook with a churning of emotions she could not begin to name.
“No, thank you, Miss Fournay.” He made an elegant bow. “Our time together has been most enjoyable. May I claim your hand for the supper dance at Lord Montjoy’s ball next week?”
Hedgehog courting continues with the boar circling the sow.
Collette shook her head, at a loss as to what was expected of her in this situation. To her knowledge, Lady Ravensgate had not been given nor accepted an invitation to a ball by Lord Montjoy. Collette did not even know the name, which probably meant he was not a friend of Draven’s and therefore could not give her any useful information.
“Surely you will attend. It will be one of the last events before the few members of the ton still in London finally retreat to their country houses. Those of us without country houses will have to find another amusements.”
The door opened and Collette blew out a relieved breath. Lady Ravensgate entered and briskly took center stage. “I do apologize for having been so long detained. May I call the butler to show you out, Mr. Beaumont?” Without waiting for his response, she rang the bell.
“Thank you,” he said, appearing unruffled by the blatant attempt to be rid of him. He smiled at Collette. As usual, his smile had the effect of leaving her breathless. “And I look forward to our dance at Lord Montjoy’s ball.”
“What is this?” Lady Ravensgate asked. “Lord Montjoy?”
“Don’t tell me you won’t attend.” Beaumont tapped his chest where his heart—if he had one—would have been. “Miss Fournay has promised me the supper dance.”
She had done no such thing, but before she could protest, Lady Ravensgate interrupted. “I regret we have not received an invitation to Lord Montjoy’s ball. My dear cousin was probably not aware of that fact when she accepted your request.” She gave Collette a speaking glance.
“I see.” Beaumont looked thoughtful. “I will remedy that situation directly. Leave everything to me, my lady.” He bowed again just as Evans opened the door. Beaumont glided out as though he had only been waiting for the butler to arrive. A moment later Collette heard the front door open and then all was silent. She looked at Lady Ravensgate.
“I did not accept his offer. I would have refused, but then you entered and—”
Lady Ravensgate held up a hand. “I find Mr. Beaumont’s visit quite curious.”
Collette had found it curious as well, but she thought it rather rude of her sponsor to point out the obvious fact that she was not beautiful or witty enough to attract a man like Mr. Beaumont.
Lady Ravensgate continued, pacing about the room, stepping over the scattered pieces of the fallen tea tray in the process. “Either he is quite taken with you, or he has an ulterior motive.”
Collette glanced at the desk and the decoded letter she had left out. Could Beaumont have been trying to peek at her private correspondence or was he merely making polite conversation? It was not as though she had kept up her side of the dialogue.
“I don’t mean to imply that you are not eminently desirable, my dear.” Lady Ravensgate smiled a little too brightly.
Collette narrowed her eyes. “But it might be wise to consider the possibility that Mr. Beaumont is a threat. After all, he was part of Draven’s troop in the war against Napoleon.”
Lady Ravensgate’s chin jerked. So she’d known. Why had she kept the information to herself?
“If he did hope to glean information by coming here, he gathered none today,” Collette said tightly. “I managed to keep him from perusing the desk. From now on I shall make certain to take all of my correspondence to my bedchamber.”
“That is very wise of you, my dear, but not necessary.” Collette had not been allowed paper or pen in her private chamber, and Lady Ravensgate did not seem inclined to make any exceptions. “In the meantime, we shall keep our eye on Mr. Beaumont. If we are fortunate, we will not see him again.”
“On the contrary, I hope very much we do see him again. He could prove useful.”
“Only if you do not allow him to seduce every last secret out of you,” Lady Ravensgate bit out.
Ah, so that was why the lady had not mentioned Beaumont’s connection to Draven. She worried Collette would succumb to his charms. “He will not seduce me.”
Lady Ravensgate snorted. “We shall see.”
Collette looked down at the hand Beaumont had held. It still tingled from his touch. What had he meant when he said he would remedy the situation with Montjoy? And why could she not stop imagining what it would be like to dance with him?
* * *
A family dinner at the Earl of Haddington’s town house was no small, intimate affair. Rafe had stepped into the fray little more than a quarter hour ago and his coat was already sticky from little fingers and his ears ringing from children’s shrieks. Hell’s teeth but his siblings were a fertile lot.
The monthly dinners were a staple from March until late fall, when the earl and countess retired to the country for several months. The earl’s property was not large and he did not have many tenants to oversee. The land was quite rich in minerals, and the income from those provided Haddington with a comfortable lifestyle and the ability to ensure his children were also well taken care of.
Tonight, six of the eight children attended the dinner. John, Viscount Beaumont and the earl’s heir, always attended. His wife and their five children were also present. George, Rafe’s second eldest brother and his wife and brood were also present. They only had three children, but his wife looked to be expecting again, although a formal announcement had not been made. Rafe’s two other brothers were in the navy and presumably away at sea. But his three sisters more than made up for Harold and Cyril’s absences. Rosamund, Helen, and Mary had ten children between them. Mary was the closest in age to Rafe, only three years his senior, and her children were the youngest and loudest. Rafe could also admit—if only to himself—that three-year-old James and eighteen-month-old Sophia were adorable. Sophia had the prettiest dimpled smile, which she bestowed quite liberally. James had the same violet eyes as his uncle, and he babbled about horses nonstop. Rafe hardly even minded when the lad smeared an unidentified substance on his lapel.
“Admit it,” his stepmother said as she made the rounds in the drawing room, while the brood waited to be called to dinner.
“Admit what, madam?” he asked, still nodding to James who prattled on.
“You love children.”
“I do,” he agreed. “I love to send them home with their parents, preferably far, far away.”
She thumped him lightly on the head, an action th
at caused Sophia to giggle.
“Ouch!” she scolded. “No, no, no!”
“That’s right,” Lady Haddington said. “No hitting. Ouch!”
“And what was that for?” Rafe asked.
“Because I don’t believe a word you say, dear boy. I think, deep down, you want children of your own.” She scooped up her youngest grandchild and kissed her cheeks, making the little girl shriek with laughter. Rafe winced.
“Yes, why wouldn’t I want to surround myself with squealing children rather than beautiful actresses or a talented opera singer?”
His mother sighed. “One day you will have to settle down and marry.”
Rafe looked shocked. “Why?” He gestured to the overflowing drawing room. “Surely the family line is secure without my assistance. Presumably that is why there was no objection when I joined the army to fight against Napoleon. You could afford to lose a son or two with the heir and spare safely at home.”
“We would never wish to lose you, dear boy,” his stepmother said. “Then we would have no one to read about in the gossip section of the papers.”
“Speaking of which,” his sister Mary said, leaning over to intrude in their conversation. “I read you are smitten with a young Frenchwoman in Town.”
Rafe wished if his sister was determined to stick her nose into his business—something she had been doing since he was born—that she would at least keep the information to herself. Either that or blackmail him with it as she had when they were children. “Well, you know the papers are full of lies,” Rafe said easily. “I smitten with a Frenchwoman? What rubbish.”
“Is it?” his stepmother asked. “Whatever gave the papers that idea, Mary?”
“Apparently, Rafe begged an introduction to the lady at a salon a few days ago.”
His stepmother’s brows rose.
“And then he called on her at home.”
His stepmother’s brows reached new heights.
