AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Don’t be cross, Val,” she said, laughing at him and tugging on his arm. “If I were her, I’d go to Paris.”
He frowned. “Not board a packet to England?”
Lisbeth shook her head. “My guess is that she would anticipate that you’d expect her to do that. Run back to her brother or whoever her contact is. But you asked me what a woman might do, and it’s what I would do. My money is on the City of Light.”
Fifteen
There was something about Paris that fired up the senses. Perhaps it was the way the French lived, or the feeling of flamboyance and élan in the air. It didn’t feel as stoic or as measured as England. The French did everything with such flair. Even this ball that her aunt Esther had insisted she attend so she could show off her beautiful, accomplished niece.
As expected, the Comtesse de Valois had welcomed her with open and very enthusiastic arms when she and Cora had shown up on her doorstep.
“You’re just in time! My spring ball is this week. You’ll be its star!”
The last thing Bronwyn wanted to do was attend a ball or be its crowning jewel, but she’d come to her aunt’s against Rawley’s instructions and the whole entire point of being in plain sight was not to blend and to be seen as Lady Bronwyn Chase enjoying the season. She didn’t plan to stay long in Paris. Just long enough for Rawley to catch up with them as he’d intended and for her presence to be noted by enough people in case he did not. If the Duke of Thornbury did follow on her heels, he would be hard pressed to accuse her of anything in front of the entire French aristocracy.
She hoped.
As such, her take-no-prisoners aunt had commissioned the most sought-after modiste in Paris to fit Bronwyn in a dress in the two short days since she’d arrived, and here she was. Dressed in the most sumptuous confection of a gown she’d ever beheld and being paraded and courted and charmed by everyone with a title, and even a few without, at her aunt’s very well-attended party.
“This is my dear friend, the Marquis de Tremblay,” her aunt Esther was saying. “He’s quite a lovely gentleman when he’s not flirting with anything in skirt.” She frowned. “Or trousers. Or any clothing, actually.”
Bronwyn bit back her horrified giggle. Her aunt was the opposite of her dour sister, Bronwyn’s mother, in every way. It was a wonder the two had shared the same womb.
“I do not flirt unless it is invited,” the marquis said in charmingly accented English.
Bronwyn’s eyes lifted to meet the smiling face of a very handsome man she was certain she might have met before, but all the faces were beginning to merge. Goodness, did her aunt intend to introduce her to all of Paris in one evening? Perhaps she and the Marchioness of Borne weren’t so different if she also secretly intended to marry her off at the best opportunity that presented itself.
“Lovely to meet you, Monsieur,” Bronwyn replied in fluent French.
His eyes brightened with delight. “Your accent is perfection, my lady.”
“Thank you,” she replied.
“Will you dance the next set?” he asked.
“I would love to.” At least it would get her away from more unwelcome introductions. Aunt Esther seemed ready to embark with a new group of eligible gentlemen she’d summoned. Bronwyn was never going to remember all those names! She supposed her aunt meant well, intending for her to have fun, unlike Bronwyn’s mother, whose marital leanings hinged on the match that would serveherbest.
But Bronwyn wasn’t interested in any gentlemen, save for the one she emphatically could not have.
A hard face with amber eyes and sculpted lips filled her vision, and she blinked, feeling a wash of gooseflesh rise on her arms.
He wants you in jail, you nitwit. That’s why you ran.
Monsieur de Tremblay offered her his arm with a bow. She and the handsome marquis—though in truth his attractive looks did nothing for her beyond superficial appreciation—strolled to the ballroom floor, where the orchestra was in the midst of the opening chords. Bronwyn gritted her teeth, her feet slowing. The waltz was not her favorite. Too many gentlemen in England saw it as an opportunity to get handsy. Would it be the same in France?
“Do not be nervous,” the marquis told her. “I am an excellent dancer.”
The flirtatious glint in his eye told Bronwyn everything she needed to know. The hand on her waist would slip down to the curve at the top of her buttocks; he might hold her closer than was appropriate and then brush himself indecently against her at every turn. Cringing, she braced for the inevitable, and then the hairs on her nape rose for no reason at all.
“I believe this dance is mine,” a deep voice said over her shoulder, making every nerve in her body come startlingly, shockingly alive.
Hewas here.
Bronwyn suppressed the shiver winding up her spine. Of course he was here. Deep down, she’d known the duke would come. That he would find her. A hunter like him would never abandon his prey, not when it had so tauntingly escaped his clutches under his very nose.
Bronwyn’s mouth dried as she turned, her blue eyes meeting burning gold. It had only been a handful of days since she’d seen him last, and yet she drank him in as though it’d been years. Square jaw, tightened lips, tousled tawny hair tumbling over his collar, and dressed to kill in raven-black superfine. Likely dressed to killher. A hysterical giggle climbed into her throat, the urge to flee making her legs tremble beneath her skirts. At least that was what she thought it was. A desire to run,notto tumble headfirst into his arms.
“Your Grace,” she said in a delighted voice that hid her fraying composure. “What a surprise.”
