No Earls Allowed (The Survivors #2)(105)

“Would you like some wine or lemon water, dear cousin?” Lady Ravensgate asked solicitously.

“Wine, thank you,” Collette replied. Her sponsor rose and made her way around the room on the pretense of fetching refreshments for herself and her cousin. In reality, she was listening and collecting as much useful information as she could. But why? Did she have her own agenda or could Collette believe all her efforts were in sacrifice to her father?

Palmer and Thorpe continued to discuss the poem, and Collette found her gaze once again straying to Mr. Beaumont. What was the matter with her? She needn’t pay him any attention. His presence here didn’t signify. She’d had a fleeting moment of worry after he’d been at the last two events she’d attended, but Lady Ravensgate had dismissed her concern. Beaumont was a gallant who went wherever pretty women might be. His intellect, if he had any, was focused on persuading women to join him in bed. He was a former soldier and a war hero, but since returning from the war, his life had been given over to debauchery.

“Not someone you should associate with, my dear,” Lady Ravensgate had warned. Collette detested Lady Ravensgate’s insistence on calling her cousin and dear even when the two of them were in private.

“But do you not think it odd that he is at the same events we have attended?”

“No. With so few social events in London this time of year, everyone is at the same events.” Lady Ravensgate had narrowed her eyes. “Don’t tell me you’re half in love with him too?”

“No!” Collette had answered far too quickly.

“Good. Because he isn’t chasing after you. Women pursue him, not the other way around. And I’ve yet to see him with the same woman on his arm twice.”

Collette’s face flushed hot now as she remembered Lady Ravensgate’s words. Of course, a man like Beaumont wouldn’t be interested in her.

Except he was looking at her.

Collette’s cheeks heated, and she lowered her gaze. She should be paying attention to Palmer and Thorpe, not staring at Mr. Beaumont like some moonstruck girl of sixteen.

“Well, between you and me, Draven hasn’t relaxed his guard just because the Bourbons are back on the throne in France. In fact, certain communications we intercepted seem to imply…” He turned away from Collette and lowered his voice.

Collette almost swore in frustration. She’d been attending the theater, salons, garden parties, and every other social outing Lady Ravensgate could arrange, and this was the first time she’d heard anything directly referencing coded messages, even if these were not the codes she needed. If the English were intercepting coded French messages, they had to have the ciphers in order to read them. But what did the French communications say? And what would the English response be? It would be a good time to attack as France’s government and political system was in tatters at present. The French would only know the British response if she could somehow obtain the ciphers England used to code its own messages.

Those ciphers would decode the letter her father had entrusted to her as well.

She attempted to calm herself. She had to move closer and find a way to participate in the discussion. She had to determine if Draven himself coded missives to operatives. If so, he was in possession of the British ciphers she needed. She lifted her reticule and began to rise, only to look up and find a tall figure standing over her.

“Miss Fournay?” Mrs. Saxenby stood before her as well, but off to the side. The figure in front of her blocked her path to Palmer and Thorpe.

“May I introduce a dear friend to you? Miss Fournay, this is Mr. Beaumont.”

Collette blinked up at Mrs. Saxenby and then gaped at Mr. Beaumont. She was generally shy around men, especially handsome men, but one look at Mr. Beaumont, and she was speechless. She had glimpsed him across the room dozens of times, but nothing could have prepared her for the sheer masculine beauty of the man standing in front of her. His polished boots rose to his knees, which were encased in tight breeches of ebony. His waistcoat was snowy white with silver thread crawling over it like regal vines. His black coat showcased a slim waist and broad shoulders, while his snowy white cravat highlighted the days’ worth of stubble on his chin. He obviously hadn’t bothered to shave for the evening, and she might have wondered if he’d even brushed his hair. The chestnut-and-mahogany waves curled about his ears and fell rakishly over his forehead.

His splendor rendered her spellbound, and she was struck mute by his eyes. They were a shade of blue that could not be called anything but violet, and they were striking, especially fringed as they were with thick, dark lashes. Collette could have stared at those eyes forever. She desperately wanted to paint them—to see if she could mix just the right paints and match the color perfectly.

Beaumont bowed, and Collette stared at the top of his head, before he lifted it and met her gaze at eye level. He gave her a dashing smile, his eyes crinkling slightly and his lips curving in a most seductive manner. He looked at her as though he knew exactly what she was thinking. As though he knew precisely the sort of effect he had on her.

“Miss Fournay?” The sound of a woman’s voice came from somewhere nearby, though Collette could not have dragged her eyes away to locate the source if her life had depended on it. She could not look away from the handsome man smiling at her.

“I believe it is customary for you to give me your hand at this point,” Beaumont said, his smile never faltering.