No Earls Allowed (The Survivors #2)(110)

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…soup?on 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.