No Earls Allowed (The Survivors #2)(117)

“I take it you did not appreciate my little piece of theater.”

She flicked a glance at him. “Truthfully, monsieur, I would have preferred to simply finish the dance and exit the floor unobtrusively.”

“You are very good at being unobtrusive.”

She froze, her arms on the balustrade going quite stiff. She chose her next words carefully. “It must appear so to you. You are very good at creating a spectacle.”

He laughed. “Yes, I suppose I am.”

Collette let out a sigh of relief. She was reading too much into his words. He did not suspect her. He was a flirt and hungry for attention. He didn’t mean anything more than what he said.

“And how are you enjoying your stay in London, Miss Fournay?”

Collette bit her lip. Now she would be forced to make conversation with him, a skill for which she amply shown had no talent. But it would not last long. Dinner would be served soon, and they would have to go in. “London is…” What should she say? It was not nearly as beautiful as Paris, but she did not want to invite speculation about any time she might have spent in Paris.

“London is rainy. I think it must have rained every day since I have been here.”

“And it never rains in Paris?”

“Of course, it rains in Paris, but…” She trailed off. She had given away more than she’d planned. “I mean to say, but I have not spent much time in Paris and cannot adequately compare the two.”

“There is no comparison,” Beaumont said casually. “Paris is architecturally stunning and eminently more sophisticated than London. A simple stroll down Bond Street will tell you it pales in comparison with the Champs-élysées.”

“I have not strolled on the Champs-élysées in years,” she said. “I am surprised you have had the opportunity.”

He smiled. “I can be unobtrusive too.”

She had seen the truth of that tonight, when he’d seemed to come out of the woodwork to claim their dance.

“If you did not live in Paris, where did you live?”

This was a common topic of conversation, and she launched into her well-rehearsed answer. She’d lived in the countryside with her parents, who had been devastated when her brother died in the Battle of Waterloo. Now that their period of mourning was over, her parents had thought it might be beneficial for her, their young daughter, to travel to London and see her cousin and attend social events. Her mother and father were still far too distressed to interact socially and they did not want their daughter to suffer.

As she spoke, she’d stared out at the small garden behind the town house. Very little bloomed at this time of year, a few roses could be seen in the light filtering from the ballroom. But when she finished speaking, she looked back at Beaumont and almost jumped to see him standing right beside her. She hadn’t even heard him move.

“That’s a lovely story,” he said, his gaze on her face. Collette felt it heat again at the intensity of his look. She wondered if she would ever become used to having such an attractive man so close to her.

“It’s all true,” she said, and immediately regretted the words. They sounded too much like a protest, when one had not been required.

“I don’t doubt it. I too was in the war, though I didn’t fight at Waterloo. Tell me, was your brother army or cavalry?”

Collette opened her lips, but she had not encountered that question before. Moreover, she had not been schooled in the answer. It had never occurred to her or to the men holding her father that any Englishman would care about the particular placement of a French soldier.

Beaumont noticed her hesitation. “Don’t you know?”

“Yes, but…” Should she choose one? Then what if he asked more questions like the brigade number or the commander? “You must excuse me, sir. It is difficult for me to discuss.” He was not the only one with acting skills.

“No, you must excuse me. I should never have brought it up.” He lifted her hand from the balustrade, forcing her to angle toward him. “Forgive me?” he said, kissing the back of her hand.

“Of course.”

His took a step forward, forcing her back if she wanted to keep any space between them, and her shoulders touched the wall of the terrace. “It must be hard to lose a sibling.”

She nodded. He was so close. Even in the darkness, she could see his violet eyes. He still held her hand, and his other hand rested lightly on the balustrade beside her hip. “I have seven. You are welcome to borrow any of mine. You met my youngest sister?”

She nodded again, trying to focus on his words, not the feel of his hand holding hers or the closeness of his body or how soft his lips looked, how inviting.

“Did she tell you all of my secrets?”

Collette shook her head. Her voice had deserted her, and she feared if she attempted to speak, he would lean close to her and she would catch his scent and lose all control over her baser urges.

“I suppose I shall have to leave that to my brothers. I have four, and we live to humiliate each other. Two of my brothers are in the navy. Officers and proud of it. They want nothing but to serve the king. And your brother? Did he support Napoleon?”

She nodded, all but transfixed by his good looks and his melodious voice, then realized what he’d asked. “I mean, no.”