Glamorous Illusions (28 page)

Will shook his head, staring at him in disbelief. Of all the cold, calculating— “You keep away from her, Hugh.”

“And if I don't?” Hugh taunted casually, taking another long draw of his cigarette while watching him through squinted eyes.

Will eased toward Hugh and looked down his nose at him. “You don't want to find out what I'll do.” He turned then and entered through the doors.

But Hugh's laugh could be heard even beyond the glass.

CHAPTER 32

~Cora~

It was difficult to avoid smiling through supper. Again and again, I caught Pierre and the rest of our traveling party staring at me, clearly wondering what I was thinking. It was then I knew that what had shifted inside me had made a difference in my very appearance.

I'd decided I would go by the name of Cora Diehl Kensington. I would lay claim to both the name of my childhood and the name of my birth, honoring it all. But that mattered little. I'd realized that if Jesus had sat down with the tax collectors and the prostitutes and sinners, making upstanding religious people cringe, then He'd have no difficulty with either Mama or Mr. Kensington.

I'm a sinner…but I've made my peace with my family and my Maker
, Mr. Kensington had written. Whether or not that was true, I had yet to ascertain. But I knew that living like a redeemed sinner was what freed a person to live life to the full. Were there regrets? Certainly. I knew Mr. Kensington had them—I'd seen them lurking in the sorrow in his eyes. But if he truly knew Christ, he was a man who looked forward, not backward. And now I would follow suit.

I would claim what was mine and not fret over the rest. Vivian, Felix, and Lillian could decide whether they wanted me as a part of their lives. I could not make that choice for them. The relief of my new way of thinking allowed me to take my first full breaths in weeks. The Morgans? They were simply flawed human beings that I had to deal with for the remaining weeks of our journey. I'd be polite to them all and accept what came—and what did not. It did not matter. I was Cora Diehl Kensington. Accepted and loved by those important to me. The rest would be like lights on the Eiffel Tower—a gift when seen at night, but not integral to who I was.

Pierre asked if I might walk with him in the gardens after dinner, and I accepted, “as long as Anna might accompany us,” I added. I knew better than to put myself in the same situation I'd allowed the night before. And after the boat ride in Versailles…

He hesitated for half a breath. “But of course,” he said smoothly. “Anna is a welcome chaperone. Monsieur Will is not.” He smiled as he rubbed his bruised cheek as if remembering it all over again.

The rest of our party laughed over that, a bit too loudly. Will gave our host a rueful smile. But his eyes shifted from Pierre to me.

I was certain Pierre had been hoping for more stolen kisses. And I was not at all certain that was wise. But I felt indebted to him—for the incredible generous act of our ride upon the water at Versailles, for not asking for anything from me in return. Upon waking from that dreamlike ride, I'd found my mooring, after weeks of feeling adrift. And I wanted him to know it.

As we walked, he tucked my hand around his arm and stroked it, sending shivers up my arm and neck, down my back. He was handsome and charming, for certain. Was I a fool to try to cool the ardor he genuinely felt for me? But what could I be to him other than a welcome distraction? A curiosity? He didn't even know me.

Behind us, Anna puttered along, turning to pretend to admire the rosebushes whenever we paused. Pierre glanced at her and then gave me a wry grin. He held my hand in both of his. “So,
mon ange
,” he said tenderly, searching my eyes. I looked down and to the side. “What is it that you have to tell me?” he asked.

“Tell you?” I dodged, not certain I had the strength to speak the plain truth now that he'd given me the opportunity.

“Our time upon the waters of Versailles has clearly revived you. Never have your beautiful blue eyes sparkled so. But I have had trouble seeing them since this afternoon. You do not meet my gaze.” He put his hand beneath my chin and, with the softest of gestures, eased my face up. “Ah, yes,” he said, pulling back a little, as if he could read the words within.

I gave him a rueful smile and gently pulled my hand from his, then turned to resume our walk, hands behind my back. He, in turn, tucked one arm across his midriff, holding the elbow of his other, chin in hand, as if already intent on honoring the words I'd yet to speak.

“Pierre, I can't begin to thank you enough. For your kindness,” I said, looking at the tiny pebbles on the path. “For your attention and generosity. For not throwing us out the moment you knew who…I was.” I resisted the urge to insert “and what.”
I am Cora Diehl Kensington
, I repeated to myself.
Important to the people I love. Beloved daughter of God. Nothing else matters.

“For clothing us for your ball,” I stumbled on, “for not sending Will to jail after he punched you last night, and for your grand gesture at Versailles this afternoon.”

He laughed under his breath. “But of course,” he said. He glanced back at Anna and then touched my elbow, easing me to a stop again. “But why is it that I feel as if you are bidding me
adieu
?”

“Because…” I dragged my eyes up to meet his. “Pierre, what is this? Between us? An idle flirtation? A distraction? I am a woman on a journey, but I intend to go home. To Montana, a place few Parisians will ever see. To return to school to become a teacher. And you…you are a man with roots generations deep in Paris. Your life is far different.”

“Surely your life is not so different from mine,” he said with some confusion in his eyes. “Granted, the chateau…it is large. Ostentatious. But it has been in the family for centuries. Your own home might be newly built, but does it not compare? At least in some measure?”

I shot him a wry grin, thinking of our tiny house on the ranch. The houses he was probably imagining—even homes as grand as the Kensington home in Butte or the lodge on the lake—were not anywhere near the size or grandeur of his chateau. I shook my head.

He smiled even though his eyes betrayed frustration. “What does it matter? I've courted many women whose families have but apartments in the city.” He glanced at the chateau and then back to me, shrugging. “It is not I who built her. I was merely born within her walls. Why does it matter?”

“Because today…today on the boat, as I slept, as I awakened, I remembered who I was, Pierre. And that girl counts it a joy, an
experience
, to be here with you. But she does not belong here.”

He considered my words. Slow understanding, and a tinge of defense, lifted his chin. “What if it's something more,
ma chérie
?” His eyes searched mine, hoping. “This thing between us?” His intense look almost had the same power as his kisses to draw me in. I wanted him to kiss me again. God help me, I had the wildest urge to kiss him, just to see, to see if I remembered it right, to see if it had been a one-time thing. But that was exactly why I'd brought Anna along. So I wouldn't get distracted, forget what I needed to say. I looked down at the toes of my shoes peeking from beneath my skirts, and then looked back into his eyes. “There is no doubt that we find ourselves drawn to each other, Pierre. That is not the difficulty, is it? Though our paths have met here in Paris, they are soon to part. And by summer's end, there will be an entire ocean between us.”

“Let us address the ocean later. Let us only consider a week at a time. I could come with you to Provence.”

“And then what?” I asked, lifting my brows. “We head to Austria next. Venice. Rome. I doubt you have time to follow us about all summer long.”

He pursed his lips and then cocked his head. “Perhaps not all summer.” He took my hand in his again. “But let us not decide this now, Cora. Let us see what transpires. I will try to see you in Provence. In Vienna and Venezia—I have
business
to tend to in both cities,” he added in a rush, shushing my protest. He paused. “You find it so undesirable? Seeing me elsewhere about Europe?”

I laughed under my breath. What could I say? He was merely asking for the opportunity to see me again. “No, Pierre. I'd welcome seeing you anywhere,” I allowed.

He grinned at that. And then, ignoring Anna, he pulled me close for a brief kiss.

~William~

As they neared the Eiffel Tower, Will ran his finger under his collar, again wishing he had another half inch to let out. Richelieu had sent two new suits to his quarters that morning. The servant said that Richelieu no longer had any use for them and wondered if Will might be interested in having them tailored to fit. Caught off guard, Will tried them on, curious. But as he admired himself in the mirror, he admitted the truth. Richelieu was a couple inches shorter and narrower in the chest, so clearly these had not been his. He merely had been intent on helping to clothe the “poor” junior guide in some act of charity, regardless of what the servant said.

And even if it was solely a magnanimous gesture on Richelieu's part, Will swore he'd never take charity from him. Walking behind him as he chatted up Cora again, Will was sure he'd meant it as a punch to the gut. Had Richelieu seen what Hugh had seen in his face, his eyes, when he looked at Cora? Was he trying to clarify that Will had no chance against him if they competed for her affections?

He stifled a sigh and looked down the line of neat hedges in the park beneath the Eiffel Tower. He had to get her out of his mind, give up on this crazy dream before it became his undoing. Because after all, he had no more business taking up with Cora Kensington than Pierre de Richelieu did. Neither of them belonged with her. Neither of them.

He'd purchase his own suit before they left for Provence. It would not be nearly the same quality as what Richelieu had offered him; but it would be his, earned the old-fashioned way. It was unfortunate he'd tried the new suits on at all, though, because now his old, too-small collar chafed more than ever.

Studiously attempting to look at anything but Cora and Richelieu laughing and chatting, he followed behind the group as they strolled the park that led to the Eiffel Tower. The two of them intended to go to Richelieu's favorite restaurant after their sunset visit to the Eiffel Tower, and then Richelieu was going on to another event, so Cora wore an exquisite evening gown of cream and pink, with cutout lacework crossing her delicate shoulders, and a feather in her hair. The small train of her dress was held by a tiny strap over her left wrist so it wouldn't drag through the gravel on the path. Truly she had never looked lovelier, and it made Will feel all the more shabby. He had to admit that Richelieu was a fitting companion for her this evening, dressed in a silk jacket, trousers, and hat.

Again and again, Will's eyes strayed to the couple in front of him, then reluctantly to his other charges. Hugh caught his last lingering glance at Cora. He smiled slyly like a fellow conspirator, and Will looked away from him in frustration, embarrassment.

And that was when he saw the man, with hat pulled low, watching the group as they passed. It was not the look of the casual observer, nor the native caught by the intrigue of a foreigner in their lands—Will was well versed in deciphering that expression. It was a cool, calculating kind of stare. As if he were memorizing each one in the group for future reference.

Will stared hard at the man but then saw him gesture across the park, to another neatly trimmed row of hedges in which a second man stood. Will's heart went into double time, and he gripped his walking stick hard. What was this? Why were these men here, and what interest did they have in his clients? Will took several long strides toward Antonio and, with one swift tilt of his chin, drew the older man's attention to the sentinels on either side. But by that time, both were leaving, exiting to the far side of either hedge. Will chalked it up to a fluke, an oddity, but he caught the first man's dark gaze just as he broke away. It was the tiny smile edging his lips that caused Will to shout and run after him.

Will got to the other side of the seven-foot hedge, looking left and right. But the man was gone. Will ran another thirty feet to the next opening between the hedges. Beyond that, there was nothing in a vast lawn of the park. Somehow, somewhere, the man was hiding. But why? A chill ran down Will's back, and he glanced over his shoulder. Antonio was approaching him, dark brow furrowed as he shook his head. No luck for him either.