Miss Lavigne's Little White Lie (30 page)

Louis regarded the repulsive patrons of the dim establishment and sneered. No surprise attacks would come from these carnival curiosities. Their stench would set off the alarm long before they reached striking distance. Slumped over the wooden-slat tables, coal dust under their fingernails, they appeared to be wearing grotesque masks in the distorting flicker of the lanterns.

“Yer quite the toff.” The serving wench’s husky voice invaded his musings.

His gaze raked over her from scuffed boots to ratty hair.
Another
unworthy
one.

She flashed her decaying teeth, the tip of her tongue poking through the jagged hole. “Ye stick out like me man’s Thomas after months at sea. Bring ye an ale?”

Louis directed his attention to the tavern entrance. “Go away.” When she didn’t move, he turned a glare on her. “
Now
, while you still have legs to carry you.” She scrambled back several steps and bumped into another table.

He hadn’t raised his voice. There was no need. The woman sensed danger and reacted as any self-preserving creature. She fled.

“Not as stupid as you appear,” he mumbled.

A gust of wind plundered the tavern when the door opened, blowing the stench of unwashed bodies in his face.

He scowled at the newcomer as he weaved through the tables. “What the devil took you so long?”

His man hesitated in his step and eyed Louis as one would a rattlesnake, with caution and respect. The corners of Louis’s mouth inched upward. “Have a seat.”

“The maid kept me waiting,” Wilson explained. “She couldn’t carry word to me until the household departed for the evening. There’s some kind of sawray they’re attending.”

Louis blinked. “A sawray?”

“Aye. A celebration on account of Miss Lavigne marryin’.”

“Do you mean a soiree?”

“Exactly.” Wilson snapped his fingers and pointed at Louis. “A
sawray
. Damned English. Why don’t they just call it a party and be done with it?”

Reynaud’s teeth scraped together. “Soiree is a French word, you buffoon.”

Wilson shrugged and signaled for the serving wench. “And this ain’t France, so my point stands.”

“Quiet!” Louis didn’t wish to speak of his former fiancée or her foolish choice to marry Captain Hillary. In truth, he’d prefer to cut out his companion’s overused tongue than listen to his discourse on
any
topic. Yet, that would be a messy endeavor.

Queasiness churned in his gut as he imagined the scene in too much detail. He gripped the edge of the table when he pitched to the side, but his fingers slipped from the oiled wood.

Wilson bolted from his chair and caught him before he tumbled to the floor. “Mr. Reynaud, are you all right?”

Louis’s head swam a moment before everything began to right itself. His sight homed in on Wilson’s meaty hands on his pristine coat. “Unhand me.” He jerked from his hold and glowered.

His man released him and slunk back to his seat.

Louis scrubbed a hand over his face.
Hellfire.
When would he shake this horrible illness that plagued him every time he thought about—? A shudder passed through him and he sucked in a deep breath to settle his stomach. He was better off thinking about Lisette.

His former fiancée had been nothing if not transparent, just as one would expect of a guileless female. He had never had any trouble reading her every emotion when they were together. She’d been able to deceive him only because she had feigned illness the night she fled. He knew the true mastermind behind her escape. It was her devious cousin, Serafine Vistoire.

In a world filled with born killers, Lisette would always be the victim, but not Mademoiselle Vistoire. A paragon of strength and willfulness, she had confronted Louis in the study the night of his engagement dinner. The bitch had stared into his eyes, hers full of fire and condemnation, and berated him for taking advantage of her cousin’s grief.

Lisette would never have the courage to blackmail him, but Serafine Vistoire would. Too bad a woman finally worthy of him would die for her efforts.

“Did the maid search her belongings?” Louis asked.

“She didn’t find anything out of the ordinary.”

“What did you learn of her brother, Xavier Vistoire’s whereabouts?”

A bleak expression darkened Wilson’s countenance. “I asked around but no one’s seen him in months. His landlady said he left in the middle of the night without paying his rent.”

Mademoiselle Vistoire would try to deliver the letters to her brother at his new location. The danger to Louis wouldn’t end until he had possession of his property again, and his blackmailers were dead. He would gleefully slit their throats as soon as the opportunity arose.

“Egads.” His hand clutched his roiling stomach. He would just have to close his eyes. “Perhaps she keeps them on her person. What’s the location of the celebration?”

***

Serafine stood on the outskirts of the dance floor, attempting to blend in with her surroundings. Never had she felt more conspicuous than now, dressed in lily-white, standing among the pale, cherub-faced innocents. She didn’t belong in the London ballrooms, and as sure as the sun would rise on the morrow, she had no business shopping for a husband.

Not that she was in the market, but Daniel’s mother insisted there was still time left in the season to make a match. The tenacious Madame Hillary had dragged Serafine into this ridiculous charade while tuning out her protests.

Serafine had never met anyone with more devotion to marrying off every unattached person of marriageable age within a fifty-mile radius. She couldn’t decide if the woman wished others happiness or desired company to share in her misery.

She suspected the latter.

Madame Hillary had an overwhelming aura of sadness about her Serafine understood all too well. Serafine believed herself skillful at hiding her feelings, but she too carried sorrow deep inside her heart. Perhaps this was the reason she had acquiesced to dressing up like a porcelain doll and smiling throughout the endless line of potential suitors Madame Hillary introduced her to this evening.

Tired of flashing her teeth and her jaws aching, she found a chair half-hidden by a folding screen and two potted ferns and slipped into it. She just needed five minutes to herself. On the other side of the room, she caught a glimpse of Lisette in her scarlet gown gliding around the floor with her husband.

Serafine smiled. Lisette was the family jewel and appeared as suited for the ballroom as the other ladies in attendance.

Two young girls stepped in front of Serafine with their backs to her. She sat up straighter, intending to ask them to move so she might enjoy the view of the other dancers.

“The newest Mrs. Hillary is fetching.” The taller of the girls, all angles and bony prominences, lifted her fan to speak quietly to her companion. “But did you see her American cousin? The elder Mrs. Hillary must be as batty as rumors suggest, sponsoring the likes of
her
.”

Serafine’s request stuck in her throat; a small hiss of air passed between her lips.

“I haven’t the faintest idea what Mrs. Hillary is thinking, Pru. What would any gentleman want with the American?”

“A hefty acquisition, I imagine.” Pru’s sardonic chuckle grated on Serafine. “That’s what most desperate gentleman want.”

Pru’s friend laughed. Round as she was tall, the lumps of flesh oozing over the top of her corset jiggled like the aspic served at dinner. “But her dowry would require tripling to gain any gentleman’s notice.”

The noxious pair cackled, thinking their insults clever, but Serafine had heard worse said about her in New Orleans. Malicious whispers had followed her and Isaac wherever they went.

Pru flicked her fan as if the exertion of laughing couldn’t be borne. “She’s as common as they come, Maddie. One would swear she has been strolling in the sun without a hat for forty days and nights in preparation for this evening.”

Serafine rolled her eyes, rose from her seat, and tapped the awkward girl on the shoulder. They both turned and gasped. Maddie at least had the decency to blush.

Serafine smiled sweetly and unleashed a flurry of words she knew they wouldn’t understand just to illustrate who the common ones at this gathering really were.

Pru huffed. “I beg your pardon?”

The girls parted as Serafine pushed between them. She didn’t bother translating. They were not worth her time.

“What did she say?” Maddie hissed.

A deep chuckle halted Serafine’s retreat, and she looked over her shoulder to locate the source. A dark-haired prince—at least he appeared regal in her eyes—regarded her with the most striking blue gaze. Wry amusement twinkled in the depths of his eyes. “I believe the lady said only the dumbest cow would think the sun appears at night, but my French isn’t what it used to be.”

“A cow?” Pru shrieked.

That wasn’t exactly what Serafine had said, but she liked the gentleman’s translation.

The statuesque woman on the gentleman’s arm lifted her champagne flute in salute. “Well spoken, mademoiselle. You are an excellent judge of character.”

Pru and Maddie bumped into each other as they curtsied to the pair. “My lord, Miss Truax, we didn’t see you standing there.”

Miss Truax’s frosty demeanor sent a shiver through Serafine. “Nor does his lordship wish to see either of you now.” She flicked an elegant finger, pointing as if ordering about canines. “Off with you, Misses Flaherty and Channing, or you will find your names omitted from every prestigious party list for the next two seasons.”

Blood drained from their already pale faces. The girls clutched each other’s arms and fled to the side of the room where several chaperones appeared to be partaking of their own gossip, speaking behind raised palms, sometimes gasping over what must be a juicy tidbit of scandal.

“Those two ninnies have rubbed me the wrong way all season,” Miss Truax said. “I hope you won’t allow their horrendous lack of manners to spoil your evening, Mademoiselle Vistoire.”

“You know my name?”

The lady tossed her chestnut hair and smiled. “Of course, mademoiselle. I make it my priority to learn the identities of all new persons. Heaven knows the usual suspects are terribly boring.”

Her gentleman companion chuckled. “Why, thank you for your generous commentary on my company, Miss Truax.”

“I wasn’t referring to you, Westin.” She squeezed his arm and leaned into him. “You and Lord Andrew are the only ones to ever make these tedious affairs entertaining, and your brother had to spoil my fun by taking a wife.”

“How selfish of him.” A glorious smile lit his eyes. As a servant passed, Lord Westin took the lady’s empty glass and placed hers and his on the sterling tray.

Serafine wasn’t sure how to interpret their easy banter. Were they lovers? Her cheeks heated at the thought. It seemed an unkind speculation to make about the duo who had come to her rescue.

“I see I am at a disadvantage,” she said. “You know me, yet we haven’t been introduced.”

Miss Truax dropped the gentleman’s arm and stepped forward “How thoughtless of me. And here I reviled those harebrained chits for crude manners. I’m Johanna Truax. And if I may, please allow me to present Lord Westin, the heir apparent to the Duke of Foxhaven. He is quite the perfect catch and in the market for a wife.” She had a droll quality to her voice, as if teasing him.

Lord Westin ignored her baiting and gathered Serafine’s hand to place a kiss on her gloved knuckles. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, mademoiselle. You would do well to pay no mind to anything Miss Truax says. Her impertinence knows no bounds.”

“His father is demanding he make a match this season, or else,” Miss Truax said in a stage whisper.

Lord Westin’s jaw twitched, but aside from this fleeting sign of irritation, Serafine wouldn’t have known he felt anything untoward. His neutral expression fascinated her. So much hidden behind the cool formality required of his station.

“If it is any consolation,” Serafine offered, “I fear I suffer a similar fate. Madame Susan Hillary has taken it upon herself to see me settled in marriage before the year-end. I believe I have become her charitable cause. She has no idea her endeavor falls under the category of lost causes.”

The sparkle returned to Lord Westin’s deep, blue eyes. When he smiled, comforting warmth wrapped around her like a fatherly embrace.
Fatherly. Ha!
The gentleman was much too young and dashing to be her father. Perhaps brotherly would be a more apt description, and she sensed this was the nature of his association with Miss Truax, too.

“You have my sympathies, Mademoiselle Vistoire,” he said. “Once Mrs. Hillary has her mind set…”

Serafine groaned. “My intuition mustn’t always be correct.”

“A woman’s intuition is nothing to ignore.”

“Thank you both for coming to my aid this evening.” She flashed a rare smile at Lord Westin. “I enjoyed your translation, but I didn’t call either miss a cow.”