The Seducer (3 page)

“Perhaps you do not need much advice,” Madame mused. “Your ignorance will deal with him just as well.”

A gesture from Daniel sent a footman over to take the valise. Madame retreated to the door. “Remember what I have said. Write to me.”

The footman opened the coach door. Daniel held out his arm, to usher her in. He did not appear
too
dangerous. Actually, right now, with the breeze tousling his short, dark locks, he looked rather young, and almost friendly.

Who am I? How did I come to be here? Where is my family?

Down the three stone steps she trod, her heart pounding with trepidation. She walked across the only solid earth she knew, toward a sea of uncertainty.

The Devil Man waited for her to join him there.

chapter
3

T
he Parisian town house should have surprised her more. That was Diane’s first reaction on seeing its buff stone facade and elegant pilasters, so different from the rough, cold, limestone pile of the school. She should have been overwhelmed. Instead she found it oddly comforting.

Perhaps that was because arriving at its door meant that she no longer had to share a carriage with Daniel St. John.

It had been a long, silent journey. He had initiated very little conversation and she had been too nervous to ask any questions. Most of the time his sharp gaze stared at the passing countryside, his mind clearly working at something.

Several times she looked over to find him watching her in a way that made her wonder if his distraction had to do with her. The carriage would suddenly seem very small during those inspections. Worse, she found it impossible to look away. He probably had thought her bold to observe him as frankly as he did her.

The house nestled between others equally restrained and delicate in their classical style. The whole street was lined with such buildings. The whole district was.

Daniel gathered together some papers he had sporadically perused, and stuffed them back into a portfolio. Her glance caught sight of a familiar, thin red binding beneath the stored sheets.

“You stole it.” Surprise made her blurt the words.

“An accusation of theft is a peculiar way to break your silence. Madame did not warn me that you were impertinent.”

“The silence has not only been on my part. You have said nothing to me since we left the school, either.”

“I have spent most of the journey trying to decide what to do with you.”

“You are going to find me a position as a governess. Remember?”

“Of course. A governess. Now, regarding your accusation, what have I stolen?”

She gestured to the portfolio. “The book. You still have it.”

“Ah, the book. It seems to have left the school with me. A fortuitous oversight, don’t you think? In time, I suspect that it would have disappeared from Madame Leblanc’s locked case and found its way back into that other one’s hands.”

“You did it to protect the other girls, you mean. That was very kind of you. I warned Madame Leblanc about Madame Oiseau, but I do not think that she will believe me.”

“Since Madame Oiseau has her ear now, she probably will not.”

“You should burn it. It has no value or use to anyone.”

“I am grateful for your instruction, but wonder if you have judged its value correctly.”

He slipped the thin volume out of the portfolio.

It appeared that he was going to open it,
right in front of her.

“We have stopped, m’sieur. Shouldn’t we get out now?”

“In a moment. We must decide the disposition of this book first,” he said. “The binding is the best leather. The engraved plates are tipped in. It is well made and not cheap. It is an error to say it has no value, I think.”

“I was not speaking of its binding and such, but the images.”

“It could be that some pages hold maps or poems, instead of erotic engravings. Burning it may be rash.” He opened the cover, to check.

The notion of perusing those pages, here, now, almost knee to knee in this carriage, horrified her. “I assure you that it contains only those images.”

“Really? How do you know that?”

She felt a flush slide over her face.

“To know for certain it only holds images, you would have had to page through every leaf before trying to throw it in the fire.” He looked up at her. “Did you?”

Her face scalded. She
had
paged every leaf, with a combination of curiosity and shock and appalled fascination.

“Did you?” he repeated.

“Of course not.”

He smiled that private smile. “That is a relief to hear. If you had, I might regret stopping that whipping back at the school.”

That only made her think of that whipping, and what he had seen. She suddenly remembered that one of the images contained a woman in a somewhat similar pose.

She wanted to sink through the floorboards. It did not help that he was watching her reaction with interest.

And that book . . . Now he thinks you are amenable.

Oh, dear.

Just then a footman opened the carriage door. Daniel stepped out and handed her down.

“I did not realize that Paris had such elegant rooming houses,” she said.

“It does, but this is not one of them. This is my home.” He began strolling to the house.

She looked up at the buff facade, and then at the Devil Man, and then to her valise being held by the footman. The suggestive talk about the book of engravings ran through her mind and collided with memories of Madame Leblanc’s warnings.

It occurred to her that she had not thought out the details of this adventure very well.

He stopped and glanced back curiously to where she stood rooted.

“I, um, thought that I would be staying in a boarding house.” In truth, she had not given any thought to where she would be staying, but living in his house now struck her as a very stupid thing to permit.

“That is not necessary. There are plenty of chambers here.”

“Yes. Of course. I see. However, I will feel that I am imposing.”

“Nonsense. Besides, sticking you in some tiny chamber in a rooming house or hotel would be inconvenient for us. Come with me.”

Inconvenient?

Very nervous now, she joined him. Together they walked up the eight white steps toward the front door.

“For the sake of simplicity, we will tell the servants and my friends that you are a cousin, come to visit from the country.”

“Am I? A cousin? A relative?”

“No.”

It wasn’t much, but it was a beginning. At least now she knew what she was
not
to him.

Under the circumstances, however, the lack of a blood tie was not good news. Nor was the evidence that he had concocted a deceit to explain her presence in his home.

The door opened. The house beckoned. She stepped inside, worrying that she abandoned her innocence in doing so.

Daniel shrugged off his cape into a waiting servant’s hands. “Where is Mademoiselle Jeanette?”

“In the south sitting room, sir.”

Daniel guided her toward the curving sweep of a marble staircase. “I will present you to my sister.”

Relief broke in her. If Daniel St. John’s intentions were dishonorable, surely he would never bring her here, where his sister lived too.

She felt like a queen mounting those stairs. Their breadth and elegance made one walk a little taller and straighter. Her feet sank silently into the deep pile of a strip of pale, flowered carpet running down their center.

The sitting room astonished her. Entering it felt like walking into a corner of heaven.

Dazzled, she took it in through a series of flashing impressions. Not square, but octagonal. Everything pale and creamy. Large mirrors on four walls reflected the light pouring in the one long window. Gilt tendrils framed them and snaked along the cornice like so many delicate vines. An oval painting on the high ceiling was set amidst shallow coffers. Discreet, elegant furnishings, small in scale and upholstered in pastel tones, dotted the space.

An incredibly beautiful woman, about forty years old, with black hair and white skin, sat in a chair near a diminutive fireplace.

Not only a sister, but an older sister. A mature woman. That reassured Diane even more.

Diane expected clouds to billow around her feet as she crossed the room. Then she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirrors and immediately fell back to earth. Her worn cloak and muslin cap and silly braids blurred by, reflected four times over. She looked like a peasant in this chamber.

“Jeanette, this is Diane Albret.”

“You brought her back with you.” It wasn’t a question, but its inflection carried a note of surprise.

“It was necessary.”

Jeanette took Diane’s hand and gestured for her to sit on a padded bench nearby. “You are most welcome here, my dear.”

“I thank you, mademoiselle. I will not impose very long. M’sieur has offered to help me find a position as a governess in London.”

Daniel settled into a chair. It instantly accommodated his lean length and casual pose, no doubt because it knew better than to resist. He dominated the whole chamber the same way. Even the gilt tendrils seemed to restrain their exuberance out of deference.

“Actually, it will be several weeks before I journey to London, so those plans will have to be delayed. I hope that you will not mind too much.” He spoke absently while he brushed the cuff on his coat. Delaying her plans was the least of his concerns and, whether she minded or not, of little true importance. “In the meantime, my sister will see to your comfort, and you will have the opportunity to visit this city. Paris is not a place that one merely passes through unless there is urgent business waiting elsewhere.”

“It was not my intention to require your hospitality so long.”

“It will be no imposition. Will it, Jeanette? You will enjoy taking her about, won’t you? Enjoy your stay with us. The tedium of a governess’s life awaits you. After years in that school, you owe yourself a respite of pleasure before shackling yourself to such a miserable existence.”

He made the future she had chosen sound dreadful. One could not argue against his reasoning.

Especially since the only argument she could think of made no sense. She could hardly explain what she didn’t understand herself. But that long, silent carriage ride had imbued their association with a certain . . . intimacy. The conversation about the book increased the familiarity and added a tinge of danger. It had made her uncomfortable then, and despite the reassurance of Jeanette’s presence in this house, it still did. The notion of spending weeks in the home of Daniel St. John unsettled her.

Jeanette slid a long silk shawl off her lap. “Daniel, call for Paul. Our guest looks very tired. I will take her to her chamber so that she can rest and refresh herself.”

Paul turned out to be a thick, tall pillar of a man. The elegance of his blue servant’s livery could not hide his earthy solidity. The neat grooming of his reddish hair did not soften his craggy features.

Carefully, with a gentleness that looked peculiar for his bulk, he slid his arms under Jeanette and rose, holding her like a baby.

“To the Chinese bedchamber, Paul. Diane, will you come with us, please.”

They mounted another flight of stairs, not so grand, but impressive still. A bank of tall windows on the top landing overlooked a garden. They stopped at a heavy, large door that Paul easily opened despite his burden.

The chamber smelled of cedar. Decorated all in blue and white, it reminded Diane of the porcelain urns displayed in the better shops’ windows in Rouen. It contained many similar pieces, only these looked much nicer. She knew without being told that they were very precious and that if she broke one she would want to die.

Paul settled Jeanette on a chair by the hearth and bent to build up the fire. Then he retreated, taking up a position outside the open door.

“As you can see, I am lame,” Jeanette said. “I suffered an injury some years ago. Thanks to Paul’s strength, however, I need not be an infirm recluse. Everyone is accustomed to seeing him carry me and it will cause you no embarrassment.”

“It will be my presence that will cause eyebrows to raise. Your brother said that I am to claim I am your cousin. Your friends will be shocked to learn that you have such poor, ill-mannered relations.”

Jeanette beckoned her forward and gave her a more thorough inspection than she had down below. “Not so ill-mannered. That school taught you the basics, and you will quickly learn the rest. Your appearance, however . . . I will send my maid to do something with that hair before the evening meal. We will begin on the rest tomorrow.”

“There is no need. Please. I will remain in this house until it is time to sail to England.”

“My brother has affairs to attend to here. Although this is one of his homes, he makes his life in England and his visits here are always very full. If you are hovering in the shadows, he will be displeased by the reminder that he inconveniences you.” Her smile suggested that giving Daniel St. John displeasure was not the path of wisdom.

A servant arrived with the valise.

“I will leave you to rest. My woman will come later, to help you unpack and dress. Again, I extend my welcome to you. I am glad that you have come to us.”

Paul carried her away. The door closed. Diane sat in the chair that Jeanette had just vacated and inched it closer to the hearth. The abundant warmth flowing from the fire felt delicious.

She stared at the flames. She dared not look anywhere else. The chamber was too much. The porcelain urns waited to be broken. The front of this house had not overwhelmed her, but its interior certainly did.

Several weeks, Daniel had said. Maybe longer, Jeanette had implied. Then a life of tedium.

She was not sure that briefly tasting this luxury would be a good idea. Dwelling amidst such wealth could make what had come before, and what would come after, a source of discontentment.