Lady Forsaken Box Set (Books 1 - 5), page 54
After a few more hands and two more drinks, Benji joined him, taking a seat recently vacated by a baron who’d lost the small amount he’d joined the table with. Andrew eyed his friend, barely stopping himself from denouncing the man as a reprobate to everyone sitting at the table, including the girl’s father.
“Gentlemen.” The comte stood. “Thank you for a rousing game, but I must remember my duty to my wife and daughter. I look forward to another game soon, as France lacks the spirit of the conquest at the gaming tables. Until next time.” He bowed curtly and went on his way.
“Tell me you did not,” Andrew accused as both he and Benji watched Lorelei’s father depart the room.
“Why, I haven’t the faintest idea to what you are referring.”
The smug smile on his friend’s face told him the man knew exactly to what he was referring and that he’d most likely done exactly what Andrew hoped he hadn’t. “Do not toy with me.”
“I would not dream of any such thing.” Benji needlessly adjusted his intricately knotted tie. “Particularly when there is someone nearby I would so much prefer to toy with.”
“She is a lady,” Andrew whispered venomously. Several players at the table eyed the pair. A crowded room was not the ideal place to start a verbal confrontation. “Lord Chastain, may I interest you in a walk about the main hall? I have heard that our host has the most enthralling art on display.”
Once alone, his friend turned on him. “What has you all in a lather? It cannot be solely due to the fact that I escorted the lovely Lady Lorelei to the terrace before you’d had the opportunity to do the same.”
“You know perfectly well it hasn’t anything to do with you escorting her outside, but all to do with your behavior once you were out of my sight,” Andrew fumed.
“I know our wagers well enough to know I cannot garner any points for what occurs out of your viewing.”
“That is exactly it: nothing should happen out of my viewing—or in my view, for that matter.”
“Why ever not?”
“Because Lady Lorelei is not just another young debutante.”
“You have that correct. The woman is incredibly alluring.”
“…and rich…and foreign…and not for either of us to touch.”
“Who says?” Benji asked.
“I say!” he shouted.
Benji stared hard and then his brow cocked. “Ah, I see. You are captivated by the woman. Another of your obsessions, I presume.”
“I most certainly am not captivated by her.”
“That was not a question, but a statement of fact. She is no different than any other silly chit we’ve taken a liking to…and furthermore, your obsessive nature is highly unattractive.”
“Obsessive nature? You haven’t any idea of what you speak.”
“Oh, I do not?” Benji questioned. “What about all this time and energy you waste at that pile of stones you call an estate?”
“What about it?”
“It is a waste, I tell you.”
They squabbled like schoolboys. “That property has been in my family for generations and has needed repairs for over two decades.”
“Then have your steward see to it.”
“I do not trust his judgment in all matters.”
“Ah-ha!” Benji pointed to the sky as if he’d come to some grand conclusion. “See? Infatuated you are.”
The man’s spot-on assessment shouldn’t have angered Andrew, but it did.
Andrew was man enough to admit he was drawn to beautiful women, but add Lady Lorelei’s adept mastery of conversation and her sharp wit—what man would not be instantly enthralled by her?
“And furthermore, I think a small wager will help you overcome your asinine obsession toward a girl you do not even know. Now, if you will excuse me, Lorelei—”
“Lorelei?” Andrew asked.
“Oh, yes. Did I not tell you? Lorelei suggested we forgo formalities since we are now friends.”
Andrew didn’t relish the way Benji emphasized ‘friends.’ And furthermore he wanted to cuff him and throw his friend against the art-covered wall. The sound of shattering glass and Benji’s head thumping the hard surface would be rather satisfying, even if it didn’t rectify the situation.
Though Lorelei seemed wise for her years, every instinct in Andrew screamed to protect her, do all he could to safeguard her from the likes of Benji—and the rest of society.
“As I was saying, Lorelei...” Benji obviously enjoyed his friend’s dour mood. “…promised me a dance. But the evening is young and there is time for more than a mere dance, I should think. So I must not keep her waiting. ”
“You go too far.” Andrew should have warned the comte about Chastain—though that would insinuate Andrew counted rakehells as his closest friends.
Benji pushed past him and started back down the hall to the ballroom.
“Chastain.”
Benji turned. “I have told you, do not call me that. And do us both a favor and forget about Lorelei and whatever noble feelings or infatuation you’ve developed for her after one simple dance. She is naught to either of us, and most certainly nothing more than any other warm female body.” His friend gave him a penetrating look and dropped his voice. “And we both know what we do with warm female bodies.”
Andrew knew exactly what they did with them.
They used them until they lost their luster.
And that caused a wave of sickness in his gut.
“Do not wait for me to depart. I will see you on the morrow.” Chastain resumed his stride, leaving Andrew behind.
If he pushed the subject, and his friend, then Andrew knew Chastain would only seek out Lady Lorelei with more vigor. It was better Andrew forgot about the woman. Then, perhaps Chastain would, too.
Chapter 3
Lorelei walked into the drawing room of her parents’ rented London townhouse with all the grace and poise demanded of a woman of her age and social status. The daughter of a French noble, even though residing in England, was to carry herself above anyone perceived to be of a lower class.
At the moment, her poise had naught to do with rubbing her social status in another’s face, but all to do with appearing confident and above reproach to her parents—for she knew they would soon bombard her with questions about the previous evening.
She took her customary seat next to her mother and across the small table from her father’s armchair.
The trio sat quietly, awaiting someone to break the silence.
She wouldn’t be the first to speak. Their carriage ride home the evening before had been silent as well, with each lost in their own thoughts. Her father had likely been planning his next move, and her mother probably dwelled on her own lack of suitable evening attire if they were to stay an extended period of time in London.
And Lorelei… She thought of all sorts of things that would certainly lead both her parents to lose confidence in her: the cut of the marquis’ fine suit, his secure hold on her as they’d twirled on the dance floor, and the way he’d glared at her and Lord Chastain as they’d departed the ballroom to seek a breath of fresh air. The look should have sent off red flags of warning and cautioned her to keep her distance from the man, yet she still found herself drawn to him.
“Lore?” her mother’s quiet voice called her back to the present. “Your pere asked you a question.”
Distraction was the one thing her father simply detested. “Oh?”
“Did you spend your time wisely with Lord Chastain?” her father repeated.
“Wisely? I am unsure.”
“Why is that?” the comte asked in French. He sat in his armchair, The London Post spread across his lap.
“We spoke on the terrace, but he did not appear overly invested in our conversation. Then he asked for a dance and said he must retire to the card room.” The man’s behavior had been suspect, especially when they’d had a moment alone—a time when most gentlemen sought to press their advantage with a kiss. “But once he came to claim his dance, he seemed to be very interested in every word I spoke and held me closer than was proper.”
It was fairly obvious that Chastain’s interest in her grew once they were in view of others, specifically the Marquis of Drake, though there was no reason to share that fact with the comte.
“His family is naturally an apprehensive lot, as well they should be.” Her father folded the paper he’d been reading before her arrival and set it on the table between them, crushing any hope she’d had of avoiding their questions until she knew more. “Did you secure a continued acquaintance with him?”
She thought of their conversation on the terrace. She’d stood close to him in the shadows, trying to appear agreeable to any advances he might attempt, possibly even a stroll into the dark gardens below. She’d complimented his intricate necktie, ran her fingers down the sleeve of his coat, and even spoke of the infallibility of his lineage, but naught had drawn the man in.
“It is a simple question,” her mother clucked.
What her mother didn’t seem to remember was that men—at their basest nature—were unpredictable. Her parents had spent too many years together and had come to know each other well—far beyond most couples. They worked and lived together; on the surface, they trusted each other implicitly. Part of Lorelei wished for a connection such as theirs, easy and straightforward. Yet, what her parents lacked was love and genuine affection for one another. She’d never seen them embrace nor share a kiss. She often wondered where each would be if their previous government hadn’t seen fit to demand the comte and comtesse further their relationship.
“We spoke, we danced, and I assume he will not be able to fight his natural maleness. He is interested, that much is clear. I’ve no doubt he will come to heel and either give us what we seek, or we’ll find he has no knowledge of his family’s past and the treasures entrusted to them.” Lorelei hoped her voice sounded firm and unwavering because inside, she dreaded failing. Not so much for her country—as her parents did—but for her parents, who had invested their time and energy in training her. And, while unspoken, they all feared displeasing the man coming to power. Her father had insisted it was integral to their survival that their new allegiance be demonstrated in a way that could never be questioned by De Pez or Bonaparte himself.
Her mother smiled while her father settled back into his seat to read his morning paper.
“And what about the other man with whom you danced?” her mother asked. “He seemed quite smitten, as well.”
“I danced with many men, Mother.” She attempted to push off the inquiry.
“The first man—what did you say his name was?” She looked to the comte for the answer. “He was speaking with Lord Chastain when we arrived.”
“Drake.” The comte huffed and returned to his paper. “The man is harmless.”
Lorelei kept silent, waiting for the topic to change.
“He is anything but,” her mother, Camille, countered. “He kept a close eye on her all evening.”
“I agree with Pere. The marquis was nice and a good dancer, but that is all.”
“A woman’s intuition, you both shall see.”
Lorelei hoped her mother’s sixth sense was off, and the marquis would not seek to further their friendship.
“Do we know anything about the man?” her mother continued to prod. “There is the possibility that Chastain knows exactly what he has, and has informed someone of its existence.”
The idea was absurd, and Lorelei only hoped her father thought the same. “The marquis is a friend of Chastain’s, that is all.” She cast an uninterested glance between her parents. “Besides which, the Chastains have always been loyal to their pact with France. They did our country a favor removing the plans from within our borders—and might I remind you, we only seek to find the plans and remove them from Chastain’s hold to deliver them to De Pez. We are not here to harm anyone, out a French loyal, nor cause a scandal.” Though she questioned their methods daily.
“Well stated, my daughter!” Her father praised her. “You remember all we’ve instilled in you. You will make a fine French asset for years to come.”
The pride in his tone grated on her nerves. She was a young woman with her whole life ahead of her, yet her parents were determined to sign her over to Napoleon Bonaparte, a man set on taking France as his own—reserved and resigned to giving up the chance to continue the de La Valette name.
Lorelei knew if she continued in her parents’ footsteps, she would not have children. The thought of subjecting a husband—which her government would hand select for her—and her children to a life at the mercy of a fickle government and their ever-changing agenda was something she could not abide.
She’d spent many afternoons pondering the possibilities of a different future. Maybe handing over the plans and walking away, never to be bothered again. Dare she dream of her parents coming with her? Oh, to live a quiet life, mayhap find a patch of land to call her own since her father’s title and supposed wealth hinged on the generosity of the Directory or whoever successfully wrested power from it.
Lorelei held no stock in the ability of Bonaparte to keep control of France, nor even to keep his own head upon his shoulders.
A light knock sounded at the door, and all three turned, fearful of being overheard. When they’d traveled to London, they’d done the socially acceptable thing by hiring local servants to assist in their townhouse. Her father worried bringing their own trusted kind would call attention to them and negatively impact their acceptance within the ton.
They’d been relegated to a life of being watched continually and fearing servant gossip would ultimately be their downfall.
“Enter.” Her father switched back to English and focused on his paper once more.
“Comte,” their butler said in greeting. “Lady Lorelei has a caller—a gentleman.”
“A caller?” The light note of her mother’s words cheered the room. “Do show him in.”
Maybe she’d brought Chastain to heel sooner than she’d expected.
“Well, I do not see how I ever doubted your charms, Lore. You are as beautiful as your mother ever was in her prime.”
“Thank you, Pere.” Lorelei wondered if her father realized the insult to both her and her mother in his words. She turned, catching her mother’s wounded look seconds before it was replaced with a prim smile.
Footsteps could be heard coming from the hall—two sets, to be exact.
Lorelei stood to greet her guest, but was startled to see the butler come through the door with a bouquet of the most beautiful blue flowers she’d ever beheld.
“My heavens,” she whispered.
The butler moved to set the arrangement on the long table behind the lounge her mother sat upon.
Lorelei turned back to the door, ready to welcome Lord Chastain, but was surprised to see another man standing just within the door.
“Lady Lorelei, thank you for seeing me unannounced,” the Marquis of Drake said as he bowed to her. With a smile, he moved farther into the room and took her mother’s hand, bringing it to his lips. “Comtesse of Epernon, I hadn’t the pleasure to make your acquaintance last evening.”
Lorelei stood, frozen in her spot, as she watched her mother blush at Drake’s attention. He was every bit as entrancing in the daylight hours as he had been in the low lighting of a ballroom. He wore riding attire of the darkest ebony, fitted perfectly to his muscular thighs. His coat strained across his broad shoulders in what was the latest London fashion. While tight garments were unfitting to gentlemen of a more portly nature, they suited Drake.
“Comte, it is a pleasure.” The marquis issued a curt bow.
Her father only eyed Drake, not saying a word.
“Oh, my lord, you have brought the most handsome flowers. Wherever did you find such blossoms at this time of year?”
“I traveled to the far reaches of the continent to find flowers that were worthy.”
“Just since we last danced?” The room and everyone else in it receded.
His green-flaked hazel eyes sparkled mischievously, much as she’d expect from a child caught with their hands on the pie cooling in the kitchen window. “Alas, I only sent word to my country estate.”
“Is your world truly so small?” she asked.
“My world seems trivial at the moment in the light of your radiance.”
“A-hem.” Her father cleared his throat, effectively extinguishing the warm tendrils of need that had started to creep through her at the marquis’ words. “Would you care to have a seat, my lord?”
“No, thank you.” He took one last look at her. His gaze offered much more than she could ever want. “I must be going. I only wished to bestow Lady Lorelei with a gift that is but a fraction as lovely as she.”
His words were the height of impropriety, and would only be overlooked when spoken by a couple already betrothed. The marquis spoke as if he courted her, yet she suspected he was not the kind. After their dance, she’d overheard gossip about the marquis and Chastain, both known scoundrels and confirmed rakehells. They’d spent years shocking the ton with their less-than-honorable escapades. Despite having researched the duke, she hadn’t realized the extent of his rakishness.
“I will bid you all adieu.” He bowed to the room at large. “I hope to see you again soon, Lady Lorelei. Comte and Comtesse, do have a fair day.”
With those words, he strode from the room, the sureness of his step never faltering. Their butler followed, closing the door behind them.
“A woman’s intuition is never wrong,” her mother hissed and fell back onto the chaise lounge. “Whatever are we to do? His attention cannot be rewarded or encouraged.”
The comte sat in silence, and Lorelei suspected he awaited her response in order to gauge her interest in the marquis. He was a wise man, her father, who knew the best way to feel out any person from whom he sought answers. Silence was usually the superior method, allowing the person in question to out themselves and their intentions.
