Page 9 of A Secret Correspondence
He nodded slowly. “Then you will not allow me to take her home with me?”
Marguerite laughed. When Mr. Harding did not join in, she sobered. “You are serious?”
He drew in a breath, his blue eyes never wavering. “Madame Perreau, I have given this a good deal of thought—at least for the entirety of the morning—and I have a proposition to make.”
Marguerite clasped her hands and squared her shoulders. He was strong and intelligent, but she was not without herresources or skills. With every apprehension on high alert, she drew in a breath. “Very well, Mr. Harding. I am listening.”
Chapter Three
When Madame Perreau squared her shoulders in preparation to receive Samuel’s proposition, he imagined she was donning a shield for battle. She very much seemed capable of taking up a sword to defend what she cared about. It was a good thing she had not fought on Napoleon’s behalf, or the blasted frog might have actually won.
Even now, with all the confusing evidence before him, Samuel was unsure how this present situation would play out. Claude, despite being brought into her home, showed no indication she wanted to be released. In fact, she seemed only to curl into him more when he stepped inside.
“I’ve never desired a cat of my own,” he said, running his fingers over the soft fur on her back. “But last night, when Claude jumped in front of Valentine and he threw me to the ground?—”
Madame Perreau’s pale blue eyes bulged. “She didwhatexactly?”
“She frightened Valentine. I cannot blame her exactly. How could she know she would startle such a large beast?”
A beat of silence sat between them. “I take it Valentine is your horse, Mr. Harding?”
Samuel suppressed a grin. Had he not mentioned that? He was bungling this, wasn’t he? “Yes. It’s why you found me stumbling around, madame. She caused Valentine to run off in terror, leaving me alone and forcing me to rely on my own two legs to transport me home.”
“How terrible.”
He glanced up sharply. Did he detect a hint of dryness in her tone? He had a feeling he was dealing with a much cleverer woman than she allowed others to believe. “Yes, well, it was fortunate. On the path near my house, I came upon Claude. She had traveled far out of the way and allowed me to carry her home. I’ve brought her back to you, but I wondered if you would like for her to stay with me for a few weeks. Just until the immediate danger has passed and she is no longer susceptible to the charms of your neighbor’s cat.”
Madame Perreau seemed to consider this. She tilted her head softly to the side, her blonde curls shifting with the motion. “What shall I do if she comes to prefer your home to mine?”
“Admit defeat?”
She took a step closer, eyeing the cat in his arms. Samuel took the opportunity to observe the modiste. He hadn’t had much opportunity or desire to do so before, but now he could see how simply beautiful she was. Her skin was clear and faintly freckled across her nose, her cheekbones high and jawline delicately angled. With a gently sloping nose and two round, pale blue eyes, she quite resembled a porcelain doll. Her clothing was the top of fashion, no doubt an advertisement for her skill, and her golden blonde hair neatly and elegantly coiffed, with curls bouncing at her temples.
Madame Perreau was beautiful, smart, and widowed. If his secret correspondent had not once lamented her belief that she would die without ever having kissed a man, he would wonder ifit was this woman. But Madame Perreau had been grieving her husband when she moved to Harewood and taken over the shop. She had worn black for two months.
He knew a moment of disappointment but snuffed it at once.
“What do you say, madame? Shall I take Claude for a few weeks?”
Madame Perreau took a step back and lifted one lavender-clad shoulder in a soft shrug. “We do not need to decide that at present.”
“Why not?”
“Because the cat you are holding is not Claude.”
He glanced down at the feline, feeling utterly betrayed, though he had no notion why. “Who is this, then?”
“I haven’t any idea. Where did you find her?”
“On the road near my home.”
“Could belong to anyone.” She looked up at him. “Or no one.”
Samuel held the cat closer upon hearing that, then wondered if that was safe. Could the creature have fleas? When he had believed it belonged to Madame Perreau, he hadn’t been worried. Now it felt wild and dirty.
Yet he could not bring himself to cease stroking her—his?—back.
“I hope I haven’t stolen someone’s cat. I’m not sure I can release her to the wild.” He turned for the door, though he felt reluctant to leave. He didn’t quite know why. Perhaps it was the calming atmosphere and the various fabrics. He loved a good brocade selection, and Madame Perreau clearly had excellent taste. “Do you know, I believe I have that very pattern there.” He nodded.
