Page 94 of Lord Ashley's Beautiful Alibi
That warmed her. “Do you like to dance?”
“I see by the smile on your face the idea pleases you. And my answer is yes, I do like it.”
Gus said, “But I understood that in London it is not done for married couples to dance together.”
He looked out at the few gliding upon the chalked floor. “You and I will be the exception.”
On the next set, Kane took her to the floor, and they laughed together as they danced. Afterward, as was customary, Kane asked Gus’s two friends to take the floor, and the young ladies’ two brothers danced with Gus.
Suddenly before them all stood Rene Vaillancourt. With his hand out to Gus, he formed the perfect picture of a man who simply wished to dance.
Refuse him and Gus would create a scandal.
The minuet was not only long, but a form she did not care for.
“You have been away from town,Madame la Comtesse.” Vaillancourt presented a dazzling figure. Tall, lean, and dapper, he had a smoothly sculpted face of even features. To many women who knew him not, he was desired. To Gus, who knew his relationships with Danton and Robespierre, and now with Fouché, he was a handsomely presented human, corrupt to his core. Odd that a man so perverse would be so handsome, but then, God created oddities so mortals debated their value.
Over Vaillancourt’s shoulder, Gus detected the tense features of her beloved husband. They were so very unlike each other, the two men.
Her husband, containing his displeasure with a face void of any emotion, save stark observation. The man before her, smiling like a cavalier, untrustworthy from his even white teeth down to his highly polished dancing shoes. Her husband, six inches or more taller than the fellow in front of her. Kane blinked, his eyes on hers as she took the devil’s hand and went with him to the center of the floor.
“Forgive me, sir, if I do not recall the minuet well.” She wore no smile, only blank civility. “I do not wish to embarrass you.”
“Madame la Comtesse, to appear with you on the floor in front of Madame Bonaparte is an honor. I am certain you will execute yourself very well.”
The word “execute” jarred Gus. But she had to play thebonne vivantehere. “Merci beaucoup, monsieur.”
“I am delighted you and your husband have returned to Paris.”
She smiled.
“Where did you go on your travels?” He asked it so innocently, she might have thought him an actor in theComédie-Française. “Anywhere exciting?”
“To bed,monsieur.”
His shock led right into a robust chuckle. The man had a sense of humor, even if he was a scourge. “And you enjoyed it so much, you decided to marry the fellow.”
To which she did not reply.
“He must be talented.”
He is.
“And love you dearly.”
I think so.
“I envy him.”
She arched a brow. “You like Englishmen?”
“Never. Especially not men who take what I want.”
“If you wish Madame Bonaparte to censure you, sir, you will say nothing more to me.”
“No? What can you do to me?”
“Leave you where you stand,petit crapaud.”
