Page 13 of Lord Appleby's Gorgeous Imposter
The first man who had paid her attentions must have overheard and understood, because he raised a hand and stepped forward.
She put up one staying hand. “Un moment, monsieur, s’il vous plaît.”
“I won’t be put off.” Tate bit off the words.
She set her eyes on him with all the power that her older sister would have used on an adversary. But her tone was soft, as she did not wish to be overheard by any of theseflaneurs. “You are not. Alice will give you my address. Come day after tomorrow.”
“Tonight.”
“No. I am committed. Sunday, monsieur, or not at all.”
He bowed, but his eyes gave no quarter. “What time?”
Persistent cuss.“Alice will send it.”
“Tell me now—”
She huffed. “Do not make a scene here, Tate.”
His eyes flared wide at mention of his given name.
Her gaze fell to his appealing, full lips. Oui,I recall too well their luscious feel.“Please. Leave me. I have an engagement. Alice, take this gentleman out and lead the others as well.”
Tate clutched her hand once more. “I am thrilled to have found you.”
His delight could never temper the fact that he had discovered her. Now she had to stop him from doing her any more harm.
“You may call upon me day after tomorrow, monsieur. At two o’clock.” She smiled perfunctorily at him, then threw an apologetic look to the other men who’d been eager to have their time with her.
Tate set his jaw. “I do not breathe until then.”
She caught her own breath. How could he so unravel her fine coil of good intentions in a few stirring words?
“Louis,” Tate crooned to the dog, “I will see you again very soon. Take good care of your mistress.”
Wiggling in discontent, the dog whimpered as Tate put him back to her arms.
Viv set her jaw and called forth all her determination to complete this plan of hers with speed. Tate could ruin every detail. “Avoir, monsieur.”
Chapter Three
Rue du Bac
Paris
Tate Cantrell invadedher dreams.
He always had.
Viv blew out a breath and rolled over in her bed.
The Earl of Appleby and his easy charm, his blinding good looks, his understanding of all vicissitudes of life, his dislike of dissolute fathers and unethical siblings—she had loved him for that…and more.
She punched her pillows. Why did she even try to sleep?
He had always robbed her of sleep. When she was an impressionable seventeen and he was her morning riding companion, her adviser on raising chickens and on how to ignore Charmaine. When he overwhelmed her with his kindness, so unusual contrasted to other Englishmen’s regard of penniless French émigrés. When she had fallen in love with him against her mama’s advice. When he had come to her, held her close, and revealed that he must marry another. Ah,oui, she had lost many nights to the relentless love she bore the chivalrous Tate Cantrell. Tonight was no exception.
Last night at the theater, his appearance had robbed her of her reason. She hated herself for it. But Tate Cantrell could steal anything from her. The greatest thing he’d taken from her, shehad tried to snatch back years ago. But hearts were difficult to retrieve, she’d learned bitterly. Now she concentrated on flirtations to carry her through any trials of life.
