Page 20 of Lord Appleby's Gorgeous Imposter
Tate barked in disbelief. “Why? Does he tie only one mistress to his bed these days?”
“You always surprise me at who you know in this town.”
“A bigger shock, isn’t it, that I know nothing about one of whom I should know everything?” Tate grumbled.
“Let’s go in and see if we can change that.”
When Kane’s coachman swung open the door, Tate was first out.
Chapter Five
Montagne House tookViv’s breath away. The front courtyard resembled her father’s at Neufchateau, the family’s country estate landscaped with elaborate parterres. February made it gray and crisp. Winter stilled the few tress and sheared shrubbery, robbing them of all rustle and flow. Like Papa’s, this garden was dead. Inside, the reception hall of blue-veined marble was as chilly as Papa’s, and the walls of robin’s-egg-blue plaster could not warm her.
Why had she come?
“Resolve, Vivi.” Her sister’s brusque contralto flowed through her.
Viv stole courage from her purpose. She’d fought coming for hours. It was now after ten, but she’d bear this as long as she could and hopefully be in her bedroom, undressed, by midnight, Louis at her feet.
Start this, Viv. The sooner begun, sooner done.
Tate’s image clouded her vision. He’d stop her from coming here, seeking out men who had hurt her father and her family. She paused, recalling Tate’s presence each morning she rode. He was such a stubborn man, and she loved…no, she appreciated him for it. But, determined he could not dissuade her, she gathered her gumption and donned the bravado of Charmaine. To the flesh-and-blood man who stood before her, she arched her brows in an imperious smile.
Monsieur Montagne’s tall, gaunt majordom batted not a lash at reading her card. But then, the man who ran the household of a libertine had to have a quiet mind and a strong stomach, didn’t he? For Viv, he needed only to know her ancient family name and her celebrity. As an actress, she fit into this brand of Society. As the disrespectful chit who’d walked out on the first consul, she would be the most notorious woman here tonight in this house of ne’er-do-well bankers. Montagne’s own cousins, the Jarre branch of the family, were never ones to celebrate their ethics or their morals. She smirked as the majordom gave her what was a triumphant smile of welcome and turned his trim back to lead her toward the main salon.
She lifted her ivory fan from its tassel on her wrist and whipped the thing in her anxiety. “Slowly,” she could hear Charmaine correcting her. “No windstorms, ma minette.”
The grand salon of marble, gilt, and glass blinded her—and make her run. The dome above, allowing the velvet sky and stars to shine through, inspired her to fly up, far away. Yet stay, stroll, pretend, she must. She would. Could.
The massive room was alive with dozens—perhaps a hundred—of thenouveaubejeweled and silk-cladbeau monde. At her approach, they paused; many murmured, some awed, many not. She could not care. She was here to find a few men, marks who would make her sad heart lighter.
“Mademoiselle de Massé for you, monsieur.” The butler presented her to his master and bowed himself away.
Her host was ostentatious in his welcome. A courtier of the last Louis, a sycophant of the Corsican military officer who was so bold as to wish to be as powerful, Cyprien Montagne honored her with a royal flourish.
Her hated fan to her beribboned décolleté, she gave him a trill of her feigned delight. “How charming. I am delighted to be invited.”
“I am so thrilled to have you here, mademoiselle.” He spoke with that precise Parisian elocution that denoted him an aristocrat of theancien regime. Bold to examine her cheeks and gauge the size of her breasts, he looked far too long to be polite.Arrogant ass.
He wore a Prussian-blue jacquard waistcoat, blazing white stock, and a gunmetal frock coat shot with silver. The look was elegant, dramatic, with the deep blue a strong counterpoint to his small gray eyes and mass of slickly pomaded silver hair. Noticing her appraisal of his attire, he grinned because he assumed she approved. Then he took her hand and wrapped it around his arm. “I will introduce you, but you must at least for few precious minutes allow me to bask in your pristine beauty. The stage is so far distant that it does not allow mere mortals the full perfection of your face or form.”
She let the damn fan dangle. She had all she could do not to quiver at the way his eerie eyes once more took in the rounds of her breasts above the dangerously low-cut gown. “You are too complimentary, monsieur.”
“And I must ask, why use all that makeup on the stage to cover your beauty? Are we not more natural these days in every way? I say that the manager does not know his trade as well as many of us have been led to believe. I will speak with him next week of these things.”
“Oh, sir, you know we must use the powders and wigs to make us noticeable for those in the rafters.”
He took her hand and lifted it to his lips. “I would recognize such beauty were I a hundred leagues from you.”
She had to show some sophistication and play to his game. “Monsieur, you flatter me too much.” The bastard must not guess what she really sought in his house.
“Never. Allow me to do so often and I will lay my heart at your feet.”
She lifted a finger and playfully wagged it at him. “No need, sir. I am immune to all but those who offer me sincere companionship. Besides, I am very busy and the work is tiring. But to acquire friends here, I will soon begin calling hours. I will make it one of my afternoons when the house is dark. I do hope you will consider yourself invited every day.”
She had planned this approach. Ladies in London had hours when others might come to visit. But she had no idea if French ladies did that these days. She should have asked. But what should she worry, though? If she were wrong, so be it. She was an actress. A British actress. Such women did as they wished.
“How good of you.” He beamed and led her to the side of the room, where their conversation was more private, yet more noted by many. “I do hope I will be among those who are invited.”
