Page 21 of Lord Appleby's Gorgeous Imposter
“Monsieur, your presence is one I do welcome.”God help me.“I am new here, and I confess I need a friend. A companion and a confidant.”
“You have me, mademoiselle, as your chevalier.”
She preened.Now, what about your cronies? I have a few names I must pin on faces.“I am honored. Now, please, lest we set tongues to wagging, do introduce me to your guests. I may not be the height of Society, monsieur, but I do remember the particular nature of Parisian etiquette. I am from a well-regarded family.” She would not let him forget it. Though her mother had not been wed to her father when he took her as his lover, she was his wife’s sister and had been his brother’s wife. Viv was illegitimate, but she’d been doubly related to her half-sisters and considered herself nearly their full-blood equal. “I must hold high the reputation of my loved ones.”And search out those who hurt them.
“I do agree. Those of us who have returned have so much for which to be grateful.”
I will be grateful when my duty is done.“Precisely my thought. But I think to exemplify by my good behavior the refinements of our shared past.”
He shook his head. “A pity so much has been buried and forgotten.”
“I wish to remember all who have gone.” She put two fingers to her rouged lips and leaned coyly forward to allow a glimpse of her cleavage. “I should not say it aloud.”
“You are safe with me, mademoiselle.”
“Cyprien! You cannot keep the lady to yourself!”
A man approached them, boldly positioning himself so close to Viv that she inhaled his strong bergamot cologne. He towered over tall, lean Cyprien and smiled liked a prince who ruled the city. She had no idea who he was, but his good looks could enthrall many a woman. He wore his fashionable clothes precisely cut to his broad shoulders and trim thighs. His silky black hair complemented his bronzed Provençale complexion. But his flashing dark-blue eyes told her that he was a shrewd man who could strike her down with one blow.
In her reverie, alarm colored a memory. She had seen this man before.
Her host smiled with stiff displeasure at the interruption. “Mademoiselle, allow me to present Monsieur René Vaillancourt.”
His name meant nothing. Only his stance—and her memory of his handsome face sent fire through her blood.
He gave a slight bow. “I am honored, mademoiselle. I have been very busy lately and have not seen your performance yet, but I understand you carry it off with aplomb.”
“Merci beaucoup.”
“Perhaps I will come next week?”
What was he expecting? A complimentary ticket? An invitation to her dressing room? Inwardly, she flinched, afraidall at once. “Come whenever you can, monsieur. We are there five nights a week.”
“Indeed.” He possessed a thin baritone, but he used it on her as if she were his servant…or his pawn. “And you perform for how many weeks?”
Her skin prickled at his tone. “Until the end of June.”
“And afterward what do you do?” he asked with an arch of his elegant black brows. He sounded as if she had no right to go anywhere.
She could not get away from him quickly enough. He was rude. “I will go to Neufchateau.”
“Really? Why? What is left for you there?” he asked.
Recoiling, she dropped open her mouth.
Cyprien smacked his lips as if he’d had enough. “The lady wishes to see her home, René.”
“Of course she does.” The man bowed. “I realize it now.”
She gave him what small smile she could summon. Then he excused himself.
“I apologize for his rudeness, mademoiselle. The fellow thinks he runs Paris.”
She could not take her gaze off him. “Does he?”
“He is the deputy chief of police.”
“Ah,” was all she could manage in her horror. Smooth, well-dressed, debonair René Vaillancourt was police—and a snake.
