Page 23 of Lord Appleby's Gorgeous Imposter
She hoped she blushed. “I cannot be rushed—or ignored.”
“Clearly. What we hear of the other night in the Tuileries tells us tact and kindness are required.”
“I must know a man well,” she said with a frown. “So many assume a lady of the theater can be charmed quickly and offered delights for an hour’s worth of her time.”
He squeezed her hand. “Ma cherie, I would take from dusk to dawn.”
“Monsieur Montagne!” a male voice called him.
“Monsieur, so good of you to have us!”
She hung in Cyprien’s arms, grateful for the disruption, shocked because the only sound ringing in her ears was the bass voice of Tate Cantrell.How could that be?
She looked over Cyprien’s shoulder at none other than Tate with another man.
With a smile of her relief, she stepped away from her captor.
Both men strode forward. “Monsieur Montagne,bon soir,” Tate said.
“Ashley and Appleby, of course, you are welcome,” Cyprien greeted them in a hearty fashion that told her the Frenchmanknew both well. “And I wonder if you have met Mademoiselle de Massé?”
“Bon soir, mademoiselle.” Tate took her hand. “Indeed we have met. I am delighted to see you again. My friend Lord Ashley does need an introduction, Monsieur Montagne.”
Viv fumed. She did not want Tate here to see her at work among these people. Must he be everywhere? Following her. Riding with her? Here she was striving valiantly to show a few of her acting skills. She politely responded to the formalities.
Ashley spoke up. “Monsieur Montagne, I came tonight because I thought you and I needed to get on with our initial discussion of a few days ago.”
“Ah, Ashley, you English may discuss business on a night of pleasure, but here in Paris we frown on it.”
“But if Bonaparte and our Ambassador Whitworth argue like they did the other night, we may not have the chance to discuss the five or six percent more I may now offer on those Lyon silks.”
Cyprien’s brows arched, and with a look of regret at Viv, he extended a hand toward a small collection of chairs. “How can I refuse?”
When the two had left them, Viv let out a breath.
Tate’s arms came around her from behind. “That was close.”
She clamped shut her eyes and allowed herself to relax into the refuge of his embrace. This was so much more than a friendly embrace. His hold was definitely amorous. Viv was stunned but lost to his tenderness.
Tate’s subtle fragrance drove away Cyprien’s flowery cologne and Vaillancourt’s heavy bergamot. For just one moment, she could rest here.
“You are fine now, sweetheart.” He held her securely to him and pressed his lips into the hair on her crown.
She pulled away from the temptation to remain. “Thank you. He became troublesome.”
Tate lifted her chin. “Do you know what he is? What you’re—?”
She was recovered, and a fool to have sunk into Tate’s embrace. He might be her savior at the moment, but she did not want him chastising her. “I know what I’m doing, yes.”
“Getting yourself raped?” he seethed.
She caught her breath. “Not if I can help it.”
“Sweetheart—” He stepped forward.
She evaded him. “Don’t.”
“Don’t stop wanting to save you? Whatever in hell this is!” He waved an arm to denote the crowd beyond.
