Page 29 of Lord Appleby's Gorgeous Imposter
“Let me know if you wish to go. Mademoiselle de Massé, too,” Ram offered. “I’d be happy to do that for you.”
Tate pondered whether Viv would wish to visit. But why would she? It would be a walk through the hell of her last days in Paris. Wouldn’t it?
But such an act might jar her to give him further evidence of what she did here in Paris.
Her “retribution” sounded dark. And such evil was never in her nature. He knew what terrible consequences a human could inflict on another when retribution was the goal. His wifeBelinda, may God rest her soul, had earned all the evil from her own acts of revenge. He did not want Viv to suffer that, and hoped he might save her the sorrow.
Going to the house might then be a sound venture. It might soothe her. Restore her equanimity.
Or spur her on.
Chapter Seven
Criticizing herself forher ridiculous fright at viewing her former home yesterday, Viv went with Suzette and the footman the next morning to market, then directly to the house.
The maid knocked again, and once more, no one came to the door.
“Perhaps he is away, mademoiselle.”
“I will leave my card,” Viv told her, and fished out from her reticule her silken card case and small pencil. She wrote upon the back of the good parchment of her desire to view the interior and ended with,Please respond.She expected that anyone would know where to find her rented house. The gossips published everything else. Her smooth, low voice, her penchant forvin blancand chocolate. Even the hated fans.
Resigned to the lack of response from the majordom, Viv led the maid for home in the rue du Bac. The sun was bright, air fresh, their baskets filled with new white asparagus and fresh lettuce from the streetvendeurs. All in all, still a good day. But as they paused before a window of Viv’s favorite patisserie, she noticed in the reflection of the glass that a tall fellow also paused.
She thought little of it. Sometimes she was recognized in the streets. Most were respectful and stayed away. A few ventured forward to introduce themselves and praise her work at the theater. Those people were, for the most part, women out shopping with their maids. Unusual, but nonetheless, ithappened. They tended to be well dressed and mannerly. Viv had no problems with their approach or praise.
But this man did neither. He dallied as long as she did.
“Let’s go inside,” she told Suzette. “I’ve a desire for a small gateau. Cook has so much to do to prepare for our afternoon reception today, she’ll have less to bake for our guests.”
In the shop, Viv took her time. The apple tarts were of a thousand delicate puffed pastry layers. The tiny creme-filled shortbreads were iced a bright pink today. She sailed around the shop, glimpsing her follower now and then as he lounged on the corner. Crossing and uncrossing his arms, he seemed to give the appearance of one who was lost—or bored. But when she and Suzette emerged, Viv led them down a parallel street to home.
Few walked this lane, and so she could hear the man’s footsteps on the cobbles.
At a wine shop, Viv paused, and so did her man.
She could not lose him. She did not try. She led her maid home and, inside, gave her cloak to her majordom and asked both to remain a minute. “I must speak with you.” She beckoned them toward the window to the street. “Stand away from the drapes. You see this man in dark blue with black top hat?”
The fellow was so silly—yet so helpful—as to remain on the corner, and within sight of her house.
“Note his looks.” Swarthy coloring. A morning’s growth of beard already, at half nine. Large, dark eyes. “He followed us from the market today. If he appears again, you must write down when and how long he observes us. Notify others in the house to his looks so they are aware if they are followed by him too. Come to tell me of every instance.”
They both agreed.
“I will not countenance any of us being threatened.”
*
Hours later, readyfor her first afternoon guests, Viv decided she had concentrated on her shadow long enough.
Whoever he was, she did not know him and had not met him. He was dressed as a gentleman, one with enough means to be clean and pressed but notà la mode. Who he was, why he tracked her, she had no idea. If he was a curious theatergoer, all well and good. Instinct said that he followed her for a reason. Yet he did not attack her. Not like those ruffians on the road near Rouen. She now had done what she should and made her staff aware of him. That was the whole of it.
At her resolve, she nodded to herself in the mirror and allowed Alice the last touches to her hair. Little rouge today was necessary because of the effects of the glorious pale pink of her new gown. The décolleté was discreet, fit for midday. She had no need to flaunt her proportions during daylight hours. In truth, she had no wish to display them at night, either. But then, for those invited today, she might still catch a fish.
She rose before her dressing table, heading for her sitting room and the hall when Alice called her back.
“Your fan, mademoiselle?”
“I don’t need it, Alice.”
