Page 31 of Lord Appleby's Gorgeous Imposter
“And any who would carry you away.”
His chivalrous words made her heart beat faster. Ever had he been her knight. “None from my own home, surely.”
“Some”—he paused and found Cyprien paces away—“are wily.”
She should not succumb to his endearments, and so she countered, “Do you not have serious work to do?”
Her footman appeared and offered him a flute ofvin blanc.
He took it and raised the glass to honor her. “I am here, doing it. But I admit that I have challenges with my work, as few of my counterparts want to do business. I am often dismissed as if my cravat is too simple.”
She examined the elaborate twists and twirls of his blinding white neckcloth. “They are fools. My compliments to your valet.” Her gaze drifted up to the caress of his large eyes.
He drank, his lips moving with sensuous appeal, his tongue darting out, wet and intriguing. “And mine to you.”
His words hung in the air like gentle kisses.
At last she roused. “Shall I introduce you…?”
“I care not for anyone else.”
“Tate,” she managed, as her whole being flooded with the desire his bass voice imparted, “you are here to be sociable. Conduct business,oui?”
“No. I am here only for you. To protect you from…anyone. And to invite you to come with me to rue du Four.”
She blinked. That was the last thing she thought he’d say to her. “What? Why?”
“Don’t you wish to go?”
“But…yes.” Did he know she’d been there? She’d seen him following her on occasion, and he admitted it, so…
“I want to go, too, Vi—mademoiselle.”
“To relive it?” She quickly tried to cover his near mistake.
He noticed a movement of others toward them. “Yes. I think it best. And I have news of it.”
“News?” she asked just as Cyprien Montagne joined them.
“Bonjour, Monsieur le Comte. Good to see you.”
“And you, monsieur.”
Cyprien had already greeted Viv when he arrived, and so the conversation among them easily passed to lighter topics. Her cook’s pastries. Attendance at her performances. Bonaparte’s increasing antipathy toward the accomplished British ambassador, Whitworth, and his tirade against the man in public a few nights in a row lately.
“It worries me,” Tate said. “This peace is fragile, but it can offer us so much if we can agree on increasing commerce between our countries. Don’t you agree, monsieur?”
“I think, monsieurs,” Viv said with a grin, “much as I love a good discussion of money, I leave you to discuss trade and shall attend to my guests.”
*
Two hours later,her receptions completed, the guests drifted out. Tate had whispered he would adjourn to another room to talk. She’d told him to ask Franck for her small sitting room. Behind Tate came the last to leave, Cyprien.
Ever gallant—and opportunistic—he lifted her hand and pressed his cool lips to the back. “Merci beaucoup, mademoiselle, for the afternoon. I have enjoyed myself very much.”
“I am delighted, monsieur. Please come again. I shall do this each Monday. I love good company.”
“As do I, mademoiselle. I give my annual masquerade in a few weeks. I have sent my invitations this morning and a special one to you, but this is my personal one.” He put her palm flat to his cravat and held her there. The intimacy revolted her. “Come,s’il vous plaît. I know it is an evening when the theater is lit. Come after your performance. You will add such beauty to the party.”
