Page 73 of The Rogue's Last Scandal
How could he be expected to keep his hands off her for another three minutes, much less three years?
“Papa already trained me, but I am willing to learn more. And, Charley, I should like to see the Captain’s report as soon as you can arrange it.”
He saluted, eliciting a grimace.
“And I should like to be present when he is interviewed.”
Upon their return, Lady Sirena swept Graciela away to meet with the modiste who had returned with more gowns, and in the flurry of measuring, and marking, and verdicts about colors, she had trouble keeping to her thoughts and her planning.
The modiste herself was a great distraction. French, and darker than her own half-Spanish self, the beautiful Madame chattered as much as Lady Sirena. Except that where Lady Sirena’s chatter filled the atmosphere with comfort, Madame’s built great confidence.
“Eh bien.” She wrote down a measurement. She had come without an assistant. “Que linda. You will shine, Miss Kingsley in the gown I am making you. And here,” she smoothed her hands along her side, “shall be a pocket or two. It shall not harm the lines. You will leave it to me.”
“A pocket? For what?”
Madame’s gaze was intense and intelligent. “Perhaps a small dagger or the tiniest of pistols. It is sometimes prudent.”
“Even at a ball, a lady does not always have a gentleman at hand to protect her,” Lady Sirena said, nibbling on a meat pie from the tray that had been laid out for the ladies.
It had been only chance that Charley was at hand at her betrothal ball. How lucky she had been to fall into that particular man’s arms. She felt her face grow warm. “I see. I thank you, though I do not expect to attend many balls in the future. I am, after all, a scandal.”
Lady Sirena exchanged a look with Madame and almost stayed silent. Almost.
“Well, you may change your mind, might you not? Always good to be prepared. And Miss Kingsley’s dress will be finished by tomorrow afternoon, Madame?”
“Most certainly, my lady. My girls are already at work on it.”
She opened her mouth to say that there was no rush, but Madame vanished as quickly and quietly as she had arrived.
Charley deliveredthe Duquesa’s letter to his father’s study, and found him conferring with Kincaid.
Shaldon turned the letter over and handed it to Kincaid. “What did you learn, my son?”
“He’s recently widowed. Tried to snatch Gracie right out of the room, and would have done so had she seen him alone. He was as vague as hell about Captain Kingsley’s disappearance. Claimed they rescued some crew members who witnessed his death. Have you seen the report?”
“We’ve sent a man for it,” Kincaid said.
“We’ll need to bring him in for questioning,” Charley said, “along with the rest of the crew. And there’s another thing—he kept us waiting in the baggage room.”
“He had a woman upstairs,” Kincaid said. “Came and went veiled.”
“We stumbled across the Duquesa on the street.”
“The Duquesa and Captain Llewellyn.” Kincaid broke the seal on the letter. “Now there’s an intriguing thought.”
“He might well have been auditioning a new mistress.” Shaldon tapped the desk with his forefinger, staring into the cold fireplace. “Did the Duquesa speak with you?”
“There’s a diplomatic ball tomorrow night, which I do not plan to attend. She asked for a dance.”
“Perhaps we ought to show up and announce your engagement.”
“I’m afraid it might be hard to persuade my future bride. What does the letter say?”
Kincaid skimmed the swirling script. “He asks your father’s influence with the new king on behalf of the Spanish people to keep them out of the hands of the French. He fears the influence on your king of theAfrancesadosattending the coronation, particularly one.” He glanced up. “Do you suppose the Duquesa wrote this herself in her father’s name? She does hate her husband.”
Shaldon grunted. “No request for money or arms?”
“Not yet. I would hate to give up this channel. Might we convince you Charley to—”
