Chapter 3

Basile watched Sophie leave, a smile playing upon his lips. He remained in place until one of the unmarried women who had foisted an introduction upon him that week caught his expression and threatened to attribute the smile to herself. He turned abruptly to find Zoé examining him.

"Lovely girl. It is about time you struck up a flirtation. You've been in Paris for a month, and all I have seen is that face of dead ennui you present to the world, which I know to be a masquerade."

"'Tis only that, however. A flirtation. Lest you get any ideas of the matrimonial sort." He flicked his glance at her, knowing she would not tease him over it. Their families had long been friends, and they understood one another quite well. Zoé was lovely to look upon, and despite the difference in their years, she never bored him. It was almost surprising that he had never felt anything for her beyond the most fraternal affection. But then, he supposed if he had it would mean the end to his bachelor days, and he was far from being ready for such a step. And, of course, her love of frivolity would cause her to chafe were she to be cooped up on his estate.

She scoffed. "I know that. You won't be ready for marriage until you have decided you prefer the comfort of one woman to the harassment of many." Zoé sent him a considering glance. "You have not yet realized that whatever threat the masses pose to your freedom is more burdensome than giving up your freedom willingly to the right woman."

"Have you always been so philosophical, my dear?" He took out his snuffbox and fingered the encrusted sapphires on its lid without opening it. "But as you have correctly guessed, for the moment I prefer the threat to my comfort over the threat to my liberty, which will quickly be destroyed in the matrimonial state."

Zoé turned to look at him, one hand resting on her waist above the wide paniers. "Still, I must ask. What was it that has caught your attention with this lovely girl? She is like any other, is she not? And Englishwomen we do have in Paris."

Basile pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes in thought. "She is lovely. I like the look in her eyes. Intelligent if you chance to draw her out, veiled if you don't. She has a quick wit and caught my game soon enough?—"

He stopped short. He had truly not meant to spread it about that he had forced the introduction and knew he could trust Grégoire and Armand to keep mum. He supposed he could trust Zoé too.

"Game?" This came with the arch of a carefully shaped brow.

He met her gaze with a lurking smile. He would have to take her into his confidence. "She was being quelled by that English peacock over there in yellow. And she showed spirit by poking at him in French, which he could not understand. This naturally delighted me, so I pretended we were prior acquaintances. She played my ruse without blinking an eyelid."

"Basile!" Zoé said in quiet astonishment, laughter bubbling below the surface. "You have only just met her?"

"Yesterday," he admitted, then lifted his finger to his lips. "How fares your suit with our dear friend, Charles?"

Zoé turned a rosy pink underneath the white powder on her face, glancing in the gentleman's direction. "You said that entirely too loud for my liking." Her voice went lower as she leaned in. "The English are a discreet race. I know he harbors feelings for me, but unlike warm-blooded Frenchmen who accost perfect strangers on the street, he does not admit it. I am not even sure he will admit it to himself."

Basile glanced over at the Englishman who seemed to be entrapped in conversation by the peacock. He allowed his eyes to rest on them long enough for Charles to feel he was being watched and to throw a glance their way. His eyes went immediately to Zoé and his color rose.

Basile didn't miss it. "He likes you, ma chérie. I have a feeling you will be Mrs. Arlington before long. You need only be patient."

She sniffed. "I am patient." When he swallowed a snort of laughter she turned to him and gave him a prim look. "You shall see. I will not even go near him. I am patient."

She proceeded to do exactly as she'd promised, and Basile watched Charles's stare follow her as she flitted from one man to another, using every art of coquetry she possessed. If he was reading the man correctly, Zoé was not playing the game of flirtation in a way most suited to her target.

He turned his eyes back to Sophie who had been brought into conversation by the wife of one of the ambassador's staff. By now, Cholmsley had made his way to her side and was forcing both women to listen with polite interest. Ah, it looked like another rescue was in order, and why not? It was the only interesting thing he could find to do in a city that bored him dreadfully. As Marquis de Verdelle, he was obliged to stay in Paris for some months and show his royal support along with the other noblesse and courtisans. But—que diantre!—it was what he liked least of all. He was never meant to be the marquis.

That one might lose an eldest brother to a childhood illness was a thing to be deplored but perfectly understandable, and one hardly recalled his face to mind for it was so long ago. That the next brother in line might depart this world by attempting a swim in an unfamiliar pond while under the influence of a bottle or two of Bordeaux was certainly a shocking thing that must send the entire family into a spiral of grief. But that the third in line must sink in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean in a most unfittingly named ship, Felicity, while returning to take up the family mantle was to suffer too cruelly under Fate's hand.

He was never meant to be the marquis.

"Claudia Bordenave has returned to Paris at last and is here." Grégoire came to stand at Basile's side, careful not to look at the woman in question. He knew the danger of it.

Basile hid his scowl but was not able to temper the mixture of anger and longing that rose up in him and which irritated him with its potency. He had been fooled by Claudia once. She was like wolfsbane. Beautiful in appearance but with roots that were poisonous. As a young man on the town, he had been seduced by her beauty, too na?ve to see it went no deeper than what one could see. She was a favorite of Madame Du Barry, the former king's mistress, and under her guidance Claudia soon broke their engagement to marry more advantageously.

While he'd been heartbroken when she had withdrawn her affection to marry a wealthy man who was older than her father, he soon came to realize his lucky escape. She had been no more faithful to her husband or her vows than she had been to Basile. And now she had been pursuing him relentlessly ever since her widowhood aligned with his succession to the title.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the sudden shift in her profile and her deliberate steps forward. Claudia was petite and possessed the most elegant figure he had ever seen with a tiny, nipped waist, and a generous bosom that was set to advantage by revealing much of it. Underneath her rich chestnut locks that were always powdered fashionably white she possessed beguiling almond-shaped eyes and full, pouting lips. She was fully conscious of her assets and never shy about bringing them into close proximity of gentlemen who might admire them.

"Mon cher Basile. How good it is to see you in Paris again."

"Madame Bordenave." Basile offered her a polite bow and turned back to Grégoire to take up their engrossing conversation which they'd had no time to begin.

"You are determined to snub me," she said. "But we are old friends, are we not? You cannot think I am so easily discouraged." Her lighthearted laugh seemed designed to let him know how little she cared that he remained aloof. Basile would have to be more obvious.

"As such old friends, we hardly need stand on ceremony. Therefore, I am sure you will not expect me to dog your footsteps all night. I should not dream of chasing away your suitors." Basile gave her a bland smile and turned his back on her.

"I see the English Miss Sophie has come after all." Grégoire pronounced Miss like mees as he nodded in that direction.

"Of course she has," Basile replied, still aware of Claudia's presence at his side and eager to cut short any further attempts on her part. He slipped his arm through Grégoire's and led him away as though in search of refreshments, his eyes on Sophie. She looked patently bored, a feeling he himself could not bear. "But I fear I may be called upon to intervene. 'Tis a tragedy that she should have to suffer the man's conversation for lack of protectors. The sight offends."

"I shall not deter you, then. So long as I shall not be called upon to take her place with the English gentleman." Grégoire gave the ghost of a smile and moved away from Basile, easily joining another group of soberly clad courtiers who were the latest to receive the queen's favor and who were no doubt there to bring her the latest gossip.

Basile made his decision and moved forward. He reached the two out of three brightly dressed guests in the whole room and held out his arm to Sophie.

"You must permit me to present you to Madame Lengard. She is another such hostess as Madame Dubigny who entertains all of Paris. I thought to procure an invitation for you to attend her event on Thursday."

Sophie's bright, expressive eyes met his for a moment and she turned her attention to her companion, who was frowning. Basile could see hesitation in her eyes, but she was already moving over to take his arm. He threw out a salve to the man's dignity.

"I shall, of course, request that Madame Lengard provide you with an invitation as well, monsieur." He bowed to Mr. Cholmsley and carried away his partner without any compunction over leaving him alone in a crowd of people he scarcely knew and whose language he did not speak.

"You must have a keen eye for my anguish, for you have rescued me again." Sophie sent him a warm look of gratitude that one might almost mistake for admiration to one less cool-headed than he. Armand would have already been planning another trip to the boutique du bijoutier for a brooch.

"I cannot help but do so, for I am a man who upholds the law." He led her neatly into a space near the wall where there were fewer people to interrupt their tête-à-tête.

"The law?" She smiled at him, the tiny frown lines between her eyes betraying her confusion.

"'Tis a crime that someone as charming as you should be forced to listen to an homme sans intérêt such as he."

She laughed. "'Tis true, he is not the most interesting of men. I can scarcely conceal my yawns when I am with him. It is most ill-bred of me, for"—she lifted her forefinger as though instructing—"a lady should make the most uninteresting companion feel as though his conversation were enlightening."

"Who says such a thing? Do you?" Basile kept her arm in his and allowed himself to stand as near to her as he liked. It did no one any harm, for he knew the rules in Paris were not the same as in London. Besides, she smelled of oranges. It was the most refreshing scent in a room full of cloves and patchouli liberally applied to mask the less pleasant odors.

"I do not. 'Twas my governess, who had many such maxims. I can quote them all."

She glanced at him smiling and pulled away a fraction when their eyes met. As for Basile, he had not expected the clip to his chest when he met her gaze and could understand why she had pulled away. It was a foreign sensation to be so instantly attracted to a lady and not an emotion he was ready to devote much thought to.

"I believe you might leave your governess's maxims aside while in Paris, particularly when suffering under the attention of an overly interested admirer. Here we prefer to say as Molière taught us: ‘If this be your way to love, I beg you will hate me.'"

Sophie laughed, then raised her fingers to her lips and choked it back. Several people turned their way, including Madame Filbert, whose attention he was careful to avoid as she had two daughters she wished to marry off. Her eyes glittered with interest at the sight of him, and he nodded before pivoting slightly with Sophie so she was not in direct view.

Sophie's eyes smiled, Basile decided, even as her lips resumed their natural position. She was too vibrant a woman to be chained to a man such as the peacock.

"Why do you accept the company of the p—the Englishman? I have forgotten his name." Basile waved away its importance. "You must surely have friends whose company would delight you more. An English suitor?" He smiled but with less delight at the thought. He could not see Sophie with a man whose blood ran thinly in his veins.

"Ah, yes, Mr. Cholmsley." Her arm was still in his, and she slipped it from his elbow then unfurled her fan and began to wave it. "Alas, my grandmother wishes for the match. I will not hide from you that whatever fortune my family once had, it is now a mere pittance. She hopes to save me from poverty."

Sophie glanced at him with a wan smile. "It is more honesty than you would wish for perhaps, but at least you will never be able to accuse me of setting my sights above my station."

The answering smile came naturally to Basile. How unusual this woman was! "I own, I find your honesty refreshing."

Sophie hid her smile behind her fan—in shyness, he thought, rather than coquetry. "Very well."

"Have you another project dear to your heart if you are to escape marriage to him? Do you hope to marry someone else?"

The words were out, and her expression carried a most pointed application, which gave him his answer. It filled him with chagrin—a most unusual feeling for him.

I must be out of my mind to talk this way. There is only one answer a woman can give you, and you are leading her to hope in vain that you are her savior and solution.Fortunately, Sophie Twisden did not seem a woman to cling to a fruitless endeavor.

"I suppose I prefer almost anything to marrying Sheldon." Her voice had dropped to a whisper. "I am ready to take on any position that might spare me this fate. But he has been pressing his advantage, and I believe he hopes to secure a promise before our trip is at its end. This is, of course, most uncomfortable, since he is our escort in Paris and my grandmother and I are entirely at his mercy. I have been holding him off."

"Allow me to encourage you to remain strong." Basile lifted her hand and placed it back on his arm. "It would be the greatest tragedy to succumb for lack of friends."

"Oh, are we friends now?" she asked lightly. He thought it cost her, for her smile wavered almost imperceptibly.

"Why, we have been friends these past two years, my dear Sophie." He looked at her in feigned astonishment and was delighted to see the ready laughter return to her lips.

Just as he decided to relinquish her to her grandmother's care so as not to draw too much speculation over their attachment—or raise any hope in her breast—the peacock moved toward them at what must have been an accelerated pace for him. She raised her eyes, just as Mr. Cholmsley flagged her attention.

"Sophie, come. We must leave straight away. Your grandmother is unwell."

"Oh!" Sophie's expression changed in an instant as all humor and pleasantry left it. "Forgive me. I must attend to her."

"Yes, of course. I wish her a quick convalescence." Basile caught sight of the older woman being helped to the door. Attending the party so soon on the heels of the older woman's arrival in Paris must have been too taxing.

Sophie left him without a second glance or anything else that might lead him to believe she would unwittingly develop any sort of tendresse for him that might ruin their delightful discourse. It was all the better that she did not. Still, it was a shame she must be consigned to the boring Englishman's care, both tonight and during her stay in Paris.