Last Chance for Paris - Merry Farmer Page 0,2

the McGovern family more scandal and harm than it had already fallen into.

“I will not leave here until you return what is mine,” Louis growled, leaning closer to Lafarge.

His nerves bristled with fury. Blood pumped hard through his veins. He had to ball his hands into fists to keep himself from lunging toward Lafarge and strangling him. The man was entirely too cool and disconnected for Louis’s liking. He lounged back in his chair with a vicious smirk, as though every argument and every demand Louis had just made was another entertainment to be played out on the stage in front of him.

“Lord Sinclair,” Lafarge began in the most condescending tone anyone had ever spoken to Louis in. “Believe me, I would give you whatever you asked for, if it truly belonged to you. But in this case, I cannot comply. The brooch is mine and it will remain mine.”

“That brooch is a Sinclair family heirloom,” Louis pressed on. “One that was obtained in a downright criminal manner.”

Lafarge laughed. “My dear boy, how old are you?”

Louis scowled. “Thirty-two.”

“Then you must know that it is well past time for you to let go of childhood fantasies and the mistaken belief that your parents were saints,” Lafarge went on.

Louis’s scowl darkened. “My mother was a victim.”

“She was not,” Lafarge scoffed. “She gave me what I wanted freely, and any little trinkets that were a part of that affair are mine to keep.”

“You stole from her,” Louis insisted. “More than the brooch. So much more than the brooch.”

Lafarge sighed. “Really, sir. How many times have we had this conversation. The topic has grown tedious for me. Especially when there is much better entertainment to be had.”

Lafarge gestured toward the stage. Louis ground his teeth together in frustration, refusing to be sidelined by the can-can. For years he’d been hounding Lafarge, looking for a way to avenge what had been taken from him. From the moment his father had confessed the true cause of his mother’s death as he himself lay dying, Louis had vowed to make things right, even if his beloved mother wasn’t there to feel relief or know she’d been avenged. The brooch Lafarge had stolen from her was only a symbol of everything Louis was determined to get back. He wouldn’t rest until—

A high-pitched scream from the floor dragged his attention toward the stage in spite of his determination to stare Lafarge down until he capitulated. He wasn’t certain what he expected, but it certainly wasn’t to see Lady Roselyn Briarwood being dragged up onto the stage by three of the can-can dancers.

He stood to get a better look, and what he saw caused his brow to shoot up. Lady Roselyn wasn’t being dragged onto the stage, she was climbing there willingly. The shriek had come from one of her far demurer cousins, who was fighting against the men who were trying to thrust her onto the stage as well.

Louis acted in an instant. Lafarge would have to wait. He tore to the back of the box, into the corridor that ran behind the balcony, and down the stairs to the floor. He only knew Lady Briarwood vaguely, but he had become friendly with her brother, Asher McGovern, Lord Addlebury, since discovering the entire McGovern clan was in Paris as part of their grand tour. He owed it to his friend to keep his sister out of harm.

“Out of my way,” he boomed as he pushed his way past inebriated patrons and those who were enjoying the spectacle on the stage too much to care that they were being jostled by a rampaging aristocrat. “Move,” he ordered. “Move at once.”

By the time he reached the edge of the stage, Lady Briarwood was in the middle of receiving a lesson on how to dance the can-can. The McGovern twins—he couldn’t recall their names, but remembered that they were rather farther down the ladder of social rank than their outrageous cousin—huddled together by the front of the stage. In front of them, defending them with a look of iron fury, was the most beautiful woman Louis had ever seen.

She was tall, with a regal bearing, and skin the color of polished wood in the firelight. Her dark eyes blazed with protective determination as she shielded the twins from the jeering men who seemed intent on thrusting them onto the stage as well. As Louis approached, the dark-skinned woman’s eyes flashed with pure hatred. He couldn’t blame her. He was as outraged at