Last Chance for Paris - Merry Farmer Page 0,6
she said, her tone guarded.
“I take it that an adventure at the Moulin Rouge was not what you had in mind for the afternoon,” he said, hoping she would see the comment as a question and tell him all about herself.
Instead, she asked, “What were you doing there, my lord?”
Heat infused Louis’s face. “I was doing what most patrons of the establishment go there to do,” he answered. “Seeking entertainment.” It was a lie, but one that was so plausible no one would question it.
“And had you been there before?” she asked, one brow arched up as if she knew the answer was yes.
“Once or twice.” The truth bubbled out of him before he could think to say anything else. He always fell back on the truth when he didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t certain if that made him very clever indeed or prodigiously stupid.
“Where are you from, my lord?” Solange asked on.
He blinked at the question. It was innocent enough, and yet it still made him squirm. “England, of course,” he answered. “My family has an estate in North Yorkshire, although with a name like Sinclair, you can imagine there are some Scottish connections. My family name is Bramwell, which isn’t Scottish at all. I believe there is some convoluted story about how the title was passed down two hundred years ago or so.”
He sighed inwardly at himself. What kind of an idiot was he to blabber on about titles and inheritance?
Solange continued to study him with piercing eyes. “Is that all the connection you and your family have with foreign powers?” she asked.
The question was as odd as could be, but he shrugged and answered, “My mother was French. She was connected to the Bourbons. Her grandparents fled the guillotine during the Reign of Terror, or so I’ve always been told.”
“Have you spent much time abroad?” Her hand grew tense in the crook of his arm, as if she was expecting him to say something negative.
He responded to her obvious tension by smiling and speaking in a gentler voice than he would normally have used. “I have traveled,” he admitted. “All throughout Europe. I’ve visited the Caribbean as well.”
“And Africa?” she asked, her eyes sharp with suspicion.
In an instant, he guessed where her questions were leading. It was obvious she was of African descent. The scrutiny she must have gone through on a daily basis, especially as she traveled with the McGoverns, must have left her wary of how men like him would see her.
“I have traveled a bit in Africa,” he said, gazing fondly at her and trying to put her at ease. “I spent some time in Côte d'Ivoire some years ago.” Her eyes lit up, as though he’d proven a point she’d been ruminating about, but he went on. “I find the people there to be extraordinary in every way. And the land itself is beautiful.”
Her moment of victory turned to surprise. “You think so?”
“Absolutely.” He adjusted his arm, noticing that her grip softened as he did. He was winning her over, perhaps in spite of herself. “I’ve never met such kind and industrious people. The welcome I received was truly touching, especially considering my visit came hard on the heels of my mother’s—” he hesitated slightly before saying, “untimely death.” Memories of that time pinched at his heart.
He fell silent for a moment as he remembered. When he glanced Solange’s way, her expression had gone completely blank. The brittleness and suspicion that had rippled from her was gone. She blinked when she noticed him watching her and rushed on with, “Where did you stay while you were there?”
“In Abidjan. At the most charming hotel near the waterfront.”
Again, she blinked. “You did not stay with friends or…or family?”
“I would have if I’d had friends or family there,” he said with a slight laugh.
She shook her head. “If you didn’t have friends or family there, why did you go?”
He tried his best not to wince. His reasons for going to Abidjan were the same as his reasons for traveling to Paris when he should have been back in England, seeing to the duties of his estate. But revenge was not a suitable topic while attempting to charm a woman.
“I had business there,” he answered, glancing off over the Seine.
“What sort of business?” Solange asked.
He snapped back to face her, smiling at her bold question. “I’m flattered that you should find me so interesting.”
“I—” A subtle flush of color came to Solange’s cheeks, and she