like it? He’d have to be dead for that to happen. Would she think of him, and what he’d given her?
It was a great deal too bad that Mrs. Clarke’s civilizing influence hadn’t extended very far. Etienne had presented his lawyers with a simple way to turn over the estate and the title. He’d inherited it on a fluke, and if Etienne had had the money he could have contested it, and chances were the French king would have favored his own countryman over the exile. After all, they’d driven the Young Pretender from their shores in record time, once he became a liability.
Which was just as well with Rohan. He’d only seen Bonnie Prince Charlie from a distance, that red-gold hair shining in the cold sun, not near enough to see the famous blue eyes. He’d lost everything for the man whose arrogance had led to disaster at Culloden, putting them at the mercy of Butcher Cumberland, and he was perfectly happy never to see him again. Rome was too close.
“Care to join us, Francis?” a woman’s voice lured him. Juliette was lounging on a sofa, a man kneeling beneath her voluminous skirts, and her eyes glittered in the candle light.
He shook his head, so as not to disturb the young man servicing her. He was guessing by the sight of his rump that it was milord Valancey, who was a good fifteen years younger than her most recent bed partner, and he allowed himself a small smile. She was indefatigable. It was good that she was choosing a young man bursting with energy. She would be less likely to come looking for him.
He heard the shrieks of laughter coming from the smaller ballroom. At least, he assumed those whooping noises were amusement. Whatever they were, they were not his concern. Right now he was going to visit his captive princess, to see if he could convince her to let down her hair.
There was music playing, a recent conceit of his. He’d discovered the surprising pleasure of coupling whilst listening to music, and the habit had spread among the members of the Host. A small quartet played in what he preferred to call the evening room. Long ago it had been a morning room, complete with a chaise for a young lady to recline on, a desk at which to write her letters. There were no young ladies in his household. The chaise was still there, and had seen much vigorous usage, but the desk was gone, and the east-facing windows were covered with black cloth, to keep the curious from peeping inside.
He moved past the gaming room, resisting the urge to play a few hands of piquet. The focus was not on the game, and he was ever a man who preferred to do one thing at a time and do it extremely well. Besides, it was far too easy to win when people had other things on their minds, and he found winning under those circumstances to be an utter bore.
He climbed the flight of stairs to the second floor. The numbers of guests would reach above this one, filling most rooms on this floor and the next, with even some in the east wing that had previously held Miss Lydia Harriman. Of course, he’d lied about their previous occupancy—he’d had no interest in letting Elinor spend too much time with her sister.
The luncheon they’d shared had been…interesting. She’d watched him like a wary fox, certain he was about to attack. And he’d been his most amiable self. Any other woman, and she would have been put entirely at ease. Which was why he didn’t want any other woman. Elinor simply watched him out of her warm, brown, skeptical eyes, waiting for him to cross the line.
He didn’t, of course. The sturdy Antoine carried her back to her bedroom, where, in her absence he’d had books and sweetmeats delivered, and since then he’d heard nothing. Reports came that she had asked for a light supper, but apart from that she was entirely self-sufficient in her apartment.
He was about to change all that.
Paris was a noisy city at the change of the hour—bells from every part rang in the cold night air, and as he approached her door the hour of eleven o’clock announced itself. To his astonishment he could feel his arousal stirring. While his body parts worked perfectly and reliably, no matter what he demanded of them, it had been many years when anticipation had caused