A Daughter's Destiny (3 page)

“Me? Why do you think I sent them?”

Evan Somerset tried to be patient when Brienne did not answer him, but he could think of only one reason why she would accuse him of having a hand in this. He hoped he was wrong.

She lurched to the window. Kneeling, she set a plant on the sill. Her shoulders quivered, but when he put his hands on them, she shook them off. She stood and crossed the room, clearly trying to keep as much distance between them as possible.

Pretty Brienne LeClerc was anxious to be rid of him. Pretty … she was that. Her trim figure was outlined so perfectly by her plain gown. She did not need the bows and flounces that decorated the frocks worn by the
élite
. Her loosened hair cloaked her in an ebony sheen, tempting his fingers to entangle in it. How soft it had been when it had draped over his arm as he carried her into the kitchen!

He went to the sideboard. It had been knocked onto its side and one leg broken off. Ramming his fist against his other palm, he wished he could find the blackguards who had attacked this salon … and Brienne. He
would
find them. Then they would rue this.

He knew who was responsible for this. Evan Somerset. How could he have been so stupid? That he had come to L'Enfant de la Patrie twice must have tipped his hand. He had been a complete idiot not to expect competition. Lagrille trusted him as much as England trusted Napoleon.

The vase! If those men had the vase now, he should be giving chase.

Instead, he went to where Brienne was struggling to lift a table back onto its legs. Without a word, he set it upright. He smiled as she held out his ruined hat. Taking it, he poked his fingers through the holes. “What did they want, Brienne?”

“Ain't it obvious?” At the deep, frigid voice, Evan turned to meet the iron gray eyes of the man entering the salon.

Evan recognized the stench of authority. Although he usually found it prudent to stay far from any forces of the law, he did not move. He recalled a headmaster who once had tried to daunt him with a superior scowl such as this. That teacher had suffered many cruel tricks before Evan had ended their mutual duress by leaving school on a moonless night.

“I am Evan Somerset,” he said with a cool smile. “Who are you?”

“Haviland. I oversee the watch here.”

“Do you? Then, what pub were you hiding in instead of protecting this woman and her business as you are paid to do?”

Brienne surprised him by saying, “If you gentlemen wish to talk, please do it outside. I must restore my salon for my patrons.”

“Let us help,” said Haviland so kindly Evan chuckled under his breath. The watchman must be smitten with Brienne, although not enough to risk his skin.

As Haviland seated Brienne at the table, she hunched her shoulders to avoid touching him. Good. She was sensible. Haviland would be no help, but Evan had to make certain that calling in the Bow Street Runners was not suggested. Those lads might find the men who had done this before he could. That would lead to all kinds of complications.

He had to get that vase! Even a piece of it would be enough. Why, he had no idea. Nor did he care, for all he wanted was to find the vase, collect his pay, and go on to his next assignment, which he would make sure was less complicated than this one was becoming.

Leaning against the wall, he crossed his arms over his chest in a negligent pose guaranteed to bring out the worst in Haviland.

Haviland glowered at him. “What in the hell—Excuse me, Miss Laclerk. What are ye doin' here, Somerset?”

“This is a place of public business. I came here on business.”

“What business?”

“My business.”

Haviland kicked a table. It collapsed with a crash. He ignored the flare of dismay in Brienne's eyes as he stepped toward Evan. “Somerset, if ye don't cooperate, ye'll find yerself rottin' in prison.”

“No!” cried Brienne, leaping to her feet. “You cannot put a man in jail for no reason.”

Haviland whirled to face her. “I can give ye lots of reasons, Miss Laclerk. One is gettin' in my way.”

“Now, now,” Evan said, “there is no cause for such words to Miss
LeClerc
.”

When Haviland growled something incoherent, Evan looked at Brienne. Her dark eyes still flashed. Her impassioned defense was a surprise. He would have guessed she would gladly pay the turnkey to put shackles on him.

She rocked almost off her feet as Haviland pushed past her, and Evan swore under his breath. This was not the time to enjoy poking fun at Haviland. She was ready to collapse. That was no surprise either.

Evan grasped her hand and drew her to him. She almost tumbled into his arms. When she stiffened and was about to pull away, he murmured, “I need
you
to cooperate if you want to get rid of him.”

She glanced at Haviland, then nodded.

Slipping his arm around her shoulders, he turned her to him. The lush softness of her breasts against his chest threatened to take his breath away. His fingers sifted through her thick hair that swept over his arm, and he gazed down into her eyes which were lustrous with unshed tears. He had never seen such courage … or such temptation.

He brushed his lips against hers, savoring the sweet flavor of her mouth. She stared up at him, astonishment lighting her eyes until they glowed like dark jewels. Smiling, he kissed her forehead. She closed her eyes and rested her cheek against his chest.

Looking over her head, Evan said, “As you can see, Haviland, I am here because Brienne is my dear friend.”

“Dear friend?” He snorted. “She don't have gentleman callers.”

“If you watch this salon closely enough to know that, you should have seen the two men who attacked her.”

“Two?”

Evan cursed his own glib tongue. If Brienne's warmth were not so distracting, he might keep his mind on getting rid of Haviland and getting his hands on the vase. Although, he had to own, getting his hands on Brienne was not a bad consolation at the moment.

“Miss Laclerk, is this true?”

Brienne hesitated, not wanting to lie. Mayhap with this bit of information, Mr. Haviland would leave. Her salon was destroyed. It would take more money than she could imagine to repair the damage. Money! Mr. Somerset would give her Ł200 for that silly vase. As soon as the watchman left, she would sell it to him.

“Yes, Mr. Haviland,” she said quietly. “Two men. They smelled of the docks.”

Mr. Somerset tilted her face toward his. “Ma
chère
Brienne, how will you ever forgive me for letting you face this alone? How can I ever forgive myself for allowing such evil to hurt the one I love most in the whole world?”

She bit back her retort that Evan Somerset loved no one but himself. His blue gaze surrounded her as his fingers stroked her arm. The light touch urged her to forget everything else as she brought his mouth to hers again.

“Brienne!”

Pulling away from Mr. Somerset, Brienne ran to her grandmother, who was staring at the broken chairs and tables. “Grand-mère, be careful! Will you go to Maman? She must have heard the noise here.”

“No doubt about that.” Grand-mère picked up a tablecloth and frowned at the dirt on it.

“Please reassure her that everything will be all right. I can handle this.”

In haughty, very correct English, she demanded, “Will you handle this,
ma petite
? Or will you be the one handled?”

“Grand-mère!” She forced a smile. “Please do not tease me about Evan. Have you forgotten what he asked me this afternoon?” She hated lying, but she did not want to see anyone, even Evan Somerset, sent to prison. She had heard too many stories of the horror of the Bastille.

“This afternoon?” Her eyes narrowed.

Evan stepped forward, took the old woman's hand, and bowed over it. “
Bon après-midi, madame. Je voudrais
—”

“Do not try to charm me by speaking French, young man.” A smile tipped her lips. “However, you do speak it well for an Englishman.”

“A friend taught me well.”

“A friend? A friend like Brienne?”

Amusement glittered in his eyes. “A very different type of friend, madame. I should have said a business acquaintance.”

“I shall not ask what business that was.”

“A wise decision.”

With a chuckle, Grand-mère turned to Brienne. “We still have much to discuss before I allow you to mix up your life with such a scoundrel,
ma petite
.” She did not give Brienne a chance to answer as she added to Haviland, “I trust you have suspects to capture and be tried for this crime against us, sir.”

The watchman opened his mouth, then clamped it closed as he strode out of the salon. The door crashed behind him, rattling the gilded glass.

“Good riddance,” Evan said with a return of his smile. Bowing his head, he said, “Evan Somerset, madame—”

“I am Yvonne LeClerc, Monsieur Somerset. I owe you a debt of gratitude for coming to my granddaughter's rescue.”

“Too late, I fear.”

Brienne stepped back to keep her grandmother from examining her face. “I am fine, Grand-mère. 'Tis nothing. Thank you for your help, Mr. Somerset. I regret that your hat was ruined. However, I assume you came back because you are still interested in the vase.”

“The vase?” He caught her hands in his. “What about the vase?”

Before she could answer, Grand-mère said, “I hear your mother's bell, Brienne. Go and let her see that you are safe.”

“Maman has not rung. She—” The distant sound of a handbell contradicted her. “I will return quickly. We have much to do if we plan to reopen tomorrow night.”

“Tomorrow night?” Mr. Somerset asked. “How can you expect to clean this up in such a short time?”

“Because we have to. Mr. Somerset, if you would be so kind as to wait.”

“Of course, Miss LeClerc.” Evan laughed as Brienne glanced at him, surprise again in her expressive eyes, as he addressed her as formally as she had him. When she rushed out of the room, he smiled at her grandmother. “I trust I may wait here?”

“You may, although you may have to wait a while. If my daughter is distraught, Brienne will have to calm her.”

“Daughter?” He swallowed the rest of his question as the old woman arched a single snowy brow. If Brienne's surname was LeClerc as was her maternal grandmother's, that suggested Brienne was the product of an illicit union. Mayhap Brienne had inherited some of that ungovernable passion. No, he had no time for such enticing thoughts. He had to get that vase, not imagine delighting in the innocent fire on her lips.

“Lucile is not well, Monsieur Somerset.”

“I am sorry to hear that.” He looked around the room. “And this will not help.”

“Do you always exhibit such a gift for understatement?” She lowered herself to a chair. “I was right. You are a scoundrel.”

“You are insightful, madame.”

“My eyes are clearest with matters concerning my granddaughter. From what Brienne said, I assume you called earlier.”

“Yes.”

She shook her head and sighed. “I fear this cool, subdued English climate has washed away Brienne's
joie de vie
. She thinks solely of the salon.”

“Madame, I assure you that my interest in Brienne is purely business.”

She smiled. “There are many kinds of business.”

“True.” He drew off his coat and hung it by the door. “Where do you keep your broom, madame?”

“A broom? I do not understand.”

Making sweeping motions with his hands, he repeated, “A broom. To clean the floor. If your granddaughter wishes to reopen tomorrow evening, you will need every hand to clear away this mess. I offer you my services.”

“No, thank you, Monsieur Somerset. Brienne and I shall tend to that after we deal with our other problem.”

“Other problem?”

“You. What is it that you want, young man?”

“Me?”

Madame LeClerc chuckled heartily. “You, sir, are a rogue. Do not misunderstand. I do not dislike rogues. Men with few scruples make fine ministers for a king and fine lovers for a woman. However, I am old, and I have seen a king beheaded and watched as a peasant has dared to call himself emperor of France. There is a place for rogues in this world.”

“Thank you,” he said, his smile broadening.

“Do not think you can deceive me as you have tried to deceive Brienne.”

Evan bent to pick up scattered napkins. Regret creased his forehead as he looked at the ruined furniture. The men had come from the docks, Brienne had said. He should not be delaying here. He should be on his way to the Pool. A few questions there might gain him the answers he sought. He hoped his pockets were plump enough to pay for those answers.

Setting the napkins on the table, he said, “I have not fooled Brienne. She does not trust me.”

“You are correct about that!” Brienne came from the kitchen. She forced a smile as Grand-mère gasped. With her hair back in a simple braid, the marks left by the man's hand must be visible. She had avoided the glass upstairs and had clung to the shadows while speaking with Maman. “Thank you for waiting, Mr. Somerset. I wanted to thank you again.”

“Thanks? That is why you wanted me to stay?” He edged around the broken tables and put his hand on the doorframe beside her. When she started to back away, he clasped her arm. “Brienne, I thought you might want to speak to me about the vase.”

“No.” She dared say no more. The silly vase was so precious to Maman that Brienne would not ask her for it, not even to help resurrect L'Enfant de la Patrie.

“It is no longer here?”

“Yes.” That much was the truth. It was not in the salon.

A soft sound intruded.

“That is Maman,” Brienne said. “I should go, and—”

“She will want me.” Grand-mère stepped between her and Mr. Somerset. “It has been most interesting to make your acquaintance, Monsieur Somerset. I bid you a good day.”