Enticing Miss Eugenie Villaret (10 page)

“Milord?” His valet entered carrying the same letter he’d departed with.

“What happened?”

“Monsieur Shipley has left the island.”

The
bâtard
had better not have taken Eugénie. “Alone or with the girl?”

“Alone. At least no one I spoke with saw Mademoiselle.”

“
Merde!
Now what will I do,
hein
?” Even though it was too hot to pace, Hervé could not think while sitting. Kidnapping her would cause an uproar, but it might be his only choice. He’d waited patiently, yet the weather would close in soon, and he’d not be able to leave for months. He needed to get her to a French territory where his guardianship of her and his trusteeship over her property would be recognized, and he could easily find a priest who would do as he was told. It was the only way to recover his family’s fortune that had been lost during the rebellion.

“Get Monsieur Yves.
Maintenant
.”

“I am right here, Brother.”

Yves sauntered into the parlor, half-drunk already. Well, he would sober soon enough when told they were close to losing everything. “It is time for you to make yourself useful.”

Yves took a drink of wine. “And what task would you have me perform?”

Hervé smiled without humor. “You will abduct Eugénie.”

The glass in Yves’s hand fell, shattering on the tiled floor. “Are you mad?”

“Shipley has run.”

“Contact that man, Howden. He is for sale.”

“Non.”
Hervé shook his head. “It is too dangerous. If Sidonie knew we were here, she’d find help to hide our niece. This is the only way.”

“
Merde
,” his brother swore. “You are taking too big a risk.”

“Yves, she is our last chance. I must have her.” Hervé wiped a cloth over his face. “And soon.”

“This will not be easy.” His brother grabbed a new glass, filling it with the chilled white wine on the sideboard. “How much time do I have?”

“A week, perhaps two. No more.” He paused to allow the seriousness of the matter to sink into his brother’s head. Hervé would never have thought it of his mother, but she must have played their father false to have given birth to such an imbecile. “The captain says it will soon be too hazardous to sail.”

“Bon.”
Yves bowed, turning back toward the door. “We must do what is necessary. Do not be alarmed if you do not see me for a few days.”

Hervé couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Never in Yves’s worthless life had his youngest brother taken the initiative. “What if I need to give you instructions?”

“I am truly not as simple as you would like to believe.” Yves grinned and strode from the room.

Soon their lives would be has they had before the revolution. Perhaps Maman had been faithful to Papa after all.

E
ugénie leaned back in the large metal bathing-tub, inhaling the scent of coconut oil and bay leaves. It was time to dress for the dinner and small soirée at the Whitecliffs’ home. She had still heard nothing from Lord Wivenly. He had not even bothered to respond to her letter accepting his proposal. If he thought to make her suffer by not answering, he would soon discover she did not cow so easily. The man thought only of what he wanted, and nothing about what she might like. Lord Wivenly was far too used to having his own way.

“Marisole.”

“Yes, miss?”

“I shall wear my coral silk gown with the low neckline this evening.” Since her
beau-papa
’s death, Eugénie had insisted on wearing subdued colors. Although Papa was not a blood relation, she had mourned him as if he had been, yet now . . . now she was at war with Viscount Wivenly, and would use every weapon in her small arsenal.

Marisole held up a piece of lace. “Do you want the fichu, miss?”

“Not this evening.” To-night his lordship would see what he could never fully have unless he was a good husband. “Help me rinse my hair, please, Marisole.”

“Yes, miss. Will you wear braids again?”

The prim braids that should have protected her from a man like Lord Wivenly. “No, let it curl.”

“Très bien.”
Marisole clapped her hands. “I will fix the knot with the pearl combs. You shall be even more beautiful.”

Eugénie rose, and her maid handed her a towel.

A half-hour later, her hair had dried, Marisole allowed long tendrils to frame her mistress’s face, then twisted the rest of it into a knot high on her head. Eugénie donned a pair of earrings from her jewel box.

When Marisole was done, she stepped back. “His lordship will not be able to take his eyes off you. Oh,
pardon
. I forgot to wish you well on your betrothal. You will be very happy with such a handsome man.”

How was it the servants seemed to always know what was going on without being told? Eugénie hid her frown. No matter. Handsome is as handsome does, and thus far, Lord Wivenly had not shown himself to be very good-looking at all. Yet no one must know how much she regretted this match. She forced a smile on her face. “Thank you. I’m sure I will be.”

She went to Maman’s room and found her seated before her dressing table, her maid styling her hair. Perhaps Eugénie’s pending nuptials would make her mother happier. Giving silent thanks to the Creator her mother would attend the soirée, she smiled and entered the chamber. “Maman, will you be at the Whitecliffs’?”

Her mother took out a handkerchief and dabbed her eyes. “Mrs. Whitecliff has promised it will be a small gathering of our particular friends, and assured me it is perfectly proper for me to attend.”

“If she says it is then it must be. You know how correct Mrs. Whitecliff is on all matters.”

Maman met Eugénie’s gaze in the mirror. “You are lovely, Eugénie. I am glad to see you wearing that color. Papa would be pleased.”

Once more, tears filled her mother’s eyes. If only Papa hadn’t died. Eugénie would do anything to make her mother happy again and ensure her family was taken care of—even wed the devil.

She rushed forward and hugged Maman. “No no, you must not cry. This evening we will be gay.” Eugénie took her mother’s handkerchief, pressing it gently to the corner of one eye. “Promise me no more weeping. Papa would not have liked it.”

Maman gave a watery chuckle. “I give you my word to have fun this evening.”

Dropping a kiss on her mother’s cheek, Eugénie smiled. “That is all I can ask.”

She turned to leave.

“Wait a moment, my dear. Dorat, I want Eugénie to wear the long pearl necklace I’ve been saving for her. You know the one?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Eugénie watched in the mirror as her mother’s maid twisted the matched pearls twice around her neck and affixed a larger pearl pendant surrounded by diamonds to both strands. She was almost afraid to touch it. “Maman, when did you get this?”

“Papa brought it home for you to wear on your come out, but I think this occasion will do just as well.” Maman blinked rapidly. “If only he could see you.”

“Yes.” Tears threatened to flood Eugénie’s eyes as well. They had both turned into watering pots. “If only he could.”

She left her mother’s chamber, making her way to the wooden door set in the solid masonry wall bordering their property along the step street. She climbed up two steps, which put her at the gate to Cicely’s house, arriving a full hour before dinner, as requested. Though resigned, if not overjoyed, by her own betrothal, Eugénie was determined not to ruin her friend’s good mood. It wouldn’t be fair and wouldn’t make her situation any better. At least Maman was happy. That had to mean something. So little had gladdened her since Papa’s death.

Eugénie pasted a smile on her face, pushing aside the fine muslin covering the door to her friend’s parlor, then walked into the bedchamber.

Cicely stood as her maid laced up a turquoise gown the exact color of her eyes. Eugénie caught her friend’s gaze in the mirror. Her friend had never looked happier. “You are beautiful. I can see how well your betrothal suits you.”

“It does. Andrew—that is Mr. Grayson’s first name—is everything I thought he would be when I first saw him. We both agree fate brought us together.” She held out her hand to Eugénie. “But you are lovely as well. That coral is your very best color. I remember when we picked it out.”

Eugénie’s smile faltered. She could no longer keep up the happy façade. “This was Papa’s favorite shade on me.”

Cicely nodded to her maid, and the woman left. “You miss him very much.”

“Yes. I can’t help but think that if he were here, none of my family’s problems would have occurred.” Then again, her friend would not have met Mr. Grayson. Papa always said good frequently comes out of bad; still, she’d rather have her father. Eugénie’s throat tightened. She would not weep any longer over her problem with Lord Wivenly. He wasn’t worth it. She was determined this evening would be a happy occasion for at least Cicely and her Mr. Grayson. “I’m delighted for you.”

Cicely placed her arm around Eugénie’s shoulders and led her to a small sofa. “I heard from Andrew, that you and Lord Wivenly shall wed as well.”

Eugénie didn’t want to discuss his lordship, yet there was no way out of it. She and Cicely had been friends for far too long for one to fool the other. “Yes, but ours is not a love match.” If only Eugénie could bring herself to tell her friend what happened earlier; yet some things were not meant to be shared. “We will have a marriage of convenience, nothing more.”

“Are you sure?” Cicely’s brows knit. “I remember what you told me about the kiss, and now that I’ve experienced the same thing”—she worried her bottom lip—“are you not even a little in love with him?”

Eugénie had been so angry and hurt, she hadn’t even thought about what feelings she might have for Wivenly. Still, what difference would it make? “It doesn’t matter. He thinks with his man parts and only wants me in his bed.”

Cicely gasped. “He never said that to you, did he?”

“No, but that is what he had planned all along.” A spark of fury came over her. “He thought I was a widow.”

Cicely stared at Eugénie with wide-eyed shock. “You may have to marry him, but you do not have to put up with such boorish behavior. It’s time you make him work for your affection.”

Staring at a pretty painting of an island hanging on the wall, her stomach clenched as she contemplated her life. “It will not work. He does not at all care about me.”

Several moments later, Cicely said firmly, “I don’t agree with you.”

“
Vraiment
. Wivenly thinks of nothing but . . .”

“Of course he thinks of that, all men do.” She pulled a face. “What I mean is, that is not
all
. When I think back to that first night, he was attracted to you like a moth to a flame.” Nodding her head in a decisive manner, she continued. “I think he may love you as well, but doesn’t know it, or doesn’t want to admit it.”

Eugénie shook her head so hard her hair loosened. “I do not love him. How could I, after the way he’s treated me?” But . . . could her friend be right? Each time Eugénie and Wivenly came together, it was as if lightning struck them. A small kernel of hope bloomed in Eugénie’s heart and the cannon ball in her stomach shrunk a bit. “Besides, how would I know?”

“I agree he has not given you much reason to. Yet somehow I still believe there is a chance for the two of you.” A dreamy look appeared on Cicely’s countenance. “I shall ask Andrew. He will be able to advise us.”

Oh,
non
,
non
,
non
. Eugénie’s eyes widened in spite of herself. “You cannot. Mr. Grayson is Wivenly’s friend!”

“True, but Andrew is not particularly pleased with Lord Wivenly right now.” Cicely rose, went to her desk, took out a piece of paper, wrote a note, sealed it, then rang for her maid. A moment later the door opened. “Please have Josh take this to Mr. Grayson and wait for an answer.”

The woman shook her head as she took the missive. “That poor young man. The way you’ve had him running back and forth all over town, Cook’s going to have to feed Josh extra portions at dinner.”

Cicely’s cheeks turned a pretty shade of pink, and Eugénie grinned. “How many messages have you sent?”

“Well, it doesn’t seem like that many, but”—her friend’s face grew redder—“we’ve been having a conversation.” The tightness in Eugénie’s stomach went away as mirth poured forth inside her, and she laughed for the first time in what seemed like days. “If your written conversations are anything at all the same as your regular ones, you’d better have Josh fed triple portions.”

Cicely’s eyes sparkled. “
That
is the expression you need to show Lord Wivenly this evening.”

Eugénie caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Her eyes shone and her countenance was nicely flushed. This was exactly the face she should have on when her betrothed arrived. She prayed her friend was right and Wivenly really was in love with her. Still, after all he’d done to her, he would need to court her properly. He must behave toward her with respect and conduct himself as a gentleman should when he cares for a lady. The same as Papa treated Maman.

Other women might run to him when he snapped his fingers; Eugénie would not.

A knock sounded on the parlor door of their hotel chambers, and the Whitecliffs’ footman, Josh, entered with yet another missive in his hand. Will couldn’t imagine running a servant back and forth with messages as Andrew and Miss Whitecliff had done for most of the day. What was so important it would not wait another quarter hour?

Andrew read the note and grinned before scribbling an answer. That infernal smiling had been going on all day as well. At least one of them had something to be happy about.

Will frowned. He hadn’t sent a reply to Eugénie’s letter. What he had to tell her would be better said in person, and he wasn’t looking forward to his conversation with his betrothed. Nevertheless, he had to make clear to her how their marriage would work. He had no intention of being ruled by a slip of a woman. Neither his father nor any of his recently married friends could make a move without their wives’ permission. That would not happen to him. “What can we expect this evening?”

The breeze had died and the air was thick with humidity. So much for his collar and cravat.

“From what I understand, it will be something along the lines of a soirée.”

No dancing, that was good. The pain in his testicles had dimmed to a dull ache, but he didn’t want to engage in a lot of movement. Thank God Eugénie had been hampered by her skirts and her diminutive size, and at least she hadn’t had another weapon.

A piece of advice Marcus had given Will before he left England nagged at him. Ah yes. His friend had said that women in this part of the world were proficient with knives. A trickle of sweat ran down his back. Surely Eugénie didn’t know how to use a dagger. Despite her French accent and temper, she’d been raised as a well-bred Englishwoman. Yet so had Lady Marsh, and according to her husband, she was more than proficient. Perhaps some rethinking of how to approach Eugénie might be in order, or he’d never sleep well again.

“If you’re done grimacing to yourself,” Andrew said, “we should be going.”

Will stood slowly, taking inventory of his parts. All good. “I’m ready.”

They departed the hotel, then climbed back up the Ninety-Nine Steps. Though why it was called that when there were one hundred and three of them, Will didn’t know. They’d soon wear a path so deep the bricks would need replacing.

He hated hills. Why was it that all his tutors thought hiking up and down mountains was the only way to exercise a boy? A good ride would have done just as well and have been far less painful. When he thought of all the boots he’d worn out, his father had probably paid the local cobbler enough to retire early in style.

It didn’t matter how lovely they looked at a distance, or the grandness of the view, he’d be happy if he never saw one again. Once his family had moved down from the Lake District to Watford, he promised himself he’d never climb another hill. Now here he was on an island with nothing but mountainous terrain.

Once Will was married and returned to England, his father would expect him to take up residence at the heir’s estate outside of Keswick, in Cumberland, in a house surrounded by hills. That had been another reason to put off marrying for as long as possible. If ever a man required a brandy, it was him, now.

When they reached the top of the steps, Andrew turned in the opposite direction from Wivenly House. It was then Will realized that Whitecliff House was separated only by the stair street from where his betrothed lived. Andrew and Will were admitted to an elegant salon with windows open to the sea breeze. As Will surveyed the room, he almost didn’t recognize the elegant young lady whose glossy chestnut curls shone beneath the glow of the candles as his affianced wife.

Her lips tilted enchantingly as she gazed up at a giant of a man who appeared several years older than Will and had the squarest jaw he’d ever seen.