To Love a Wicked Lord (13 page)

T
he first thing Lady Carstairs did when she arrived at her hotel in Paris was to denigrate the place.

“I'm used to so much better than this,” she said in a loud voice as her granddaughter winced, because the hotel manager seemed to understand English.

But she and her maid, her granddaughter's maid, two footmen and hirelings from the dock waited with their cases at hand for Lady Carstairs decision as to whether to stay or not. Pippa had hoped for better too, especially since the inns they had stopped in on the way from Dieppe had been decidedly inferior. She'd slept on top of her clothes to avoid coming in contact with grimy much-used sheets and pillows. And now, this hotel seemed little better than some of the noisome places they'd stopped at.

“There is no better accommodation to be found,” Maxwell, who had accompanied them from the dock, said, as though reading her mind. “Paris is filled to the rooftops now that there is peace. And this place is clean and in a decent neighborhood.”

The lady finally accepted the facts. She bid farewell to Maxwell, called to Pippa, sent her hirelings up with her bags, and went to her rooms.

The first thing she did when she got there and the extra servants had left was to change her entire attitude. She flung the latticed shutters in her chamber wide open, leaned out, breathed deeply, and smiled. Pippa was puzzled. The view from the room was not inspiring.

But her grandmother had her eyes shut in what looked like a kind of ecstasy. Her bountiful bosom grew even bigger as she stuck her curly blond head out the window and took another theatrically deep breath.

“Ah, la belle France,” she said. “I remember it well. Come child, Paris in the springtime is something no romantic young filly should miss out on. Come breathe it in!”

Pippa went to her grandmother's side. The houses in this district were so packed together that the view from their window was of rooftops, chimneys, pigeons, and church steeples.

“Come,” her grandmother insisted, “breathe it in. Fill your lungs. Paris in the spring! What a bouquet. Horse chestnuts in flower, roses, violets, lilacs, jasmine—all in bloom.”

Pippa leaned out the window and took in a deep breath. Her eyes widened, her nose wrinkled, she sprang back, reached into a pocket for a handkerchief and covered her nose with it. “It actually hurts! All I smell is cat urine and smoke, stale wine, horse droppings, and…more urine,” she said from behind the handkerchief. “This can't be what you remember. Perhaps later when we go for a walk we can go to a park and I'll know what you mean.”

Her grandmother scowled. “Nonsense! Where's your nose? Stuck up so high in the air it doesn't work anymore? Where are your dreams of romance? I don't understand. Those are curious words coming from a girl who climbs a certain gentleman as though she was a draggletail slut trying to pay the rent every time my back is turned.”

“Grandmother!” Pippa said, shocked. “Your language!”

“We weren't mealy-mouthed prisses when I was young,” her grandmother said with a sniff.

“And besides,” Pippa went on in agitation, “it isn't true. Those encounters weren't clandestine. I
didn't seek him out, either. They may have got out of hand, but not for long. They were just a…” she faltered and went on, ”a few accidental meetings with one gentleman.”

“Whilst you are affianced to another!” her grandmother retorted triumphantly.

Pippa lowered her eyelashes.

“Nice goings-on however you say it, eh?” Lady Carstairs said. “I knew this journey might be difficult, but I never guessed what hot tail feathers you had until this trip, my girl. Is that why Noel beat a retreat?”

“GRANDMOTHER!” Pippa gasped.

“No more of this,” her grandmother said, turning from the window. “Have your maid unpack for you, and be sure to dress nicely for dinner. There are dozens of my friends and acquaintances here in Paris and we may run into some of them. At any rate, even if we don't, I've sent word to all my old cronies and they'll surely come to visit, even this soon. They were always up for jollity. And everyone's in Paris now! What good times we had! Tomorrow, we'll go and look some of them up, no doubt in much nicer surroundings. In the meanwhile, rest so you can be bright as sunshine at dinner. I want to show you off.”

The lady dropped a kiss on Pippa's forehead,
as though she'd never uttered one harsh word. As Pippa left she could hear her grandmother humming a pretty dance tune. She appeared to be her old self. But that self was new to Pippa.

Pippa went to her own chamber next door. Her maid was busy in the tiny dressing room, arranging clothing and cases. Pippa sank to the tilted bed and thought deeply. She was tired and confused, and a bit frightened.

She felt alone and in danger. The facts were plain. She'd rushed into things without thinking again. She doubted she'd find Noel in Paris and, in truth, realized that he was no longer foremost in her mind. In fact, she no longer cared if he showed up or not. Noel and she, all the promises he'd made and the future they'd planned, were definitely over. Whatever happened, this was so. She'd known it before ever setting foot on the packet to France.

But she couldn't have let her grandmother go abroad alone. Now she was in a difficult situation and didn't know whom to turn to.

She was in a strange land with an unsteady companion and a dangerous gentleman who she needed a chaperone to meet with. Because in truth, Pippa thought as she curled up on the lumpy cot with a sad sigh, she wasn't sure she had the good
sense or sufficient self-control to chaperone herself any longer. She was weary and self-doubting. Pippa closed her eyes and welcomed sleep. A brief nap might clear her mind.

As she drifted off, between oblivion and wakefulness, she found herself wondering what she was worrying about, at least so far as the gentleman in question was concerned. Because she was four and twenty, and nominally engaged to be married to a man that the world knew had run from the altar rather than join her there. Even her grandmother doubted her honor. So what was she afraid of? Losing her reputation? Why? She had none. It was gone, if not when Noel had deserted her, then certainly now that she was fruitlessly pursuing him across the continent.

She thought about Lord Montrose. Maxwell. She shivered, although she didn't feel cold, not when she remembered his warmth, his scent, his voice. He was handsome and clever, and a true gentleman. It was also true that he threw out lures to her. She didn't have to take them. But she always did. She knew he'd never force her to anything. It was her own desires she feared.

Why? Was she afraid of losing her purity? Who would expect her to have any, after all?

That made her eyes open. It was true, though.
And also true that the stark truth of it made her feel a bit wicked. The fear she'd had before was being replaced by a giddy new sense of freedom. Who knew about her physical state, or her past with men? Who cared?

She closed her eyes again. It might have been a frightening thought at home. But here, warm and snug and safe from the world, lying in a new bed in a new land with no one to count on but no one to disappoint, it only bemused her.

Perhaps Paris in the spring did put a spell on visitors, she thought muzzily. And then she slept, with a tilted smile on her lips.

 

“No one is here!” Lady Carstairs trumpeted.

Some of the other diners in the hotel's crowded dining room looked up, and then back at their dinners.

“But grandmother,” Pippa whispered, “every table is taken.”

“No one who is anyone,” her grandmother explained. She pushed her empty soup bowl away. “I heard everyone was here. But where?”

“Most of your friends were in London,” Pippa said.

“Those feeble old creatures?” her grandmother said. “They're out of juice. I mean all the friends
I shared such jollity with last time I was in Paris, with your grandfather.”

“How long ago was that?” Pippa asked quietly.

Her grandmother scowled. “It doesn't matter,” she said abruptly. “I heard everyone was here, but here—they are not. Some are doubtless too old to travel, but not everyone is dead or decrepit. It's this bottom-of-the-barrel hotel. But never fear. Tomorrow we'll meet the crème de la crème. I've sent out notes. I'd hoped that tonight would be amusing, instead we're here with nothing to do. It's too bad you've put on such a lovely gown for no reason.”

Pippa looked down at her light green gown. It was lovely, with puffed sleeves and tiny yellow flowers along the hemline. She knew she looked well in it, and didn't think wearing it was a waste. It made her feel cheerier.

“Surely Paris still knows how to amuse visitors,” her grandmother said bitterly. “But where can two ladies safely go at any time, anywhere? To a dressmaker's, of course. But after that? Where's that Montrose when you really need him?”

“Aren't you in least tired?” Pippa asked curiously. Her nap had been brief, and she thought she could do with some hours of solid sleep before she took on a strange new city.

“Tired? At ten at the night in Paris? Where are your wits, child?”

“But I confess, I'm a bit weary,” Pippa said. “I don't think I'd be at my best, especially at some grand fete. We just arrived, Grandmother. I'm happy to rest before going out on the Town.”

“I suppose you've the right of it,” her grandmother said grudgingly. “We could use some beauty sleep.” She glanced up and broke out into smiles. “Aha! Perhaps we won't have to! There's Lord Montrose. He probably has fun in store for us.”

Pippa looked up, and her heart sank. She'd told her grandmother the truth. She was still a bit groggy from her brief nap and tired from traveling since sunup. But Maxwell was making his way through the dining parlor, weaving around tables toward them. He looked immaculate, well rested, and wore correct black-and-white evening wear. That meant he might have someplace to escort them to tonight.

“Ladies,” he said when he got to their table. He bowed. A waiter hurried with a chair for him, and he sat, facing Pippa and her grandmother. “Just some port,” Maxwell told the waiter, “I've already dined. Well, ladies, how are you?”

“Ready for merriment,” her grandmother chirped.

Pippa restrained herself from rolling her eyes.

“Not weary after your journey?” he asked.

“You're obviously not,” Lady Carstairs said. “Why should we be?”

“But I am,” he said after a brief glance at Pippa. “I've only dressed this way because I'm staying with an old friend, and he has guests tonight. I plan to make my way back to his house and my bed as soon as I'm done here. Unlike you stalwart ladies, I need some sleep. I only came to ask after your health and also to ask if you'd care to come to some soirees with me in the coming week.”

Pippa let out a relieved sigh. Her grandmother looked disgruntled. Maxwell smiled, took some cards from his waistcoat pocket, and shuffled through them.

“Let me see,” he said. “Not the Janeways, no indeed. They're English persons trying to slide into French society.
Bon chance
to them. Nor the musicale at Mademoiselle Pinchon's either. She's a dead bore and her company always tedious. Ah. But yes. Wait. Here it is. I thought you might want to visit at Madame Recamier's salon this Thursday afternoon. Yes, she still holds them. They are something to talk about, if nothing else. And Madame Du
champs is hosting a little soiree this Friday night. They're said to be amusing. And last but surely not least, Monsieur and Madame Fauchard are giving a ball this Saturday. They were supporters of Napoleon and now glory in the role of friends to the First Consul. It is even possible he may grace the company and show his face.

“Well?” he asked, looking up. “That's the best of the lot so far. Which do you prefer? Any? None? Or all?”

“All!” Lady Carstairs cried. “What fun. Now we shall see Paris. Anything on the agenda for tomorrow night?” she asked greedily.

“I'm afraid not,” Maxwell said. “Though I should be happy to take you to dinner at a very well recommended restaurant.”

“Then it will have to do,” she said ungraciously, “that is, if my friends don't get my notes and invite me somewhere first.”

Pippa squirmed in embarrassment but saw Maxwell incline his head as he hid a smile.

“But of course, you want to tour the city tomorrow to see how it has changed,” he said. “I can be here after breakfast.”

“I plan to sleep late. It is the custom,” Lady Carstairs said. “But Phillipa rises with the chickens. Doubtless, she'd like a drive 'round Paris.”

“I don't wish to trouble you,” Pippa told Maxwell.

Now his smile was wide and warm. “Impossible,” he said.

“We hired you to find Noel,” Pippa whispered. “You don't have to play escort. We should not impose so much.”

“And if I don't think of it as an imposition?”

“The fellow is a gent down to his toes,” Lady Carstairs declared. She covered her mouth as she yawned. “Demme if you're not right, Montrose. I am tired. Must have been all that sea air on the crossing.”

Pippa was too shocked at her grandmother's cursing to say a word.

Maxwell nodded sagely. “It takes its toll. Shall I escort you upstairs?”

“Not a bad idea,” Lady Carstairs said on another yawn. “You may stay, Phillipa. Finish your sorbet, it cost enough. I'll see you in the morning.”

The lady rose from her seat, signaled to her maid, and, with Maxwell at her side, made her way to the stair.

Pippa sat and watched them leave. She still had her maid watching from a corner of the room. The dining room was full. But she felt very alone.

When Maxwell came back to the table he glanced
at her and frowned. “What is it?” he asked as he took his seat. “Has anyone upset you?”