The Paris Affair Part 12

In the course of their affair, she had never heard such anger in his voice. Unease on Dorothee's behalf p.r.i.c.kled Cordelia's skin. She cast a glance round the room. "Paris is an odd place these days. Enemies turned to allies and back again. You're fortunate in your uncle."

"He has his uses." Edmond took her arm and steered her to a gold damask bench set in an alcove between two pillars, shaded by a potted palm. Edmond, as she recalled, had an unerring instinct for alcoves.

Cordelia unfurled her fan and stirred the air, heavy with perfumes and scented wax tapers. "I heard you talked about recently. In the British delegation."

Edmond's brows drew together. "Why?" These days, being talked about could be a dangerous thing.

"A man named Bertrand Laclos. I understand he was a friend of yours."

"Laclos?" Edmond said with seemingly genuine surprise. "Good G.o.d. That was years ago. Why mention him now?"

"I'm not sure precisely. Apparently no one's quite clear whom he was spying for."

Edmond gave a rough laugh. "Odd fellow, Laclos. Left his emigre family in England and returned to France in a burst of drama. He was quite a hero when he arrived in Paris. The aristocratic prodigal returned to the Bonapartist fold. My uncle suggested I might take him under my wing. Show him round Paris."

"He wanted you to keep an eye on him?"

"Nothing so specific. Oh, I suppose in a sense he wanted to make sure Laclos was genuine. I certainly never saw anything to suggest he wasn't. Which is d.a.m.ned ironic, considering after he died we found out he'd been working for the British. I suppose that's why they're asking questions about him now? His family's kicking up a fuss with the Restoration?"

Cordelia made a vague gesture with her fan that could have been a.s.sent or simply an attempt to stir the air. "I remember him a bit in England when I was a girl. Quite handsome, but so serious." She smiled, in a way meant to indicate that Edmond had been far more amusing than Bertrand Laclos. "I can't imagine what the two of you found to talk about."

Edmond stretched his arm along the back of the sofa, his gloved fingers brushing the bare skin above the puffed sleeve of her gown. "He wasn't the liveliest of fellows. A good judge of horseflesh, though. He helped me choose a splendid pair of chestnuts. And was quite good at cards, actually-excellent instincts. Mathematical sort of mind. But gaming didn't seem to interest him overmuch. And though he'd go along for a convivial evening in the Palais Royale, his-er-his heart didn't seem to be in it."

She tilted her head back. "Not the sort to enjoy an evening out at a brothel, was he?"

Edmond grinned. "d.a.m.n it, Cordy, I forget how delightfully plainspoken you are. Woman after my own heart. No, birds of paradise didn't seem much to Laclos's taste. Of course he had an exquisite mistress. I suppose she kept him occupied." Edmond's tone doubted the believability of one woman so keeping a man ensnared.

" 'Mistress'?" Cordelia asked, careful to keep the question idle.

"Louise de Carnot." Edmond's fingers stirred against her shoulder. "Believe me, many men have tried to follow in Laclos's footsteps, but I don't think any succeeded."

Cordelia frowned, trying to put a name to the face.

"Louise Sevigny now," Edmond said. "Married the painter Emile Sevigny after her husband died. Nearly was ostracized from court circles, but the Empress Marie Louise came to her defense."

Of course. An image of a red-haired woman with a sweet smile shot into Cordelia's memory. "How long were she and Laclos involved?"

"It began a month or so after he arrived in Paris and continued until he went off to the Peninsula. Afterwards by letter for all I know."

"Was Monsieur Carnot a complacent husband?"

Edmond gave a brief laugh. "Hardly. He was off with the army himself, which gave Louise a bit more license. Rather like you."

Cordelia controlled an inward wince. "But Carnot wouldn't have been as complacent as Harry if he'd found out?"

"Wagers were laid on whether or not he'd challenge Laclos to a duel when he got back to Paris. I more than half-thought I was going to have to act as a second. But as it happened, Laclos was sent off to the Peninsula before Carnot returned."

"Did Carnot learn of the affair?"

"Not that I know of."

"If he had you think he'd have exacted retribution?"

"Most definitely." Edmond took a sip of champagne. "Of course before long Laclos was dead."

"So he was." Cordelia touched his arm. "Thank you, Edmond."

He tossed down the last of his champagne, his gaze trained on her face. "A waltz for old times' sake?"

She shook her head. "I'm not the woman I was a year ago."

Edmond ran an appraising gaze over her. "Different with Davenport here to see?"

Cordelia got to her feet. "Different because I care what he thinks."

Suzanne resisted the impulse to follow Cordelia into the card room. She would only be in the way. Cordy could take care of herself. Suzanne moved down the pa.s.sage towards the ballroom to find herself face-to-face with Wilhelmine of Sagan.

"I'm sorry, Suzanne." Wilhelmine's voice and gaze held regret and sympathy with no overtones of jealousy.

"You needn't apologize, Willie. It's not your responsibility."

Wilhelmine grimaced. "Isn't it? Doesn't one in a certain way make oneself responsible for a man by taking him into one's bed? Dear G.o.d, listen to me. I used to claim I valued my freedom more than anything."

"Freedom can be lonely."

"And not as amusing as one gets older." Wilhelmine tugged at her Grecian scarf. "He can be so agreeable. But then he drinks too much and forgets himself."

"It's nothing I haven't experienced before. I was more concerned-"

"For me?" Wilhelmine shrugged. "I stopped expecting exclusivity a long time ago. He's amusing. And in a powerful position."

"I can understand the allure. For a few weeks. Or even a few months. But for anything more permanent-A wife cedes a great deal of power to her husband." A power she was fortunate Malcolm never tried to take.

"And gains a great deal of position." Wilhelmine glanced into the pier gla.s.s across the pa.s.sage and adjusted a ringlet beneath her emerald circlet, a Courland heirloom. "I can manage him."

"But will you be satisfied managing him?"

Wilhelmine smoothed the embroidered folds of the Grecian scarf over her arm. "I'm more than ten years older than you, Suzanne. It's different when one starts thinking about being old and alone."

Suzanne smiled at the glowing woman before her. Wilhelmine's complexion was nearly as fresh and unlined as Dorothee's. "You're not old."

"But I will be one day."

Suzanne was silent. Before she'd married Malcolm she hadn't thought about growing old. It hadn't seemed likely she'd survive that long.

Wilhelmine met her gaze. "It's not the life I wanted as a girl. But then I gave up expecting that life centuries ago. I have to make do with the options before me."

"Have you gone mad, Cordy?" Lady Caroline Lamb seized Cordelia's arm as Cordelia stepped into the ballroom.

Still conscious of the imprint of Edmond's fingers and the warmth of his breath, Cordelia met her friend's gaze. "I don't think so. Any more than I always have been."

"You were talking with Edmond Talleyrand. In an alcove."

"More an embrasure."

Caroline's eyes went wider than usual in her thin face. She'd looked like that in the nursery when her brother Fred insisted fairy tales were only made up stories. "I really believed you and Harry were happy. That things had changed."

For all her scandalous reputation, Caro was much more of a romantic than Cordelia was herself. Cordelia gripped her friend's hands. "We are. Truly."

"But you must realize what you're risking. Harry's trust. His faith in you. He may say he'll forgive you, but you'll never get that back. I know I never will with William." Caroline cast a quick glance across the ballroom to where her husband, William, stood with Granville Leveson-Gower. "You have no idea what it's like to look in your husband's eyes and know he'll never look at you in the same way."

"Harry never will look at me the way he did when we married. Which is perhaps a good thing-he didn't understand me in the least."

"Don't joke, Cordy."

"I'm not." In truth, she couldn't help but feel a pang for the young, intense love she had failed to appreciate and would never know again. "But Harry knows I was talking to Edmond. I was-"

Caroline's gaze skimmed over her face. "You're helping the Rannochs again, aren't you?"

"Caro-"

Caroline stepped back. "Never mind, I know you can't tell me about it. But do be careful, Cordy. You're still playing with fire."

Cordelia managed a smile. "When have I not?"

Caroline's gaze remained grave and uncharacteristically mature. "Then you should know the consequences."

Mouth unexpectedly dry, Cordelia squeezed her friend's hands and moved off in search of Suzanne, whom she found on the edge of the dance floor. Suzanne scanned her face but waited for her to speak.

"Confronting old ghosts isn't necessarily a bad thing," Cordelia said. "Though I fear I've stirred up some tiresome gossip."

"Harry's strong enough to handle gossip."

Cordelia nodded. "I think Harry will be all right. As he said himself, we were going to have to deal with this at some point. I just didn't-" She shook her head, regret twisting in her chest.

"What?" Suzanne asked.

Cordelia twisted her diamond bracelet round her wrist. "I didn't much care to be reminded of who I used to be."

Suzanne touched her arm. "We all have sides of ourselves we don't like to be reminded of. Believe me."

For a moment, Suzanne's eyes were dark with self-loathing. Cordelia touched her friend's arm. "Suzette-"

"After what you and Harry have been through, Cordy, I rather think you can survive anything." Suzanne's eyes were bright, the polished armor in place again. For the first time, Cordelia realized just how much her friend's demeanor was armor. As close as they had become, there was a great deal about Suzanne that Cordelia didn't know. She swallowed and told Suzanne what Edmond had revealed about Bertrand Laclos and his relationship with Louise de Carnot.

Suzanne smiled. "You have the makings of a capital agent, Cordy. Thank you."

"Does it help?"

"Anything connected with Bertrand Laclos helps."

"Good." Cordelia felt the knot of tension ease within her. "It's amazing how gratifying it is to feel one's done something useful. Since Waterloo, I've been oddly discontented with my usual round of idle frivolity."

Suzanne smiled. "I can't quite imagine you as idle or frivolous, Cordy. Do you think-"

"Cordy!"

The voice rang out across the ballroom, through the blur of conversation and clink of gla.s.ses and strains of the waltz. Cordelia's body tensed in response even before her mind registered whom the voice belonged to. d.a.m.nation. There was no escaping the past.

CHAPTER 9.

Cordelia turned to see him ducking between a British hussar and two plumed ladies with his characteristic loose-limbed gait. His coffee brown hair still fell over his forehead with a disorder, which she'd never been able to decide was the result of natural carelessness or careful time at the mirror. His coat, midnight blue rather than black, was exquisitely cut but a bit rumpled, his neckcloth slightly askew, a diamond glinting in the linen.

"Monsieur Laclos." Cordelia drew the tattered remnants of her self-respect round her and extended a white-gloved hand.

"Such formality." Gui Laclos bowed over her hand with a grin that even now she could not deny was engaging.

"Do you know Mrs. Rannoch?" Cordelia asked, withdrawing her hand from his clasp even as his fingers tightened over her own. "Monsieur Guilaume de Laclos, Suzanne."

Gui turned the full force of his smile on Suzanne as he swept her a bow. "We haven't been formally introduced, but I could hardly fail to be aware of the beautiful Mrs. Rannoch."

Suzanne extended her hand. "You're Lady Caruthers's brother."

"Guilty as charged." Gui lifted her hand to his lips. "You know Gaby?"

"I took coffee with her just this afternoon as it happens."

"Gaby loves French cafes. She's far more Parisian than I am, though she left Paris when she was scarcely more than a baby, while I grew up here. Or rather in Provence."

"Your sister said you weren't able to flee Paris with the rest of the family." Suzanne's gaze was warm with sympathy. Cordelia knew it was one of her friend's best techniques for drawing out someone she was questioning. Which didn't mean the sympathy wasn't genuine. "It must have been terribly difficult."

"They all thought I'd died with our parents when a mob stormed our house in Provence. Gaby was with our uncle and aunt in Paris." Raw grief flickered through Gui's eyes. Those were the moments that had caught Cordelia, had made him more to her than a fleeting fancy. "Our nurse hid me before she was killed. There was no way to get me to our uncle and aunt in Paris. One of the grooms smuggled me to her cousins, who were farmers in Provence. I lived as one of their children until I was fifteen." He shook his head, drawing the familiar insouciance over the darkness in his eyes. "Sorry. Didn't mean to go on so."

"It's all right," Suzanne said. "My own family fled France during the Terror, though like your sister I was too young to remember much. I was fortunate to grow up in Spain in relative peace."

Gui gave a twisted smile. "It wasn't so bad. To own the truth, much of the time I more than half-forgot I'd ever been anything but the third son of a Provencal farmer. I scrambled round the countryside with my adopted brothers and sisters. Bit of a shock when a man came knocking at our door one night and said he could get me to my family in London." He grimaced. "I thought I was with my family. That was my first meeting with Lord Dewhurst."

"Lord Dewhurst?" Suzanne said. "I didn't realize he was the one who brought you to England."

"He and my uncle were friends from their university days in Paris. You wouldn't think it to look at him now, but apparently he lived quite the life of daring a decade ago, slipping over to France to work with the Royalists. He tracked down my nurse to see that she was all right and learned from her that I'd survived." He shook his head. "Were it not for Dewhurst I might still be in Provence."

"London must have been quite a shock."