"That still does not address the impropriety' of taking my innocent daughter to a gathering of licentious revelry!" Marguerite returned Solange's goblet to her, then set her hands on her hips.
"She is numb with grief and has been for two years. Do you imagine jaunts to museums will wake her?" Solange held up a jewel-encrusted hand to halt any further protest. "Why don't you ask her if she would like to attend?"
"Ridiculous!"
"Is it? If she says no, then nothing is lost. If she says yes, does that not imply that some of the Lynette of old still dwells in her? Would that not be worth one night of impropriety?"
Marguerite shook her head.
"Sleep on it," Solange suggested. "You may feel differently when rested."
"Saner, perhaps."
"Sanity, as defined by Society, is overrated, non?"
For a moment, Marguerite contemplated arguing further, then she turned about and poured herself a drink instead.
Chapter 5
"Mr. Quinn."
A cool, tentative hand touched Simon's shoulder. Years of living under duress had made his valet's stealthy approach into the bedchamber impossible to overlook, but exhaustion kept Simon prone on the bed and unmoving.
He opened one eye and met the frown-capped gaze of the servant. The man was blushing. Most likely because of the woman lying beside Simon. With his head turned away, Simon could not be certain, but he would not be surprised if the lovely brunette was baring more of her lush body in slumber than she ever would while awake.
"You have a caller, Mr. Quinn."
"What time is it?"
"Seven."
"Bloody hell." He closed his eye, but he was fully aware now. He was not a man people visited to discuss inanities. "Unless they are ablaze or otherwise mortally wounded, tell whoever it is to return at a decent hour."
"I attempted to. He responded by moving a large quantity of trunks into one of the guest bedrooms."
Simon's eyelids lifted, as did his head. "Beg your pardon?"
"The Earl of Eddington has taken up residence here. He claims you would have it no other way."
"Eddington? What in hell is he doing in Paris?"
Careful not to wake his companion, Simon extricated himself from the mass of tangled bedclothes. He sat on the edge of the mattress, and waited for the spinning room to settle. A night of hard drinking and harder sex had left him with only an hour or two of sleep.
The valet shook his head, his gaze darting over Simon's shoulder.
Twisting at the waist, Simon glanced at his companion and found her sprawled lewdly in the very position she had been in when he last dismounted from her-legs spread wide with her fingers curled into the linens.
Apparently, he was not the only one exhausted.
He stood and caught up the counterpane, which had slipped off the end of the bed to puddle atop the carved wooden chest at the foot.
"I need a bath," he said as he covered the woman.
"I will see to it." The valet bowed and asked, "What should I tell his lordship?"
Simon straightened. "Tell him it's damned early and my mood suits my lack of sleep. He has been forewarned."
The servant choked and scurried from the room.
An hour later, bathed and dressed in a sapphire silk robe, Simon left his suite of rooms and descended the staircase to the foyer.
The early morning light streamed in through the decorative window above the front door, glimmering through the crystal chandelier to cast rainbow light upon the parquet floor. His hair was damp and his bare feet chilled despite the Aubusson runner that lined the stairs. The minor discomfiture kept him alert, which was the intent. Eddington was not a friend. There was no reason for the earl to decide to visit unannounced and uninvited so soon after Simon had left his employ.
Leastwise, no welcome reason.
Simon heard the sound of silverware making contact with china at the same moment a footman bowed to him and gestured toward the dining room.
"My lord," Simon greeted as he entered.
The earl looked at him and smiled. "Good morning, Quinn."
"Is it?" Simon moved to the walnut buffet, where covered salvers kept food warm. He briefly wondered what the cook had thought of the menu request. He could not remember the last time he had enjoyed morning fare, as he usually began with the midday meal. "I am not often awake at this time, so I've no notion of what constitutes a 'good' morning or not."
Eddington smiled and resumed eating, supremely casual and confident as if he owned the house he dined in. Like most members of the peerage, he assumed his surroundings were his to control.
"Personally," the earl drawled, "if I find myself waking with an attractive woman beside me, I consider it a fine morning indeed."
Simon laughed and settled into a chair without a plate of food. The aromatic smells of eggs and kippers made his stomach revolt. He gestured for tea instead. "Why are you here?"
"May I eat first? The food on the ship left much to be desired."
Contemplating why the earl would come here of all places, Simon's gaze moved along the cloth-covered length of the table, then around the room. He frowned as he noted the minuscule floral pattern in the golden damask that covered the walls. He had never noted the flowers before and wasn't certain he liked them. "Can you not eat and speak at the same time?"
"Not while maintaining my dignity," the earl retorted.
Simon's examining perusal returned to his guest. The earl was a figure of some notoriety in England, lauded for his dark handsomeness and exquisite garments. Women flocked to him and he cultivated his libidinous reputation with relish. The nearly foppish facade was brilliantly affected to deflect suspicion. It was difficult to believe that a man so concerned with his appearance would have any time remaining to head an elite organization of English spies.
"I may return to bed, then," Simon said with more than a trace of irritation in his tone. He had no need to await anyone's regard.
"Very well." Eddington sighed and set his utensils down. "Privacy is in order."
Simon nodded to the servant who had poured his tea, then waved the man away. The two footmen by the entrance also retreated, closing the door behind them.
"Since you left Jacques and Cartland in my care," the earl began, "we've had the opportunity to question them at length. Both men have been extremely forthcoming, and Jacques, in particular, has a great deal of valuable information to share."
"How fortunate for you," Simon said dryly.
"Yes, but it also raises a great deal of questions. Mademoiselle Rousseau was traded for a dozen men. In addition to that expense, Jacques and Cartland were forfeited. We need to know why she is so important to the Illumines."
Lysette.
Simon arched a brow. The woman would forever be in trouble of some sort or another. "You need to know," he corrected. "I do not care."
"You will care," the earl said, "once you understand the stakes involved."
"I highly doubt that. Regardless, it would be wiser for you to stay with someone else. Someone who has no known history of aiding the British Crown."
"But you may require my assistance." Eddington reclined insolently into the high-backed chair.
"With what?" Simon's hands wrapped tightly around the curved arms of his seat. "The only activity I am presently engaged in is carnal pursuit. I assure you, I can manage that task well enough on my own."
Eddington ignored the jibe. "You spent some time with Mademoiselle Rousseau, did you not?"
"Too much time."
"You tired of her?"
"We were never lovers, if that is your hope."
"By all accounts, she is quite lovely."
"Beautiful," Simon agreed, "and a bit touched. I like my bedsport wild, but sane."
"Interesting." Blue eyes narrowed. "Perhaps you could overlook her brain in favor of her body?"