"Perhaps you can fuck her yourself," Simon bit out. "Do not forget, my lord. I no longer work for you."
The earl smiled. "I have not forgotten."
"Good." With his mood souring by the moment, Simon pushed back from the table and stood. Putting distance between him and Eddington was suddenly of primary importance. There were very few things as dangerous as a politically minded, ambitious man. "Enjoy the house. I believe I will quit France in favor of Spain."
"You would be paid handsomely," Eddington offered.
"You do not understand." Simon set both hands palms-down atop the table. "Lysette is no fool. She knows I disdain her. If I approach her for sex, she would see straightaway that I had ulterior motives. There is no chance she would trust me."
"She might, if you tell her that you have been betrayed by those you once worked for. Tell her that your accounts have been seized, and you thirst for revenge and restitution."
Simon snorted. "Why in hell would she believe such a tale?"
"Because it's true?"
Shock held Simon frozen for the length of several heartbeats, then he growled, "Surely you would not be so imprudent."
"Desperate times lead to desperate measures." The earl maintained his leisurely pose, but Simon felt the tension in him. He knew he'd provoked a dangerous enmity. "England is beset on all sides. I would do anything to protect her."
"Spare me. This has nothing to do with the good of England and everything to do with your own lofty aspirations."
"If my aspirations are achieved by assisting my country, what harm is there in that?"
Simon's fist slammed into the table, rattling everything that rested upon it. Eddington flinched.
"What harm is there?" Simon barked. "You force me to risk my life when your own would do as well? You are comely enough. Why not manage the deed yourself?"
"I am at a disadvantage from the start. Since I lack even an introduction to Mademoiselle Rousseau, I have months of acclimation ahead of me. The same difficulty faces every other alternate I considered. I am left with no choice but you."
"Just as I have no choice?" Simon snapped. "You drag me into your mire with a smile."
Eddington attempted a more serious mien, but it was too late. Simon was infuriated as he had never been before. The whole of his life he had made every move by necessity, never having an option if he wanted to survive. The thought of finally achieving independence had been dear to him. Never looking over his shoulder, never fearing he would be discovered with something to hide.
… to be thrust back into that life against his will…
He realized he'd never had any power at all.
He should have followed Mitchell's example-gathered his coin, changed his name, and traveled to a distant land.
Although he collected his error too late, Simon was a man who lived by his wits. He never made the same mistake twice. Eddington had him on a leash now, but he would not always. When all was said and done, Simon intended to ensure that he was never under anyone's thumb again.
And Eddington would rue the day he set this plan in motion.
Pulling out his chair again, Simon sat. "Tell me everything you know."
Lynette turned back and forth before the mirror with wide eyes.
"I am not certain I possess the aplomb to carry this garment," she said, her gaze meeting Solange's reflected perusal.
"Absurde. You are a vision." Solange stood at her back, fluffing out the many layers of lace and shimmering blue-green silk. "You remind me of your mother when we first met."
It seemed not long ago that Lynette had enjoyed nothing so much as shopping (except, perhaps, flirting). Her modiste expenditures had been exorbitant, a fact her father often scolded her about. It could not be avoided, she used to say, pointing out how the richer colors and fabrics she favored were costlier than the pastels Lysette preferred.
The gown she presently wore would once have been a delight. The glorious color, accented with layers of gold lace and satin, was alluringly cut to accent her slender waist and full bosom. As she moved from side to side, the veriest hint of rosy areola peeked above the dangerously low bodice. It was the garb of a seductress, a role she had once prided herself on aspiring to.
Now she felt her cheeks flushing and her hands tugged at the material trying to pull it into a less revealing position. She could not help but hear Lysette's admonishment that the brain was as much a sexual organ as the breasts and hips.
"You are more than beauty, Lynette," her sister would say.
"You are the brilliant one," Lynette would retort without heat. She loved her sister too much to compete with her. It was simply the way things were. Lysette was a creature of calculated reason; Lynette was more tactile and emotional.
At least she had been. She was not that girl any longer.
Since Lysette's passing, Lynette had taken to reading the many books her sister had left behind, finding comfort in the feeling of closeness the activity engendered. She also found comfort in the changes wrought by her new awareness of mortality. There had been so much remaining for Lysette to accomplish. Lynette-too long aimless and frivolous-realized that life was finite and she wished hers to be filled with more than mere flirtations and parties.
"You met Maman while visiting a modiste, did you not?" Lynette asked, gesturing for her mother's maid, Celie, to approach and undress her.
"Twirling before a mirror, just as you are doing now," Solange agreed, moving to her open armoire in search of another gown. "Of course, the attire she was fitted for that afternoon was not suitable for more than a lover's eyes."
For a moment, Lynette considered asking more questions, then she shuddered and thought better of it. She did not want to think of her mother and father in carnal congress.
"How about this?" Solange asked, shaking out a pure white gown. It was lovely, if demure, with elbow-length sleeves and cream satin bows. "I commissioned this gown as a jest."
"A jest?"
"A paramour once protested the cost of my gowns, saying that he preferred me naked, therefore why should he pay to dress me?" Solange handed the gown to Celie. "I wore this to prove that garments can have various effects, depending on the wearer and the occasion."
Lynette studied the dress as she donned it, admiring the costly pearl accents. " 'Tis beautiful."
"I think so, too. Although I wore it only the one time." Solange stepped closer and set her hands on Lynette's shoulders. "You look a vision in white. Many women with your hair would be unable to forgo color; they would look pallid. Your skin, however, has a lovely rosy hue."
"Thank you."
Lynette thought it was just the sort of gown her sister would have worn. This impression was confirmed when a loud gasp from the doorway announced Marguerite's arrival.
Turning, Lynette faced her mother, wincing when she noted how pale she was. Still, the vicomtess managed a shaky smile. "You look lovely, Lynette."
"I look like Lysette."
"Oui. That, too." Marguerite approached in an elegant cloud of swaying blue satin and examined her daughter from head to toe. "Does this gown please you?"
"Of course, Maman. I would not choose it otherwise."
"As long as you are happy," Marguerite said. Then she gave a shaky laugh. "I am slowly adjusting to this new woman you have become."
"She is not completely changed," Solange pointed out gently. "She is quite eager to attend the baroness's ball."
Lynette nodded and smiled wide, hoping to relieve her mother's melancholy. "I would not miss it for anything. I have heard tales of such events, but never thought to attend one."
"Mon Dieu." Marguerite winced. "De Grenier will think I've gone mad if he hears of this."
"He won't," Lynette assured her, walking to Solange's bed, where a proliferation of masks were laid out. The array of colors, ribbons, and feathers was impressive. Her gaze raked over the lot and settled upon a half-mask of crimson silk. Scooping it up, she held it aloft. "My face will be covered with this."