Simon drew back his fist and swung.
"I deeply regret returning to Paris. This place has only ever brought me misery."
Lynette flinched at the pain in her mother's voice and moved to sit beside her on the edge of a pink velvet chaise.
Late morning sunlight spilled in through the sheer-covered windows and bathed the upper parlor in soft, welcoming light. Despite having dreamt of Simon in ways that made her blush upon rising, Lynette had slept well. Refreshed and determined, she had approached her mother to share some of what she had learned yesterday and to ask her the questions that had waited too long for answers.
"Maman…"
"I told you to stay away from him!" Marguerite cried, her shoulders shaking. "Why could you not obey me?"
"Because I have to know who this woman is!"
"Lysette is dead!" Her mother pushed to her feet, her robe and night rail swirling around her feet. "I saw her with my own eyes."
"You said her f-face was… too badly burned."
"I saw her hair. Her dress. Her s-shoes-"
Covering her mouth to stifle a sob, Marguerite turned away.
"You may have made peace with her passing," Lynette said flatly, her gaze turning to Solange for a moment, then dropping to the floor when tears threatened. "But I have not. I feel as if a part of me is missing."
"This man is taking advantage of your grief!" Marguerite's hands fisted at her sides.
"To what aim?"
"You are wealthy and beautiful. Marriage to you would be any man's aim."
"He is an English spy!" she argued. "What would he gain from wedding a French woman connected to a family who resides in Poland?"
"Perhaps he wishes to enjoy the rest of his days in comfort."
Lynette snorted.
"There are things you do not know, Lynette."
"Yes, Maman. I never forget that. I am reminded every day, when something else is said that everyone else seems to understand except me."
"Events of the past should remain in the past."
"That is ridiculous. I am not a child."
Marguerite pointed an accusing finger. "What is ridiculous is that I have allowed myself to be browbeaten into behavior I knew was ill conceived and it has led to this end. You have taken advantage of my grief. I missed your smiles and the brightness of your eyes. It affected my judgment and you exploited that."
"The brightness is back," Solange interjected in a murmur.
"Courtesy of a charlatan!"
"He is not a charlatan," Lynette defended in as calm a tone as she could manage.
"Reconsider the facts," Marguerite snapped. "This man- one of little consequence, whose presence in France has been compromised-eyes a lovely and obviously wealthy woman at a licentious gathering. He approaches her, removes her mask, kisses her… I know he kissed you, Lynette. Do not lie to me!"
Lynette flushed and swallowed her intended rebuttal.
"He whispers her name," her mother continued, "and the girl-naively lost in her first seduction-hears what she wants to hear. 'Lynette' becomes 'Lysette.' Later, a well-acted and dashing rescue fuels her misguided infatuation and she follows him. She tells him just enough information for him to effect a brilliant scheme to win her trust and the opportunity to bed her and access her funds."
"Mon Dieu." Lynette muttered, crossing her arms. "That is a fantastical tale."
Marguerite laughed without humor. "As fantastical as the story of a woman who might be your dead sister? A woman you cannot see with your own eyes because she is an assassin? Of all things, Lynette. An assassin?"
Said in that light, the whole story did sound remarkably improbable. But then, her mother had never spoken at length with Simon Quinn.
"You do not understand," she said. "If you would only meet him."
"Never," Marguerite spat. "I am done with this excursion into madness. As are you. I forbid you to see him again. If you disobey me, you will deeply regret doing so. I promise you that."
Lynette leaped to her feet, her palms dampening. "Give him time-"
"For what?" Her mother began to pace, occasionally glaring at Solange, who sat meekly at a small table sipping tea. "For him to continue raising doubts in you about your family? Creating a rift between you and those who love you so that only he remains for you to lean upon? Or perhaps we should wait until you are fat with his bastard child, so there can be no doubt that you are ruined?"
"You insult me without cause," Lynette said, hiding her rising panic behind cool dignity. "He asked me to stay away from him. He told me to leave him be, to put as much distance as possible between us."
"A clever tactic to win your trust. Do you not see?" her mother asked, holding both hands out to her. "By making you pursue the connection rather than the reverse, he creates the appearance of innocence."
Marguerite moved to Solange. "Help me," she begged.
Solange sighed and set down her cup. "There are men such as your maman describes, cherie."
"But you do not think Simon Quinn is one of them," she countered.
"Frankly, I do not know. I have never formally met the man."
"Regardless," Marguerite said, her shoulders squaring. "Your father is due to arrive in a few days and I will turn this matter over to him. In the interim, you will not leave this house for any reason."
"Perhaps he will listen to reason!"
Her mother's blue eyes took on a steely cast. "Perhaps he will wed you to a stern man who will manage your waywardness properly."
"Maman!" Lynette's heart stopped, then raced madly. Her grand-mere had done the same to her mother. While her parents were cordial, there was no passion between them. No fire. Theirs was a cold marriage and Lynette violently eschewed such a fate for herself. "You could have threatened anything but that," she said bitterly, "and I might have heeded you."
Marguerite stiffened and her arms crossed. "Enough. Not another word. Go to your room and calm yourself."
"I am not a child! You cannot prevent me from discovering the truth about this woman."
"Do not think to gainsay me. I will not tolerate these dramatics."
Lynette's eyes stung, then tears overflowed. Marguerite flinched, but did not relent.
"Go now."
Turning on her heel, Lynette stormed from the room.
"I wish I could have seen his face," Eddington said, laughing with such abandon that he was forced to put his wine goblet back on the dining table. "I so enjoy watching you brawl."
Simon spoke around a bite of veal. "There was nothing to see. One moment, he was standing. The next, he was on the floor."
"Until the rest of the assembly joined in."
"Well," Simon shrugged, "that is the way such things are done."
Eddington gestured for a servant to take his plate. "What were you doing there?"
"Spoiling for a fight, of course," Simon said dryly. He noted the earl's studiously casual deportment across the dining table and was not fooled by it. "Something about extortion puts me in the mood."
The corner of Eddington's mouth twitched.
There was a soft scratching at the door. Simon called out and the butler entered.
"Excuse me, my lord." He glanced at Simon. "Sir, you have a visitor."
Immediately, Simon's gut tightened with a volatile mixture of concern and anticipation. He did not ask who it was due to the earl's presence. He simply nodded and pushed back from the table.
"If you will excuse me, my lord."
"Of course."
Simon felt Eddington's gaze on him until the door shut on his retreating back. He glanced at his butler.
"Blonde and beautiful, sir," the servant said in answer to the unasked question.
Sweat dotted Simon's brow. He breathed shallowly, lamenting the fact that he had only to think of Lynette and his body responded with ravenous ferocity. If only he had the means to go away. For her sake.