Page 27 of A Sham Betrothal
Madame Bordenave stared hard at her. “If he brings you to the altar, perhaps I might concur. But there has not even been arepas de fiançaillesannounced.”
An engagement dinner? Sophie was unaware that the French did such a thing after they became engaged. She must ask Basile. Before she could think of an answer, Madame Bordenave leaned nearer, overwhelming Sophie with the scent of patchouli.
“When he and I were engaged, that was the very first thing he did. He wasquiteeager to bring me to the altar, I assure you.”
Every one of Sophie’s nerves was on end in this battle of female wits. Why,whydid some women feel it necessary to drag others down so they might pull themselves up, like a cock on a dung heap?
“Perhaps the engagement dinnerhasbeen announced, but only to those to whom it concerns,” she suggested, a smile touching her lips. She was not afraid of the widow, but a cold settled in her stomach despite her fearlessness. Sophie did not wish to be humiliated by a woman such asshe, and it was beginning to dawn on her that she would be if they were to announce their rupture before she left Paris. It was clear Madame Bordenave was roiling with jealousy.
“What I am most curious to know,” Sophie went on, deciding it was better to go on the offensive than to stand back on her weak foot, “is why you are so single-mindedly throwing your heart after a lost cause. An engaged man? You have nothing to gain and everything to lose.”
Madame Bordenave narrowed her eyes. “Allow me to inform you?—”
“Sophie!”
She turned to see who had spoken, and raised her eyes to the tall, slim figure who stood before her. It was one of Basile’s friends. She quickly racked her brain for his name and in an instant was all smiles. “Grégoire, how lovely to see you this evening.”
He bowed deeply, then stood straight with a smile in place. “The pleasure is all mine. I was hoping to have a moment of your time.” Then, bowing to the widow, he added, “Madame,” before slipping his arm under Sophie’s and leading her to the far corner of the room.
As they walked, he leaned down to murmur, “Forgive me for addressing you by your Christian name. I had to do so or that woman would know it all. Any close friend of Basile’s must call you Sophie, for he would quickly make sure any fiancée of his was on intimate terms with his friends. It is Basile’s way. And of course you must know that he has confided everything to Armand and to myself.”
“I guessed as much since you were there when he announced it.” She squeezed his arm. “I give you full leave to call me Sophie, even when we are out of earshot of the widow and anyone else we might need to convince.” Shelaughed. “And I made free use of your name, you must remember, although for a panicked moment I feared I would not remember it.”
He pulled her to sit on a sofa as the people walking by glanced at them with some curiosity. He did not, however, sit as close as Basile had promised he would, but rather kept to his end.
“Armand and I have been wondering how you are bearing up under the scrutiny that comes from Basile’s announcement.” His manner of speaking to her was kind despite his having the appearance of a severe and even somewhat taciturn man.
She held his regard and sighed, then lowered hers with a resigned smile. “You must not see me as a victim, although”—at this she did have to incline toward him so he would make out her words—“he did catch me by surprise by the unexpected and public nature of it.”
Grégoire gave a silent laugh. “Basile is nothing if not spontaneous.”
“Somehowthatdoes not shock me.” Grégoire laughed audibly this time, pulling more glances their way, and she continued. “When I supported my grandmother in her idea of coming to Paris, even going so far as to depend upon Mr. Cholmsley in his role of escort, I had not realized how difficult a position I would put myself in where he was concerned. I was in need of protection from unwelcome attention, and this”—she splayed her fingers to communicate the betrothal and all it entailed—“has given me what I needed. For the time being.”
He nodded, then looked up as Basile advanced upon them.
“I must offer you my deepest gratitude for squiringmaSophie while I was talking to the duke.” Basile bowed. “But now be gone. I wish to sit next to my woman.”
Grégoire lifted an eyebrow in surprise and stood, taking a proper leave of Sophie. “Far be it from me to stand in the way of two people so clearly besotted.”
Basile smiled at him as he walked away, then immediately shifted close enough so his leg was touching hers and his arm was flush against her own in a partial embrace. Sophie drew in a sharp breath, then quickly wiped the surprise from her face and forced a smile for those who were watching her.
“There is no time to waste,” she murmured.
“None.” He leaned in so that his muscular thigh was flush against hers, and she could feel his breath on her neck. Her pulse fluttered, and she feared her limbs would shake. They were beginning to already.
“Do not be afraid of me,” Basile murmured. There was nothing seductive about his voice. If anything, he sounded determined. “This is for show, but I will not compromise you. You may rely upon me, for I promise to bring you safely through this farce.”
She nodded and relaxed slightly, although she had a strange desire to blink the moisture away from her eyes when he called it a farce. A farce it was, though, she firmly reminded herself.
“What I wish to know,” went the murmur, still close but now friendly, “is what you and my friend Greg spoke of while I was called away.” He said Greg with a strongly rolledr.
She bit back a smile. She had thought him to be speaking in a friendly way, but if she didn’t know better, she would call this jealousy.
“You should not concern yourself with what we spokeof—especially when we were not sitting as closely as you and I are.”
“Nevertheless, one must have a topic of conversation when one is murmuring in a lady’s ear to convince the world at large that we are madly in love with one another.”
“Ah.” Goodness. Sophie was determined—determined—that she would not succumb to any sort of feelings for this Frenchman, who possessed more charm than any man had a right to. However, she did wish she had remembered to bring her fan.
