Page 5 of A Sham Betrothal
“Yes,ma chèreSophie. It was a game, but I mean you no harm, I assure you. You seemed too lovely to be chained to thatbalourd—forgive me.”
“Forgiven,” she replied promptly. “Were he less imposing upon my peace, I should be more generous with my patience.”
“Monsieur Gervain, do introduce me to your lovely English companion.”
It was a light feminine voice that had spoken, and Sophie turned her eyes to a young woman, who presented a stunning tableau, from her black gown with white trim to her bright blue eyes and white powdered hair. On her, the somber color was dramatic. She looked ravishing, and Sophie reminded herself to leave off flirting with the marquis in her presence or come off looking the fool. This woman was his match—shewas not.
“Mademoiselle Zoé Sainte-Croix, allow me to present you to Mademoiselle Sophie Twisden, an Englishwoman whose acquaintance I am delighted to rekindle after an absence of two years.”
Sophie’s smile faltered for only an instant. She did not wish for her grandmother to get wind of the falsehood she had, on impulse, allowed to continue. Mrs. Twisden surely would if the introductions continued in this way.
“You may as well address each other by Zoé and Sophie,” he went on, “since I have a feeling we are going to be in frequent company this summer, and there is nothing more tedious thanMademoiselle CeciandMademoiselle Cela.”
Sophie hesitated. To address each other by their given names would be to claim instant friendship with a woman she did not know—and one who was more likely to capture the marquis’ heart than she was. But then, what did shehave to lose in this foreign city? It was not like the marquis was hers, anyway.
She smiled at Zoé, determined to offer unguarded friendship until the woman should otherwise prove unworthy of it. “You are most welcome to use my Christian name if it suits you. I do not mind.”
Zoé returned the overture with warmth and assured her she should be only too glad and hoped to learn where she was staying so she might visit. Sophie had not yet had time to offer a reply when the sounds of Sheldon’s voice from behind caused her to stiffen.
“Sophie, come. I must present you to all the Englishmen and women here.”
She lifted her eyes to Basile, then Zoé, and continued in French. “As you have heard, I have been summoned. I am staying at 10 rue des Saints in theFaubourg de Saint Germain, and I would be delighted to receive you.” Her words were directed at Zoé alone, for as much as she had forayed outside of the strictest respectability by such bold flirtation, she would not be so improper as to invitehim.
But as she followed behind Sheldon, her thoughts became muddled. She had not realized how much she had taken a liking to the marquis until the appearance of the beautiful Frenchwoman—who was clearly on the best of terms with him—made evident how foolish she was to hold out for anything beyond a mere friendship.
Chapter 3
Basile watched Sophie leave, a smile playing upon his lips. He remained in place until one of the unmarried women who had foisted an introduction upon him that week caught his expression and threatened to attribute the smile to herself. He turned abruptly to find Zoé examining him.
“Lovely girl. It is about time you struck up a flirtation. You’ve been in Paris for a month, and all I have seen is that face of deadennuiyou present to the world, which I know to be a masquerade.”
“’Tis only that, however. A flirtation. Lest you get any ideas of the matrimonial sort.” He flicked his glance at her, knowing she would not tease him over it. Their families had long been friends, and they understood one another quite well. Zoé was lovely to look upon, and despite the difference in their years, she never bored him. It was almost surprising that he had never felt anything for her beyond the most fraternal affection. But then, he supposed if he had it would mean the end to his bachelor days, and he was far from being ready for such a step. And, of course, her loveof frivolity would cause her to chafe were she to be cooped up on his estate.
She scoffed. “Iknowthat. You won’t be ready for marriage until you have decided you prefer the comfort of one woman to the harassment of many.” Zoé sent him a considering glance. “You have not yet realized that whatever threat the masses pose to your freedom is more burdensome than giving up your freedom willingly to the right woman.”
“Have you always been so philosophical, my dear?” He took out his snuffbox and fingered the encrusted sapphires on its lid without opening it. “But as you have correctly guessed, for the moment I prefer the threat to my comfort over the threat to my liberty, which will quickly be destroyed in the matrimonial state.”
Zoé turned to look at him, one hand resting on her waist above the widepaniers. “Still, I must ask. What was it that has caught your attention with this lovely girl? She is like any other, is she not? And Englishwomen we do have in Paris.”
Basile pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes in thought. “Sheislovely. I like the look in her eyes. Intelligent if you chance to draw her out, veiled if you don’t. She has a quick wit and caught my game soon enough?—”
He stopped short. He had truly not meant to spread it about that he had forced the introduction and knew he could trust Grégoire and Armand to keep mum. He supposed he could trust Zoé too.
“Game?” This came with the arch of a carefully shaped brow.
He met her gaze with a lurking smile. He would have to take her into his confidence. “She was being quelled by that English peacock over there in yellow. And she showed spiritby poking at him in French, which he could not understand. This naturally delighted me, so I pretended we were prior acquaintances. She played my ruse without blinking an eyelid.”
“Basile!” Zoé said in quiet astonishment, laughter bubbling below the surface. “You have only just met her?”
“Yesterday,” he admitted, then lifted his finger to his lips. “How fares your suit with our dear friend, Charles?”
Zoé turned a rosy pink underneath the white powder on her face, glancing in the gentleman’s direction. “You said that entirely too loud for my liking.” Her voice went lower as she leaned in. “The English are a discreet race. I know he harbors feelings for me, but unlike warm-blooded Frenchmen who accost perfect strangers on the street, he does not admit it. I am not even sure he will admit it to himself.”
Basile glanced over at the Englishman who seemed to be entrapped in conversation by the peacock. He allowed his eyes to rest on them long enough for Charles to feel he was being watched and to throw a glance their way. His eyes went immediately to Zoé and his color rose.
Basile didn’t miss it. “He likes you,ma chérie. I have a feeling you will be Mrs. Arlington before long. You need only be patient.”
She sniffed. “I am patient.” When he swallowed a snort of laughter she turned to him and gave him a prim look. “You shall see. I will not even go near him. Iampatient.”
