“This is absolutely splendid,” Roselyn went on, grabbing Miss Heather’s arm with one hand and Solange’s with the other and dragging them deeper into the hall. “This is magnificent. I wonder how they do that.”
She cut through the audience, garnering more than a few appreciative looks from red-faced gentlemen with ill-fitting trousers as she went. Someone grabbed a handful of Solange’s backside, and judging by the high-pitched squeal from Sage, she’d received the same treatment. But Roselyn pushed forward, apparently wanting to reach the stage itself.
Solange glanced over her shoulder, up into the box where Lord Sinclair and Monsieur Lafarge were still engaged in conversation. Her pistol was heavy in her pocket, just as her heart was heavy in her chest. There was no way she would be able to shoot from the center of the crowd of gawping spectators without being caught in an instant. And as much as she wanted Lord Sinclair dead, she would rather die herself than do anything to cause the McGovern family more scandal and harm than it had already fallen into.
“I will not leave here until you return what is mine,” Louis growled, leaning closer to Lafarge.
His nerves bristled with fury. Blood pumped hard through his veins. He had to ball his hands into fists to keep himself from lunging toward Lafarge and strangling him. The man was entirely too cool and disconnected for Louis’s liking. He lounged back in his chair with a vicious smirk, as though every argument and every demand Louis had just made was another entertainment to be played out on the stage in front of him.
“Lord Sinclair,” Lafarge began in the most condescending tone anyone had ever spoken to Louis in. “Believe me, I would give you whatever you asked for, if it truly belonged to you. But in this case, I cannot comply. The brooch is mine and it will remain mine.”
“That brooch is a Sinclair family heirloom,” Louis pressed on. “One that was obtained in a downright criminal manner.”
Lafarge laughed. “My dear boy, how old are you?”
Louis scowled. “Thirty-two.”
“Then you must know that it is well past time for you to let go of childhood fantasies and the mistaken belief that your parents were saints,” Lafarge went on.
Louis’s scowl darkened. “My mother was a victim.”
“She was not,” Lafarge scoffed. “She gave me what I wanted freely, and any little trinkets that were a part of that affair are mine to keep.”
“You stole from her,” Louis insisted. “More than the brooch. So much more than the brooch.”
Lafarge sighed. “Really, sir. How many times have we had this conversation. The topic has grown tedious for me. Especially when there is much better entertainment to be had.”
Lafarge gestured toward the stage. Louis ground his teeth together in frustration, refusing to be sidelined by the can-can. For years he’d been hounding Lafarge, looking for a way to avenge what had been taken from him. From the moment his father had confessed the true cause of his mother’s death as he himself lay dying, Louis had vowed to make things right, even if his beloved mother wasn’t there to feel relief or know she’d been avenged. The brooch Lafarge had stolen from her was only a symbol of everything Louis was determined to get back. He wouldn’t rest until—
A high-pitched scream from the floor dragged his attention toward the stage in spite of his determination to stare Lafarge down until he capitulated. He wasn’t certain what he expected, but it certainly wasn’t to see Lady Roselyn Briarwood being dragged up onto the stage by three of the can-can dancers.
He stood to get a better look, and what he saw caused his brow to shoot up. Lady Roselyn wasn’t being dragged onto the stage, she was climbing there willingly. The shriek had come from one of her far demurer cousins, who was fighting against the men who were trying to thrust her onto the stage as well.
Louis acted in an instant. Lafarge would have to wait. He tore to the back of the box, into the corridor that ran behind the balcony, and down the stairs to the floor. He only knew Lady Briarwood vaguely, but he had become friendly with her brother, Asher McGovern, Lord Addlebury, since discovering the entire McGovern clan was in Paris as part of their grand tour. He owed it to his friend to keep his sister out of harm.
“Out of my way,” he boomed as he pushed his way past inebriated patrons and those who were enjoying the spectacle on the stage too much to care that they were being jostled by a rampaging aristocrat. “Move,” he ordered. “Move at once.”
By the time he reached the edge of the stage, Lady Briarwood was in the middle of receiving a lesson on how to dance the can-can. The McGovern twins—he couldn’t recall their names, but remembered that they were rather farther down the ladder of social rank than their outrageous cousin—huddled together by the front of the stage. In front of them, defending them with a look of iron fury, was the most beautiful woman Louis had ever seen.
She was tall, with a regal bearing, and skin the color of polished wood in the firelight. Her dark eyes blazed with protective determination as she shielded the twins from the jeering men who seemed intent on thrusting them onto the stage as well. As Louis approached, the dark-skinned woman’s eyes flashed with pure hatred. He couldn’t blame her. He was as outraged at the lack of gentlemanliness around him as he was certain she was.
“Allow me to help,” he told her as he reached her side. He turned and boomed at the men closing in on them, “Back off at once!”
It was no surprise to Louis that the half dozen or so men crowding around the twins did exactly that. They stumbled away, turning their attention to Lady Briarwood and the dancers, all of whom were enjoying themselves beyond measure. Louis spared a disapproving glance for Lady Briarwood before focusing his energies on the dark-skinned woman and the twins.
“Please allow me to escort you to safety,” he said, extending a protective arm toward the three women.
The dark-skinned woman dodged out of his way, still glaring at him as though he were the one who wanted to humiliate her the way the other men had tried to, but the twins rushed into his protection.
He began to escort them away, but the dark-skinned woman stopped him with, “Leave them alone. You’re as bad as the others.”
Louis’s heart squeezed in his chest. Her voice was as lovely as her form, with just a hint of a French accent and a taste of something even more exotic. “I am terribly sorry,” he said, nodding to her with as much deference as he could muster in the current situation. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Lord Sinclair, a friend of Lord Addlebury’s. Please allow me to take you and the misses McGovern to safety.”
The woman’s expression flickered to uncertainty. A gentleman in the audience laughed, drawing her attention, then causing her to snap her head toward Lady Briarwood—who now had her skirts lifted and was giggling like mad as she imitated the can-can dancers. Louis’s face heated at the sight.
“Right.” He shifted, moving the misses McGovern toward the dark-skinned woman. “You keep an eye on these ladies and I’ll retrieve Lady Briarwood.”
The dark-skinned woman opened her mouth to protest, but Louis didn’t give her time. He strode to the side of the stage, pushing a few drunken men aside, and extended a hand toward Lady Briarwood.
“My lady,” he shouted above the din. “I think you should come down now.”