“I had business there,” he answered, glancing off over the Seine.
“What sort of business?” Solange asked.
He snapped back to face her, smiling at her bold question. “I’m flattered that you should find me so interesting.”
“I—” A subtle flush of color came to Solange’s cheeks, and she too glanced off at the countryside instead of facing him directly.
Louis waited for her to continue, perhaps to explain her line of questions, but she remained silent. Her silence gave him the opportunity to study the lines of her face, the curve of her lips, and the rigid way she held herself. Miss Solange, whatever her surname was, had a secret. She was holding onto something with her whole being, and she wasn’t going to let it go easily.
They reached the edge of one of the palace gardens, and Louis stopped to turn so that they could walk back to the others.
“I should like to know more about you,” he said with what he hoped was a winning smile. “What on earth possessed you to take a position as companion to Lady Briarwood?”
He asked the question in as light and teasing a way as possible, but Solange’s brow knit into a frown all the same. “The position was available,” she said.
Her answer only made him crave more information. “Were you in need of a position?”
Her lips remained sealed. He wasn’t sure if she intended to answer him, but the point ended up being moot. They were being approached by Damien McGovern and Lord Gregory, both of whom wore concerned frowns and seemed in a hurry to intercept them.
“Lord Sinclair,” Lord Gregory addressed him. “Might I have a word with you?”
“And I’d like to have a word with you,” Mr. McGovern said, staring pointedly at Solange.
Before Louis could question what was going on, Solange stepped away from him, letting go of his arm, and strode to meet Mr. McGovern. Mr. McGovern whisked her off, practically goose-stepping her back toward the picnic. As he did, Lord Gregory marched to Louis’s side and stood in such a way that Louis was forced to turn away from Solange.
“Is something the matter?” Louis asked. “I haven’t offended anyone’s sensibilities by walking with Miss Solange, have I?”
“Not at all,” Lord Gregory said unconvincingly. “But I must warn you.”
Louis’s brow went up. “Warn me?”
Lord Gregory let out a breath and glanced over his shoulder to Solange and Mr. McGovern’s retreating backs. “Miss Lafarge is—”
He stopped and seemed to struggle for the right word, but Louis reacted as though he’d fired a cannon. Lafarge? He glanced quickly to Solange, then shook his head. It couldn’t be. Lafarge was a common French surname. It had to be coincidence.
“Solange is dangerous,” Lord Gregory went on.
The hair on the back of Louis’s neck stood up. “In what way?”
“She’s just—” Again, Lord Gregory seemed to struggle for words. “Let me just advise you to keep your distance from her.”
Louis frowned, studying the man. Part of him instantly assumed Lord Gregory was interested in Solange for himself. But he knew better. He knew the man’s story, what had happened to him in London years ago and why he was in Paris. After spotting them together at the masquerade ball and later, on the Champs-Élysées, he was willing to venture that Lord Gregory and Mr. McGovern had a particular kind of friendship. So why the concern about Solange?
“I can assure you that my intentions toward Miss Lafarge are pure,” he said with a slight frown.
That only doubled Lord Gregory’s unease. “That may be, but I’m not certain her intentions toward you are.”
Louis could only gape at the man. He had no idea what a statement like that could mean. Was it possible Solange was on the hunt for a husband and thought him a likely candidate?
The idea instantly filled Louis with a warmth and excitement that he couldn’t shake. Any man would be lucky to call a woman like Solange his own. And he would be in the market for a wife soon. He needed someone who would keep him on his toes, someone dangerous, as Lord Gregory suggested she was.
“Thank you for your advice,” he said, thumping Lord Gregory’s back and starting back toward the picnic. “I can assure you that I will keep my wits about me where the lovely Solange is concerned.”
Lord Gregory didn’t look at all pleased by his statement, but Louis wasn’t certain he cared. If the man had intended to warn him off of her, his plan had backfired. He was as enamored of the woman as ever.
“I know what you have in mind, Solange, and you can’t do it,” Damien whispered as he marched Solange back toward the rest of the McGovern clan.
“You do not know what I have in mind,” she snapped in return, every nerve bristling. She resented the fact that, as well-meaning as Damien McGovern was, he was dictating to her. She hated being pushed around and manipulated by anyone, especially when her honor and the honor of her family was at stake. But more than that, she was irritated beyond measure with herself for finding Lord Sinclair so devilishly charming.
“Please tell me you didn’t pick up that gun when I got rid of it that night,” Damien whispered on.
Solange kept her mouth shut. Of course she’d run to retrieve her pistol when he’d tried to throw it away. She had the feeling he knew it as well.
“Don’t kill Lord Sinclair,” Damien continued. They drew near the rest of the cousins—who were abandoning their games to crowd around the tables of food at last—and several people glanced to them curiously. Damien smiled as though nothing was wrong and said through clenched teeth, “We don’t need a murder right now. Not when so many other axes are hanging over our heads.”
He was, no doubt, referring to the salacious photograph of Lord Reith and Damien’s sister, Dorothy, that the scandal rag, Les Ragots, still could publish. He was also probably referring to what she’d witnessed between him and Lord Gregory the night she’d almost shot Lord Sinclair as well. The two of them were lovers—she would have bet anything on it—and if that fact were discovered, it would mean ruin. And who knew what other secrets the McGoverns were keeping? Solange’s time in their company had taught her that there were far more things making the entire family infamous than simply their over-exuberant ways.
“I can assure you, Mr. McGovern,” Solange said with more formality than was necessary as they reached the end of the queue that had formed at the food table, “I have no plans to do anything that will reflect badly on the McGovern family or put them in jeopardy in any way.”
If she had her way, she’d do away with Lord Sinclair quietly, then move on to Monsieur Lafarge without anyone knowing she was connected to the McGoverns, or even that she was the one who had brought about their downfall.
But even as she thought that, the resolve that she’d clung to so fiercely for so long faltered. She couldn’t help but glance over her shoulder to where Lord Sinclair was walking their way, deep in conversation with Lord Gregory. The spring sunlight picked up the highlights in Lord Sinclair’s brown hair and made his complexion rosy and inviting. He walked easily, not at all like a man who had more sins on his shoulders than he could count. And when he passed by the badminton court, he broke away from Lord Gregory to help some of the children that had wandered over from the nearby village to find racquets and shuttlecocks to play with. He paused for a moment to teach them how to hit the birdie as well.