Searing, reluctant warmth spread through her. A man who was responsible for carrying out the black deeds of a murderer and destroyer of lives wouldn’t be so kind and precious with children. He wouldn’t stroll calmly with her, talking freely about his past and his purpose in traveling. She still had more questions than answers, but deep in her gut, she believed Lord Sinclair would tell her everything she needed to know.
Damien cleared his throat by her side, gesturing for Solange to move forward in the queue. Her thoughts had been so distracted that she hadn’t noticed it moving forward. She rushed to the table and began fixing herself a plate, but food was the last thing on her mind right then.
Once she had her plate and was seated on a corner of the blanket with Heather and Sage—the two cousins she was certain wouldn’t attempt to drag her into a useless conversation about unimportant things—she sought out Lord Sinclair and continued to puzzle over him. Something absolutely wasn’t right. She shouldn’t be noticing how broad his shoulders were or how confident his gait as he left the badminton court to head to the food table. She shouldn’t find his smile so bright or so appealing. And she certainly shouldn’t be remembering the way he’d come to her and Lady Briarwood’s rescue at the Moulin Rouge the night before. He’d been gentlemanly and gallant then, in spite of the fact that he’d been conversing with Monsieur Lafarge moments before. In fact, she realized with a start, he’d broken off his conversation with Lafarge to rescue them.
The pieces of the puzzle weren’t fitting together, especially in the way he made her feel. She needed more information. She needed to get him alone, to get him off-guard, and to pry the truth out of him. And she knew exactly how she was going to do it.
Chapter 3
Solange had to wait long after dark for the merry McGovern cousins to finally grow weary and drag themselves up to bed, letting Lord Sinclair take his leave and go to bed as well. She had to wait further as Lady Roselyn needed her help undressing and had to run through the gossip of the day as she did so.
“And I saw the way you looked at Lord Sinclair,” Roselyn said in the middle of a discourse on how adorable Lord Reith and Miss Dorothy were together. “Don’t think I didn’t.”
“Lord Sinclair is a handsome man, my lady,” Solange said, unable to meet her mistress’s eyes, her face heating.
What was wrong with her? Lord Sinclair was the enemy, not someone she should develop a schoolgirl crush on.
“He seemed quite taken with you as well,” Roselyn went on, her smile wheedling. “And isn’t he just the epitome of male perfection?”
Solange swallowed as the memory of his strong arm under her hand as he escorted her returned. She wasn’t too proud to admit that she was as appreciative of male potency as any other red-blooded woman, but to feel that way about someone she’d been so certain was her enemy unsettled her. Was he the enemy?
Her uncertainty made her restless and she snapped, “He’s an earl and I’m nobody, so that’s the end of that.”
Her pulse raced after her sharp outburst, as she waited for Roselyn to scold her. It raced even harder when Roselyn’s grin widened and her eyes danced with mischief.
“I know who you are, Solange Lafarge,” Roselyn said, lowering her arms after pulling all the pins from her hair and crossing the room with a look that sent a shiver down Solange’s spine. “You may pretend to be a lady’s companion and busy yourself seeing to my wardrobe, fetching tea, and picking up after me, but I know you were born to better things than that.”
“I don’t know what you mean, my lady.” Solange moved away from her, bending to retrieve Roselyn’s clothes from the floor and taking them to the wardrobe.
“Lafarge indeed,” Roselyn scoffed, following her to the wardrobe. “Your family name is Kouassi, not Lafarge. Your father is practically royalty.”
Solange focused on hanging Roselyn’s gown in the wardrobe, quietly murmuring, “Not anymore.”
Roselyn continued to move closer to her. “So, if you ask me, I see no reason a princess shouldn’t set her sights on an earl.”
“I am not a princess.” Solange turned to stare at Roselyn. “Thank you for seeing me in such a flattering light, but I am simply who I am.”
“Someone who had a shine in their eyes for a certain earl today and who I think should pursue said earl enthusiastically,” Roselyn said with a giggle.
Solange let out a breath. She liked Roselyn. She adored the entire McGovern family. But they were neither realistic nor sensible.
“Will you be needing anything else tonight, my lady?” she asked, stepping away from the wardrobe and heading for the door.
“I suppose not,” Roselyn sighed, heading for her bed. “But I would sleep much better if I knew you valued yourself enough to see that there’s nothing wrong with you setting your sights on Lord Sinclair.”
“Thank you,” Solange said as she reached the door. Roselyn was dead wrong, of course. And the poor woman had no idea what sort of sights she’d set on Lord Sinclair. But Solange supposed that fantasy and romance were exactly the sort of thing that occupied the minds of wealthy and attractive young widows.
She shook her head as she left the room. Once in the hall, her resolve to get to the bottom of things with Lord Sinclair hardened. The man was either a villain or he wasn’t, and there was only one way to find out.
She picked up her pace as she slipped up one hall, crossed to another wing of the palace, wary of anyone who might still be up and about to notice her, and made her way down the corridor where some of the gentlemen guests had their rooms. One of the maids had told her which room Lord Sinclair was settled in for the night in exchange for a spool of ribbons. Solange made her way to that room as fast as she could, turning the handle and dashing into the room without knocking.
Lord Sinclair stood by the washstand in the corner in nothing but his drawers, scrubbing his face with a towel. He jerked straight and whipped around in alarm as Solange clicked the door shut behind her, locking it. All it took was for Lord Sinclair’s expression to shift from shock to a wolfish grin for her to question the wisdom of her plan.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, lowering the towel from his face and revealing his broad chest as he did.
Solange reacted powerfully to the sight of him. His body was just so perfect, his muscles so well-defined, with just the right amount of hair on his chest. His drawers did little to hide what lay beneath them, and without intending to, Solange dropped her gaze to his hips. Her breath caught in her lungs as lust raged through her.
“I’m not usually the sort to allow a woman, even one as beautiful as you, to interrupt me in my nightly ablutions,” he went on, his smile teasing. He tossed his towel aside and moved closer to her. “Then again, it is Paris, and I did feel a spark between us this afternoon. And considering how topsy-turvy the McGoverns are, I’m willing to make an exception if you are.”
Solange backed against the locked door as Lord Sinclair closed in on her. He planted a hand on the door behind her, brushing his fingers under her chin and tilting her face up to his. He smelled of soap and musk. The heat of his body tempted her beyond measure. Her senses blurred as she stared at his mouth, which moved closer to hers by the second.