But to her surprise, Beaumont chuckled. “Oh, I see.”
Collette frowned. “See what?”
“You are that sort.”
Her face heated, but this time it was not with embarrassment but anger. “What sort is that, monsieur?”
“The sort who says little, giving her words even more power to pierce one’s soul with their sharpness.”
Collette narrowed her eyes. She had forgotten to be awed by his attractiveness and looked at him directly. “And have I pierced your soul, monsieur?”
“Of course. Why do you think I am here?” He rose, saving her the awkwardness of answering. Strolling casually around the room, he picked up one item after another. A small porcelain figurine. A vase. A snuff box. “I never thought I would say this, but I do wish you would speak more often. I like the sound of your voice. Your English is very good, but you have just the right—what is the word? Ah…soup?on of a French accent. Perhaps you might tell me more about hedgehogs.”
It would be a cold day in hell before she mentioned hedgehogs again. “I am not so able to control my accent when I am angry,” she retorted.
He lowered the vase he’d been examining. “Do I make you angry?”
Collette knew better than to answer.
“How is it your English is so good?” he asked her in flawless French.
“How is your French so perfect?” she retorted.
“I spent a good part of the war in France,” he said unapologetically. “What a disappointment that we never met when I was there. You lived in Paris or the countryside?”
Collette watched as he crossed the room, her turning over the comment he’d made about the war in France. Lady Ravensgate had said he was a war hero. Might he have had some contact with the codes she sought? But she had to avoid any discussion of her life in France before. Although it was extremely unlikely most Englishmen would know anything about her father or have heard of him, she could not take the chance that she might say something that would give away her relationship to him.
But she would have to risk it. “Who did you serve under in the war?” Collette asked. “Perhaps we were in the same town.”
“Lieutenant Colonel Draven. And if I was in the same town as you, you would not have known it.”
Collette’s blood chilled, and she went absolutely still. How had she not known Beaumont served under Draven? Why hadn’t Lady Ravensgate told her? Had she not known? And then suddenly Collette forgot all her suspicions concerning Lady Ravensgate because Mr. Beaumont had neared the desk she’d been using to decode her letter, and in her surprise at his arrival, she had neglected to conceal both the letter and her improvised templates.
“Have you been working at your correspondence this morning?” he asked as he neared the desk.
“Yes,” she said hastily. Then, “No!” Oh, she had to do something to distract him. Something to move him away from the desk. Short of jumping up and blocking him, she was at a loss. And then her knee knocked the tea tray and she acted impulsively. She caught the table holding the tray with her foot and knocked the leg over, sending the pot of tea, the dishes, and the cakes and sandwiches tumbling to the floor in a huge clatter. Collette might have jumped if she hadn’t been expecting the cacophony. Instead, she watched Beaumont’s reaction. The noise did draw his attention, but he hesitated before moving to help her. Was it her imagination or had Beaumont wanted to get a better look at the contents of the desk and only gave up because as a gentleman he was honor bound to assist her?
“Are you hurt, Miss Fournay?” he asked, coming closer.
She fell to her knees and righted the tray and the table. “Nothing but my pride, sir. I cannot think how this happened.”
“Do not concern yourself. I will have it all set to rights in a moment.” He knelt across from her.
“You mustn’t. I shall call a footman.” And then the footman could alert the maids and see Beaumont out.
“Not necessary,” Beaumont said, already at work. “I have it all in hand.”
But Collette had reached for the small bell that had toppled off the tray, which Lady Ravensgate used to call the servants to this room, as it had not been outfitted with a bellpull. Beaumont’s hand caught hers. Collette inhaled sharply at the touch of his skin on hers. In addition to her carelessness at leaving her correspondence out, she had also forgotten to don her gloves. Beaumont had taken his off to take tea, and now they touched skin to skin.
He pulled her hand away from the bell, holding it lightly but firmly. “You needn’t trouble the servants.” His warm hand engulfed hers, and when she tried to draw hers away, he didn’t release her. “Would it be scandalous of me to remark on how soft your skin is?” he asked, voice low and seductive. “I’m not certain I’ve ever felt skin like yours.”
Collette hardly knew the rules of English society, but she did know what whatever the etiquette might be, the feeling she had with her hand in his was most improper. She had the urge to link her fingers with his and to hold on to him more tightly. He had such a strong, sure grip, and she was so weary of floundering.
Instead, she looked him directly in the eyes. Those lovely, lovely violet eyes. “Release me, monsieur.” During courting rituals the hedgehog sow continually rejects the boar, turning to give him her flank.
“Ah, the French again,” he said, still not releasing her. “Does that mean you are angry? Or perhaps you feel another emotion?”
Desire. That was what he had to mean, what he must refer to. Was she that transparent? No matter. What she felt and what she did were two very separate matters. She might find Beaumont handsome and arousing, but Lord help her if she ever dared act on those feelings. Very deliberately, she pulled her hand back and rose to her feet. “Thank you for your call today, Mr. Beaumont,” she said pleasantly. Inside she shook with a churning of emotions she could not begin to name.
“No, thank you, Miss Fournay.” He made an elegant bow. “Our time together has been most enjoyable. May I claim your hand for the supper dance at Lord Montjoy’s ball next week?”
Hedgehog courting continues with the boar circling the sow.
Collette shook her head, at a loss as to what was expected of her in this situation. To her knowledge, Lady Ravensgate had not been given nor accepted an invitation to a ball by Lord Montjoy. Collette did not even know the name, which probably meant he was not a friend of Draven’s and therefore could not give her any useful information.
“Surely you will attend. It will be one of the last events before the few members of the ton still in London finally retreat to their country houses. Those of us without country houses will have to find another amusements.”
The door opened and Collette blew out a relieved breath. Lady Ravensgate entered and briskly took center stage. “I do apologize for having been so long detained. May I call the butler to show you out, Mr. Beaumont?” Without waiting for his response, she rang the bell.
“Thank you,” he said, appearing unruffled by the blatant attempt to be rid of him. He smiled at Collette. As usual, his smile had the effect of leaving her breathless. “And I look forward to our dance at Lord Montjoy’s ball.”
“What is this?” Lady Ravensgate asked. “Lord Montjoy?”
“Don’t tell me you won’t attend.” Beaumont tapped his chest where his heart—if he had one—would have been. “Miss Fournay has promised me the supper dance.”
She had done no such thing, but before she could protest, Lady Ravensgate interrupted. “I regret we have not received an invitation to Lord Montjoy’s ball. My dear cousin was probably not aware of that fact when she accepted your request.” She gave Collette a speaking glance.