Sophie could not recall ever meeting a comte before, though she must have done. When her parents were alive, they were always throwing house parties with all sorts of interesting and flamboyant guests.
Then a sudden sense of foreboding gripped her.
She could think of only one reason why an acquaintance would take the trouble to travel such a long way. Yet the thought was too bleak to contemplate.
Rowlands opened the door and stepped forward. “The Comte de Dampierre,” he announced.
Sophie could hear the slow, methodical thud from his heeled boots echoing along the hall like a death knell. When he entered, he kept his eyes fixed firmly ahead before coming to an abrupt halt a few steps away from the desk.
The gentleman was a walking monument to foppish fashion. The lapels of his green tailcoat were trimmed with black velvet, his cravat tied in a fussy, complicated style. The collars of his shirt finished just above his chin, creating a contradicting impression: one of flamboyancy yet utter rigidness.
The comte gave a dandified wave while his other hand gripped the silver top of a black walking cane. “Miss Beaufort. It is a pleasure to meet you, finally.”
His English was impeccable and while there was a hint of a soft French burr, his tone lacked the warmth his words implied.
Fighting the urge to cower under the desk, Sophie walked around to greet him. He took her hand and raised it to his lips, his small pointed beard brushing over her skin, sending a cold chill through her body. As he straightened, his gaze roamed over her loosely tied hair and one corner of his mouth curved up in amusement.
Gently retrieving her hand from his grasp, Sophie gestured to the small seating area in front of the fireplace. “Would you care to sit? Rowlands will arrange for tea to be brought in.”
Rowlands bowed gracefully and walked out into the hall, taking care to leave the door wide open.
The comte’s dark gaze swept the room before settling on Sophie. “Your brother, he has told me much of your beauty, but I fear he has been modest in his appraisal,” he remarked, examining her body as though she wore the flimsiest of gowns and not a brown muslin dress.
Sophie wondered if all Frenchmen were so bold.
“You are too kind,” she replied taking a seat. “I must say, I am relieved to finally have news of my brother. In truth, I was beginning to feel a little apprehensive.”
He sat down and continued to stare at her, running his fingers over his bearded chin, sculpting it into a perfect point. His eyes were so dark they were almost black and she felt them bore right into her soul.
“Am I to understand that you have not heard from your brother?” he said. “That he has not … corresponded?”
“No. I have not heard or received anything,” Sophie said shaking her head. “I assumed you had brought news of him.”
The comte’s aquiline nose twitched and he ran his fingers over his chin once again. “Please forgive me for being the bearer of such news. But I fear the city does not suit him. A gentleman with such … weaknesses would be better served in the country, away from all temptations.”
“Temptations!” She could not imagine James in any sort of trouble. He was so honest, so reliable, so dependable.
“Do not worry that pretty head of yours. He has made his affairs known to me and I will assist him where possible.”
“I do not wish to sound ungrateful, but it is difficult for me to believe that my brother could be in some sort of trouble.”
He raised a brow and gave a look which suggested she was rather naive. “Men seldom confide in those they feel duty-bound to protect and I do not wish to cause you any further distress. However, your brother he has … how shall I say … exhausted his funds.”
She felt a sharp pain in her chest. James had promised her he wouldn’t sell the necklace. He promised her he would only
obtain a valuation and then return it to the bank.
The comte opened his mouth to speak but paused when Mrs. Hudson entered with the tea tray and remained silent until she’d left the room.
“There is a gentleman who is interested in purchasing a certain family heirloom,” he continued, “which would, of course, greatly ease your brother’s burden. I would be happy to assist in such a task.” The corners of his mouth curled upwards into a contrived smile. Deciding to press his case he sat forward, resting both hands on his cane to support his weight. “You may place your trust in me, madame. You may be certain your necklace will be perfectly safe in my hands.”
In using madame as a term of address for an unmarried lady, he conveyed respect for the aristocracy and Sophie wondered how long he had been in England. She had no idea how he knew of her brother or the necklace, but instinct told her he was not a man to be trusted.
“I fear you’re mistaken if you believe I am in possession of such an item. I’m sure my brother explained our … situation.”
Like Lucifer rising up from a fiery grave, the comte shot up. His eyes were piercing, the planes of his face as hard and as rigid as stone. “Do not play games with me,” he cried, raising his cane and thrusting it in Sophie’s direction.
She wanted to scream. But she didn’t.