If she were the emotional sort she would have wept at the words. She would have sold her soul to have someone simply take over the constant worry that beset her, but then she remembered where she was. Who accompanied her. Selling one’s soul was de rigueur in such circumstances.
“I’m in a hurry,” she said, trying to sound calm and practical.
“Why?”
“We need to get the carriage back…” The moment the words were out of her mouth she regretted them. He wasn’t a man who missed anything.
“That brings up an interesting point. You hardly seem wealthy enough to keep a carriage in Paris. In fact, I doubt you were able to hire a carriage. What did you do, steal one?”
“Hardly,” she said with a shaky laugh. “I’m charmed that you think I’m that resourceful, but I could hardly have gone to the nearest hostelry, pretended I was the coachman and taken off with one. ”
“I am astounded at your resourcefulness, Mademoiselle Harriman. But no, you must have had help. ” He suddenly released her arm. “Stay here for a moment and don’t move. ”
She had to keep herself from reaching for him. From crying out, “Don’t leave me. ” It took all her self-control to simply nod, not even knowing if he saw it.
It was a strange and dizzying sensation, standing alone and blindfolded in the crowded room. No one seemed to be paying her any mind in this one, and she knew from the noise that his guests must be caught up in gaming. This was the place her mother was likely to be, and she reached for her blindfold, pushing it off her eyes.
And froze. Some were gaming. A few were even partially dressed, and in her brief glance she saw them writhing on couches and in chairs, performing acts that should
have been foreign to her.
But she’d lived too long in poverty, and she’d seen those same acts and more performed in side alleys, for pay. She should have been shocked. But in truth, she was more concerned that it might be her mother’s mouth on the young gentleman’s—
The blindfold was pulled abruptly back over her eyes, shutting out the disturbing sights. “You’re a very disobedient creature, aren’t you?”
She dismissed the shocking image, simply because she must. “I’m here, am I not? If I were obedient I would be waiting at home for my mother’s safe return. Which, times have taught me, is unlikely. ”
Rohan didn’t reply to that. “I’ve sent your coachman back with his pilfered coach. With luck it will be returned to the Bois d’Or before anyone knows it’s missing. I presume he ventured into such a seedy part of the city in order to increase his chances at getting away with it, but he really should have stolen one closer to home. The neighborhood of Rue du Pélican is no place for a young lady, and any coach found there would have been exceedingly uncomfortable. ”
She was getting tired of this. “Where do you think we live, my lord? Jacobs had only to walk a short way to steal from that particular inn. We live on the edge of ruin. Our lives are disastrous enough without your mockery reinforcing the misery. ” There was something liberating about finally saying it out loud. She was tired of pretending that things were better than they were. That they didn’t spend their days and nights cold and hungry and afraid of what might happen next. “And how do you suggest I get home, once I find my mother?”
“I’ll arrange a carriage for her. In the meantime I’ve found St. Philippe, and he should provide us with the information we need. ”
“A carriage for her…?” Elinor echoed, but he’d already moved on, steering her through the noisy room. At least in this one the inhabitants were too busy with their licentious behavior to bother with catcalls.
Author: Anne Stuart
“How many circles of hell are there?” she demanded, breathless, as the next set of doors opened.
“Nine, child. Haven’t you done your reading? I’m beginning to wonder whether this isn’t all a ruse. Whether you’ve come here on your own, on a trumped-up excuse. ”
“Why in heaven would I do that?” she said, mystified.
“To ensnare a husband, perhaps? Or at least money. You’re not pretty enough to be a whore, but perhaps you heard that the members of the Heavenly Host prize innocence before beauty. ”
It shouldn’t have hurt. She’d never had any delusions about her beauty. She was the plain one—too tall, her hair too brown and straight, her nose too aquiline, her nature too outspoken. She was made for spinsterhood, and she’d accepted it long ago. But hearing her attributes dismissed so lightly in Francis Rohan’s pitiless voice was a cruelty she’d not expected.
“Do you get pleasure from inflicting pain, my lord?” Her voice was calm and practical, denying the hurt.
There was a moment’s silence. “Occasionally,” he said after a long moment. “There are times when hurting and being hurt are the only way to feel anything at all. ”
“Pray, excuse me from my part in that game then. I’m certain you’ll find any number of people here who would enjoy being hurt by you,” she said.
“Did I hurt you? You seem so very calm and practical. ”
“You simply spoke the truth. It was, perhaps, unnecessary, but I would be a fool to let my feelings be hurt by something so insignificant. ” There, she thought. That should convince him.
Or perhaps not. “You’re an interesting child, Miss Harriman. ”