Weaving his mount through the heavy traffic, Philippe at last arrived at the Palais-Royal. He shook his head at the rather grim shoddiness that was beginning to claim the once majestic buildings and halted his horse before the Grand Vefour.

Although Paris would always have its share of cafés and coffeehouses, the elegant restaurants that were beginning to sprout up around the city had captured the approval of even the most discerning Parisians.

It was at this particular restaurant that Philippe had been assured he would discover Lord Frankford, a minor English diplomat who would never possess the skill or drive to make his name among the great politicians. He did, however, have one remarkable talent.

There would not be a scrap of gossip in all the city that had escaped his attention.

Entering the restaurant, Philippe handed his coat and hat to the uniformed waiter and allowed his gaze to roam over the smoky interior.

Like most of the aging buildings there remained remnants of the Ancient Régime. Not that Philippe disliked the elegance of the painted walls and ceilings, or the mirrors that reflected the various diners. It was certainly preferable to the dark, damp and congested taprooms in England.

It took only a few moments to spot his prey seated at a corner table, and ignoring the speculative glances of the other guests, Philippe made his way through the room to take a seat opposite the rotund gentleman with a rapidly balding head and ruddy features of a true Englishman.

Glancing up from his plate of oysters, Frankford widened his eyes in shock.

“Good God. Is that you, Gautier?”

“For my sins,” Philippe drawled. “I hope you are well, Frankford?”

The man took a deep sip of his Bordeaux. “Well enough.”

“And your wife?”

“Thankfully in England for the time being.” Frankford gave a grunt as he wiped his mouth with a linen napkin. “I have found marriage much easier to bear when we reside in different countries.”

Philippe smiled. “A sentiment shared by many men, which is precisely why I have never bothered to wed.”

“Always knew you were an intelligent chap.” Frankford settled back in his chair and folded his arms over his remarkably large belly. “Still, never thought to see you here. The last time I invited you to visit you claimed the entire city should be burned to the ground.”

“I still believe that it could be greatly improved by a match and bit of kindling, but there are occasions when one cannot avoid traveling through the area.”

“So you are not remaining?” Frankford demanded.

“That depends.” Philippe stretched out his legs as his gaze casually turned toward the nearby window. “I believe I might be convinced to linger a few days.”

“Ah, you have stumbled into some sweet business deal, have you not?” Frankford sighed in resignation. “I swear, I do not know how you do it. You must be some damnable Midas.”

Philippe returned his attention to the round countenance. “Actually, my business is of a more personal nature.”

“You don’t say.” There was a moment of puzzlement before Frankford was giving a choked cough. “By God, you do not mean a woman?”

Philippe arched his brows. “Why does that surprise you?”

“I have never known you to chase after the skirts. And why should you?” Frankford shook his head. “Lud, I’ve never seen so many women making fools of themselves as when you first arrived in London. An embarrassing spectacle, if you ask me.”

It had been a damn sight more than embarrassing, Philippe silently conceded. He had nearly been stampeded each time he left his home, and he had swiftly discovered there was no more ruthless enemy than a mother intent on marrying her daughter to a fortune.

Thankfully all but the most persistent were at last frightened off by the realization that no amount of flattery, coercion or even downright treachery would force him to offer for the drab females being tossed at his feet.

“This one is thankfully different,” he assured his companion.

Frankford chuckled in a knowing manner. “Ah, of course. Well, Paris is renowned for its courtesans. Beautiful and talented, if you know what I mean. I have tasted a few and I can tell you they are well worth the cost.” The man patted his belly. “Perhaps when you tire of her I will give her a tumble or two myself.”

Philippe found himself battling the urge to reach across the table and smash his fist into the fat face. Hell and damnation, what was the matter with him? The sole reason Raine was with him was to convince others he was too distracted by his current lover to concern himself with his brother. Or at least, that was one of the reasons, he acknowledged as he felt himself grow hard at the mere thought of her slender body.

He would ruin it all if he did not take care.

“She is no courtesan.” He gave a causal shrug. “At least not yet. I managed to stumble across her fresh from the convent.”

Tags: Rosemary Rogers Historical
Source: readsnovelonline.net