Two Sinful Secrets (9 page)

A tall wrought-iron fence surrounded a pattern of winding paths, statues, bubbling
fountains, and formal flowerbeds lined with straight rows of trees that cast lacy
patterns of light and shadows over the grass and polished gravel. The vast hulk of
the Tuileries Palace watched over the stylish parade, silent about all it had seen
over the years. It was elegant and opulent, and seemed to belie the dark headlines
Sophia saw screaming out at her from the papers that morning about how terrible King
Louis Philippe was for the country. How France was on the brink of great change.

Here everything was serene and perfectly pretty. But was it merely the calm before
the storm? Sophia felt a strange twinge of disquiet as she studied the laughing women
in their plumed bonnets, silks, and pearls. And she was part of it all.

“Do you not think so, Sophie?” Camille said, startling Sophia from her daydreams.

She turned and gave her friend a smile. “I’m sorry, I must have been woolgathering.”

Camille laughed. “Thinking of all your admirers from last night?”

“My admirers?”

“
Mais oui!
I cannot tell you how many handsome
men asked me who you were. And both those English St. Claire brothers seemed quite
taken with you.”

Sophia felt her face grow warmer at Camille’s words, and she feared she was blushing
like a silly schoolgirl.
Again.
Dominic St. Claire had the worst effect on her. She knew she should avoid him and
concentrate on organizing her life. But the thought of not seeing him…

She ducked her head to hide beneath her hat. “I danced with them, yes. They were very
charming. But that doesn’t mean they were
taken
with me.”

“Does it not?” Camille pursed her lips as if to hide a mischievous smile. It made
Sophia laugh again, despite herself.

“You aren’t trying to matchmake for me again?” Sophia said. “I told you, Camille,
I can’t marry again.”

“Who said anything about marrying? I merely said they were both very handsome men
who seemed to admire you,” Camille said. “And I do hear that the St. Claires have
quite extensive business concerns in England. Theaters, gaming clubs, all sorts of
interesting things. You could do worse.”

Oh, yes, Sophia knew about the St. Claires. Her cousin Aidan had married one of them,
Dominic’s sister Lily, and it had gotten him cast out of the family. Huntingtons simply
did not marry into families that were on the stage, that owned gambling clubs, that
harbored secrets.

Most Huntingtons did not, anyway.

“I thought you said I should open a club of my own,” Sophia said. “Maybe I could move
to London again and become a business rival to the St. Claires.”

Camille smiled teasingly. “Ah, and I thought you were not listening! You certainly
would have the ability to run
such an establishment. But I think in the French way, and I see you are too young
and pretty to have to scrape along for yourself.”

“I doubt the St. Claires would want to help me out of my ‘scraping.’ ”
Or possibly anything else
. She had seen the raw shock in James St. Claire’s eyes when she told him who she
was and that she had Mary Huntington’s diary.

“But did not Monsieur James send you flowers this morning?” Camille said, nodding
and smiling to passing acquaintances.

Another thing that was odd. Sophia had been surprised to find that bouquet at the
breakfast table—and dismayed at her pang of disappointment that the card was signed
by James and not Dominic. She couldn’t understand why either of them should send her
flowers. Maybe it was James’s way of apologizing for his strange behavior.

“That was a mere thank-you,” Sophia said. “Plus perhaps a small apology. He reacted
most oddly when I told him I thought we might have a bit of an old family connection.”

“A connection? How very intriguing. You must tell me more!” But Camille was suddenly
distracted by a woman calling her name, and she hurried across the path calling, “
Ma chère madame la duchesse!
So lovely to see you again…”

As Sophia started to follow her, her attention was caught by a flashing glimpse of
sunlight on golden hair in the crowd. Her heart beat faster at the sight, and she
knew, even without seeing the man’s face, that it was Dominic. He stood at the edge
of the tree-lined path, talking to a lady in a stylish pale blue walking dress. He
held his
tall-crowned silk hat in his hand so that his bright hair was bared, and Sophia could
see he was laughing.

A
real
laugh, not the one of practiced charm she had seen him use at the club. He threw
his head back with a flash of infectious humor more brilliant than a ray of the sun,
and Sophia felt a wistful pang as she watched him. Who was making him laugh like that,
so full of abandon?

She studied the lady who stood beside him. She was young and petite and as exquisitely
beautiful as a china doll, with fair, translucent skin and fine-spun, red-gold hair
coiled beneath a feathered hat. Her small, gloved hand rested on his arm as she leaned
forward to smile up at him from under her lashes. The two of them looked so happy
together, so comfortable and easy.

So right. Sophia couldn’t remember ever feeling that way with anyone, as if she just
belonged right there. Even when she had lived with her family she had felt alone,
different.

“
Mon dieu
, isn’t that one of the St. Claires now?” Camille said. “How funny, after we were
just talking about them. It must be fate. Too bad it is not your flower-sending admirer,
but Monsieur Dominic is certainly as handsome.”

Sophia pretended a great interest in the handle of her furled parasol. It wouldn’t
do to encourage Camille when she was in a matchmaking mood. “Oh, yes, so it is.” She
wanted to stop herself from going on, but somehow she couldn’t. “Who is that with
him? She is very pretty.”

“Oh, that is his sister! Mademoiselle Isabel St. Claire. I met her at the Café Anglais.
I believe she is the twin of your Monsieur James. A friend of mine saw her as Juliet
in London last year and said she was wonderful. We must
go see their performance at the Theatre Nationale while they are here.”

His sister.
Sophia felt a ridiculous rush of relief at the thought and felt so foolish she had
to laugh at herself. Dominic certainly seemed to bring out the worst in her! “Will
we not be too busy at the club?”

“Nonsense, Sophie. You must know that meeting people and being seen at all the fashionable
places is part of doing business. The theater will be… oh,
sacre bleu
!” Camille broke off with a gasp and a smile. “They are coming this way.”

“Who?”

“The St. Claires, of course. And Monsieur Dominic is looking right at you. Smile,
Sophie.”

“What! He is not looking at me,” Sophie said, feeling again like a silly schoolgirl
wondering if the young man she fancied was watching her at a ball. She resisted the
urge to peek over at him.

Or at least she tried to resist. She couldn’t seem to stop herself and glanced in
his direction from the corner of her eye. Yes—he really was looking at her, and so
was his sister. Isabel St. Claire was smiling with a curious gleam in her green eyes,
but Dominic was scowling, his laughter completely gone.

Disoriented by that angry frown, Sophia tried to spin away and find an escape route.
But there was none.

“They
are
coming this way,” Camille said. “Sophie, smile! You do look so fierce when you’re
all solemn like that.”

Sophia automatically arranged her face in a smile, but it felt brittle as the St.
Claires came closer, and Camille called out a greeting to them.

“Madame Martine, how lovely to see you again,” Isabel said as they met under the arching
shady branches of a tree. She was even prettier up close, as delicate and gold-and-white
as a fairy princess. Dominic hovered behind her protectively, and Sophia wondered
what it was like to have a brother like that. Someone who watched over his relatives,
keeping them from harm. “And you must be Mrs. Westman! You must forgive my informality,
but I feel I know you already. Paris is abuzz with the success of your friend’s club.”

“You must visit La Reine d’Argent and see for yourself, Mademoiselle St. Claire,”
Camille said. “Perhaps tea one afternoon?”

“I would adore that,” Isabel answered. “If my jailer brothers would release me from
rehearsal for a mere hour.”

“You are here now,” Camille pointed out.

“My first real outing since we arrived in Paris,” Isabel said with a pretty pout.
“I am longing to see so much more of the city. Tell me—where did you get that hat,
Madame Martine? I must do some shopping while I’m here.”

As Isabel and Camille chatted about modistes, Sophia surreptitiously watched Dominic
from the corner of her eye. He seemed to be politely listening to his sister’s conversation,
but he also appeared to be watching Sophia. Expecting something from her.

What a puzzle the St. Claires were, Sophia thought. She had met so many people in
her travels, learned so much about their emotions and their foibles, but she couldn’t
decipher this family at all.

They all turned to walk on through the park, and Isabel St. Claire fell into step
beside Sophia. “You are certainly every bit as pretty as James said, Mrs. Westman.”

Sophia laughed in surprise. She wouldn’t have thought “pretty” would be the adjective
James would use after the abrupt way they parted at the club. “I thank you and your
brother for the compliment, Miss St. Claire. I was afraid he did not care for me after
we parted.”

“Of course not! He has spoken of nothing but you all day. He does tend to get a bit
tongue-tied around women he admires, which I fear can give the wrong impression. But
did he not send you flowers? He said he was going to.”

“Yes, he did. They were beautiful.”

“There! Then he has truly apologized.”

“There was no need to apologize. Your brothers were charming,” Sophia said. She slid
a glance at Dominic, who was talking with Camille. “What did they tell you about me?”

Isabel shrugged. “Not a great deal. They do try to keep secrets from me, though, when
they go places they think I should not. They haven’t realized I have many methods
of discovering information all my own.” She leaned closer and whispered, “I heard
some sort of dark muttering about a diary. Do you know anything about that?”

“I’m not at all sure. Your brothers seem rather—dramatic,” Sophia said cautiously.

Isabel laughed happily. “They are that. But tell me, Mrs. Westman—do you enjoy the
theater? Will you come see our show when it opens?”

Sophia opened her mouth to answer, when she suddenly noticed a man standing near the
wall. As she fell silent, everyone went on chattering and moved off to examine a nearby
flowerbed. The man shouldn’t have caught her eye at all, he was such a nondescript
figure. A rather portly man in a brown tweed coat with his hat tugged low over
his brow, a newspaper in his hand. But somehow his very stillness made him stand out
in the pale swirl of the crowd.

And he was looking right at her.

“Mrs. Westman?” Isabel said.

Sophia turned to smile at her, and when she looked back the man was gone. But someone
even worse was in his place. It seemed the man in the brown coat was merely a searcher,
leading the hunter to its prey.

For it was Lord Hammond who watched her now.

He smiled as he caught her eye and strolled leisurely toward her. Sophia watched him,
frozen like a hare before the hunter. She had thought she left him behind in Baden-Baden.

She should have known better.

“Mrs. Westman,” he said as he stopped at her side. “How charming to see you here.”

Sophia glanced toward the others, who still stood nearby but not close enough to hear
the conversation. Dominic watched her closely, as if he tried to figure out who this
man was and what she was to him.

Sophia swallowed hard and forced herself to smile at Hammond, leading him a few steps
further away from the others. What else could she do in such a public place? Hit him
over the head with her parasol and run? As tempting as that was, she didn’t want to
cause a scene.

“Lord Hammond,” she said. “What a surprise. I hadn’t heard you were in Paris.”

“I merely stopped on my way back to London, to perform an errand for my cousin the
Duke of Pendrake.” He stepped closer to her, too close. She could smell his expensive
cologne, and the cloying scent of it seemed to wrap around her like tentacles.

Sophia made herself keep smiling. “You must be eager to reach England again.”

“Not at all. I’m glad my errand brought me to Paris so I could see you again. We parted
much too abruptly in Baden-Baden.”

“I thought all business between us had been concluded, Lord Hammond,” Sophia said
coldly.

He laughed, as if her attempts to maintain distance amused him. “You took something
from me I would very much like to win back, Mrs. Westman.”

“If it’s the money, I will happily play cards with you again any evening at La Reine
d’Argent. You could attempt to win it back, but surely I was the victor fair and square
in Baden-Baden.”

He waved those words away with a quick flick of his elegantly gloved hand. “The money
is nothing at all. I would happily gift you such a sum whenever you wish, and more.
I told you before, my dear, I am a very generous man.”

“But I have no need of such generosity. I am finding work here,” Sophia said. “And
I’m afraid I don’t understand why you would wish to help me at all. You didn’t seem
at all happy when you lost our little game.”

“I never take kindly to losing, Mrs. Westman. I am not accustomed to it.” Lord Hammond
suddenly frowned, his affable facade vanishing. “And I don’t care to play games with
you any longer. Farewell—for now.”

Sophia held her breath as he walked away until she saw he was truly gone. How could
he have come back into her life now, making veiled threats? She felt herself trembling
with fear and anger.