Lewis’s gaze held hers with mesmerizing intensity. “You speak of what you believe would be best for me, but you have not answered my question. Is it unthinkable that you could love me?”
Marie-Claire looked back steadily. “I have always cared for you, not just as my husband’s brother, but for yourself. Even when you were a boy, I knew I could rely on you absolutely, and I have always valued your integrity and honor. But I will say it again—I am too worn! You deserve better.”
Lewis held her gaze for an endless moment, then knew with a flash of insight that the time for words was past. Placing his hands on Marie-Claire’s shoulders, he bent his lips to hers. He deliberately held back, fearing that a lifetime of suppressed love might sear them both.
Her lips were hesitant at first, then she slowly raised her hands to his waist and the tentativeness of the kiss was swept away as his passion communicated itself to her. Lewis pulled her close, scarcely believing that after a lifetime of dreams Marie-Claire was in his arms, responding with a sweetness beyond his imaginings.
The sun had slipped below the horizon and the room was nearly dark when they returned to normal time. The countess tilted her head back, and there was mischief in her voice when she said, “Do you know, Louis, I believe that I am not as old as I thought.”
He laughed then, with a freedom and joy entirely new to him. “Then you will consider me as a candidate for your next husband?”
There was sadness in her reply. “My husbands have not fared well. You might be better advised to keep your distance.”
Lewis put a hand on her shoulder, his blue eyes searching in the dusk. “Marie-Claire, I would give the rest of my appointed span in return for a single day at your side.”
Her voice was wondering. “You really mean that, don’t you?” With a half-smile she said, “I trust it will not come to that. I think it would be well that we learn to know each other again. If you feel the same way this summer, you may ask me again.”
Lewis Radleigh had no doubts at all how he would feel in the summer. He pulled Marie-Claire close against him and laid his cheek against the top of her head, grateful for the darkness of the room that concealed his joyful tears.
* * *
Locating Christa turned out to be anticlimactically simple after the drama of the last two days. Drawing up a list of their émigré acquaintances, Charles called on half while Marie-Claire and Lewis visited the rest. One of the best possibilities, Suzanne de Savary, proved difficult to locate because she had moved, but a neighbor gave Charles the direction of her shop.
It was after closing hours when he arrived there, and Suzanne herself was the only person left. Her eyes widened at the sight of him when she opened the door, and with a squeal of delight she threw her arms around him.
“Charles Radleigh! This is beyond anything great!” She stepped back and asked hopefully, “And my cousin Marie-Claire?”
He smiled broadly as he entered the shop and closed the door behind him. “Very well indeed. She is in London now and looking forward to seeing you.” The earl glanced around him at the spacious showroom and rich sweeps of fabric. “It appears you are doing very well for yourself.”
“Yes, much of it due to your sister. The minx made me the most covetedmodistein London by passing the word of my skill—in the strictest confidence! Of course, everyone beat a path to my door, and now I am all the rage. Even when the fashion moves to someone else, I think I will keep many of the customers.”
“You know where my sister is?” Charles asked eagerly.
“But of course,” she said with a lift of her brows. “She is working here. Shall I make you some coffee?”
Being half French, Charles never refused such an offer. While Suzanne brewed the beverage, she brought him up to date on Christa’s and her own activities. He had gone through the extremes of shock and amusement and they had drunk half the pot by the time she was up to the present.
“So three days ago, she appeared on my doorstep, ready to leave the life of an abigail behind her.” Suzanne frowned. “She is not very happy. I think something happened, but she won’t talk about it. Did I mention that she was employed by Miss Annabelle Kingsley, Viscount Kingsley’s sister?”
Charles nodded. He had met the viscount some years before. He had been a dried old stick of a man; perhaps the sister was also and had made Christa’s life miserable. He still marveled at the thought of his sister meekly doing anyone’s bidding.
Suzanne went on, “Christa started here yesterday. She insists on working in the sewing room. A great pity—she would be marvelous with the customers.” She frowned and added, “I think she does not wish to be found by someone for she instructed me to deny her existence if anyone inquired.”
“I am glad that you did not include me in her prohibition.” Charles chuckled.
“Faugh!” Suzanne scoffed at the very idea, then smiled ruefully at her cousin. “I am going to lose my partner, no?”
“I think it very likely,” Charles agreed. “Where is she now—at your house?”
“No, she is staying with one of the seamstresses. I have just married again, and she judged it unsuitable to . . . how do the English say . . . play gooseberry?” As Charles burst out laughing, she continued placidly, “Though with six children between my Henry and me, one more gooseberry would hardly be noticed.”
After tendering his felicitations on her marriage, Charles asked, “Where is she staying?”
With a shake of her head, Suzanne said, “I fear I do not have the direction, only that it is somewhere near St. Paul’s. But if you come here at eight o’clock in the morning, you may carry her back to a life of luxury.”
Charles touched her hand. “Is that what you would like for yourself? You are part of my family. You have only to ask . . .”
His cousin waved dismissively. “If one of my daughters grows up thirsting for the beau monde, you or Christa may bring her out. But as for me, I have never been happier in my life than I am now. Give Marie-Claire my love and ask her when she can call on me. As a working woman, it is harder for me to get away.”
