“If it were not so far,” she said, “I would take you for a tour.” Even if they took Madame Fournier, Serena doubted her grandparents would let her spend a night with a single man under the same roof.
Abruptly, that good woman jumped up, setting her plate behind her on her chair and causing Monsieur Branley also to rise quickly to his feet.
“The ladies’ retiring room,” Madame Fournier announced, staring hard at Serena.
Madame’s indigestion had obviously struck. Realizing she was required to go with her chaperone whether or not she wished to, Serena set her empty plate down before giving Monsieur Branley a small smile.
“If you’ll excuse us.” She couldn’t resist raising her eyebrows at being put on a leash.
“Of course,” he said, before winking in return.
It made her insides flutter again. Something about this man had her decidedly ensnared.
Leaving the makeshift ballroom, they found a smallgarde robethat had been turned into a ladies’ retiring room, and an even smallercabinet de toilette, far too small for the number of guests who needed to use it at any given moment. Rushing from torn hems to fallen coiffure to bodices drenched in spilled wine, even assisting with a chamber pot behind a screen, the attendants helped the crush of ladies with their every need, except the ability to breathe in the stuffy environment.
Serena edged closer and closer to the door until finally, Madame Fournier indicated her readiness to return to the party. Stepping back into the throng, Serena thought full stomachs had done little to calm the party guests. If anything, their emotions seemed inflamed by the rich canapés they’d consumed.
“The next dance, mademoiselle,” a young man said, not waiting for an answer, nor consulting her chaperone. However, instead of being content on the dance floor, he twirled her to the far end of the room and, with a firm hold of her hand, pulled her outside.
Not unduly alarmed at first, knowing Madame Fournier had seen the man’s face and that Monsieur Branley was somewhere nearby, Serena protested only mildly. She had engaged in precisely this sort of improper behavior during the Season, and knew a kiss was the prize her admirer sought.
Unlike her prior indiscretions, though, she felt no compunction to let him give her even the smallest peck. The only lips she found herself craving were the tall Englishman’s.
As her admirer drew her from the well-lit patio where the tables were still set up, Serena felt a frisson of apprehension shiver down her spine. She wished she’d worn her pistol under her gauzy skirts after all, even if it had shown when she danced. Merely waving it toward a man would make him turn tail and run.
“Release me, monsieur. I must return to my chaperone,” she told him firmly.
“Please, just a kiss,” he begged, despite his behavior being more aggressive than beseeching. “Our glorious emperor has come back to us!”
She could not comprehend how Bonaparte’s return to France was a reason for her to kiss anyone or for this man to behave badly.
As best she could, Serena dug in her heels, despite her soles being soft for dancing. Unfortunately, the slippery grass gave her no grip, and she found herself in a similar situation to Vauxhall, except this time, a tall hedgerow grew behind her instead of a leafy tree. The eager young man gripped both her wrists as she raised her fisted hands to pummel him, but at least he’d stopped trying to get her farther behind the shrub-line.
Drawing her against him, he trapped her arms. However, as he leaned down to kiss her, she drew her knee up sharply and slammed it against the bulge between his thighs.
No pistol needed, she thought to herself as he released her at once, doubling over and swearing blue oaths. If her father was correct, such language could blister her ears, but she believed he would be proud of her swift action.
Turning from her would-be kisser, she spied Monsieur Branley charging toward them.
“Happily,” she told him when he got closer, “I have convinced the gentleman to leave me alone.”
Her handsome escort glanced from the crouching man to her satisfied smile, and then he shrugged.
“It appears you have.” But he couldn’t resist giving the man a shove from behind that sent him flying into the prickly hedge.
Another flurry of oaths arose and then receded into the background as they walked away along the paved walkway toward the well-known Medici Fountain.
“Where is your chaperone?” Monsieur Branley asked.
Serena hesitated since they were obviously going in the opposite direction to the other guests, farther from the lights of the Palais du Luxembourg and toward the dark and sprawling gardens she’d been trying to avoid.
Out of the frying pan and into the fire,she thought. Except this fire had a matching flame flickering inside of her, and she felt no wish to avoid being alone with him.
Perhaps her escortwasa libertine, as her grand-mère suggested.
“I lost Madame Fournier on the edge of the dance floor,” she confessed.
But he didn’t turn back as he should. And suddenly, the evening had become far more interesting. Even more so when they circled past a reflecting pond and reached the fountain’s secluded grotto, a Tuscan portico lushly surrounded with fragrant spring cherry blossoms.
