“No, not at all,” he agreed, “which is why I haven’t pledged my troth or anything else to anyone yet. I wasn’t ready to keep such a promise.”
“That makes younota very desirable match, as you said.”
His cheeks flushed a darker shade. Either he was embarrassed or annoyed at her for pointing it out.
“In any case, I was speaking about French sympathies,” he explained, “not fidelity to one’s spouse. Neither a viscount nor a viscountess can be suspected of harboring favorable feelings toward the country with which we’ve been at war for so long. And that’s all I meant about you not being a suitable viscountess.”
“I see.” She glanced down river so he wouldn’t see her disappointment, wishing she could flounce her skirts and look majestic. Instead, she had to settle for the small swish of her plain cotton dress. But she wasn’t French, and her only loyalty was to her grandparents. That didn’t preclude her from acceptance among thebon ton,as long as they’d forgotten her earlier indiscretions.
In truth, she would willingly accept a promise from the tall man beside her if he was prepared to settle down. Her heart was more than ready to disclose its preference for Malcolm Branley —or Lord Branley, which he must surely be called in England— over any other man she’d ever met.
Luckily, her head was too smart to say anything of the sort to a confirmed libertine. For even if she was suitable to be his viscountess, he had clearly reiterated he wasn’t going to make any promises or take a vow of fidelity.
“Why did you come to see me today?” she asked, something she should have wondered when he first showed himself at the Halle aux Vins.
“To make sure you are well.” He said it as if his concern for her was the most natural thing in the world, almost as if she mattered to him.
“You saw me leave the palace unharmed yesterday,” Serena reminded him. “I saw you there.”
“And I was prepared to get you away from the guards if they’d tried to imprison you.”
“I know,” she told him.
He sent her a genuine grin. “Did you?”
“Yes, I trusted you would rescue me if need be. Luckily, the emperor let me go. Monsieur Christoff was my accuser, by the way.”
Malcolm shook his head in astonishment. “How? Why?”
“We saved him, you and I, along with the others from the catacombs.”
“Careless of me,” Malcolm muttered. “I’m terribly sorry.”
“I had to mention his brief assault in order to cast doubt upon his character. And he has been locked up again.” She sighed. “Bonaparte expects me to bring him anything I hear or see that might be useful.”
“Will you?” Malcolm’s words were clipped.
Feeling irritated by his question, she didn’t answer.
“Never mind,” he said. “As long as you don’t turn in the mute baker, I am grateful.”
So that was his main interest in seeing her!She was more than a little disappointed. Although she supposed in his business, he had to be wary.
“I will not. It would only reflect badly upon me,” she added, unable to help the bitter tone. He hadn’t been thinking of her as a potential wife, only assuring himself he could continue to do his duty.
Stepping off the bridge, they returned to the Quai de la Tournelle, mere yards from the wine market.
“You shouldn’t come any farther with me. It might look suspicious,” she said. “Good day, Monsieur Branley.”
He didn’t argue. “Good day, Mademoiselle Renault.”
And she walked away, wondering if she’d seen the last of him.
***
“BONEY’S PLANNING THEwhere and the when, even as we speak,” Randall said.
“I heard.” Malcolm had, in fact, already been talking with a pretty scullery maid in the palace who’d heard from a chamber maid who’d heard from her lover, a footman in the emperor’s private apartment, that a cartographer had been summoned.
