So that was it. But she must remain cautious. “There were many there that night. I don’t remember you.”
“You wore a white gown with flowers in your hair and sang very sweetly.”
“Surely it isn’t wise for an Englishman to be in Paris?”
“Business brings me here.” He looked over his shoulder. A man and woman passed the entrance and glanced their way. “We can’t talk here, it is drawing unwanted attention. Is there somewhere we can go?”
He was tall and possessed of a charming smile. His smile made their bleak surroundings vanish for a moment. It was also a smile that had her trusting him. But should she? Would Henrietta be pleased if she took him back to Argenteuil? “I’ve seen you before,” she said, remembering. “It was Hyde Park, you were riding in Rotten Row.”
“Ah, good.” He glanced around. No one was in sight. “I am at your service, mademoiselle. I suspect you and Lady Henrietta are in trouble. As I have said, I want to help.”
She recalled that he had been on friendly terms with Anthony and Henrietta. But that wasn’t enough to trust him. Some Englishmen found the Revolution beneficial. Was he one? “Your name, monsieur?”
He smiled. “Later perhaps.”
“What help can you offer?”
He took her arm and led her out into the street. “We will discuss it further, where the walls don’t have ears.”
“What is this business you speak of?”
“That I cannot tell you, mademoiselle. You shall have to take my words at face value.”
At least he didn’t create a story to convince her. Verity made up her mind. She instinctively liked the look of this man. And her instincts were generally sound. “You’d best come to my rooms.” She looked for a carriage in the traffic rumbling past.
He stepped onto the road and hailed a passing fiacre. When it stopped, he assisted her into it. His actions were those of a gentleman. And he moved in Anthony’s circle. She studied him from beneath her lashes as they negotiated the Paris streets. He had a certain elegance, despite his ill-fitting clothes.
“Will we find Lady Henrietta at your home?”
She shook her head.
“Will you tell me where she is?”
Verity raised her eyebrows and gave him back some of his own. “Later, perhaps, monsieur. When I learn your name.”
He acknowledged it with a bow of his head as the fiacre drove through the open fields of La Butte Montmartre.
