Page 11 of Duke of Disguise (Ladies of Worth #4)

On his return to the H?tel du Tremaine, Avers found a missive from Wakeford. The men watching the Comte’s movements had reported that whilst Vergelles was still at home, his mistress and the Marquis de Dartois were abroad.

Avers considered this information. Mademoiselle Cadeaux and Dartois were not his target and yet… it would surely be auspicious to cross paths with them and further his acquaintance. Yes, he should seek them out, to further his mission to find the missing papers. It had nothing to do with a brand-new desire to understand the woman who was proving an enigma.

Skipping breakfast, much to the Tremaine chef’s chagrin, Avers struck out for the Champs-élysées where his quarries had last been spotted. Perhaps, thought Avers as he tried to forget the distracting image of a dark-haired woman walking through the streets of Paris at night, he could secure an invitation to the Comte’s residence from one of them. If the Comte would not confide in Avers willingly, the next best thing would be to gain access to his house and try to find the missing papers himself.

Dartois would likely be pleased to see him and might easily invite him to another social engagement. But he did not reside with the Comte and likely held less sway than the nobleman’s mistress. It would be Mademoiselle Cadeaux who would hold the key to the Comte’s door, and Avers was fairly sure she did not like him. He needed to overcome her aversion.

Once he reached the main thoroughfare it did not take him long to spot the couple among the throng, thanks to a series of sharp barks and a stream of angry French.

Rather than approach them directly, Avers ascertained where they were heading and found a place along their route where he might intersect them. The spot he chose was beside a street performer dazzling the crowds with acrobatic feats. The short, wiry man had a jolly little face and had already flipped backwards, landing on a box, and raising his arms to rapturous applause.

Avers followed suit and, tucking his cane under his arm, clapped heartily before tossing a few coins into the performer’s hat on the floor. He kept his eyes on the acrobat-come-contortionist who was now bending backwards in the most unnatural way, and resisted the urge to look to the right where Mademoiselle Cadeaux and Dartois were standing.

While still bent double, the performer took a coin offered by a young girl, and the crowd laughed and crowed with delight. Avers joined in. Loudly.

“It is him.” The male voice came from his right.

“Oui, and I am sure he does not wish for his enjoyment to be disturbed.”

“Nonsense, Mademoiselle, you are too full of sensibility. We shall greet him and there are no monkeys by this performer who your little devil can try to dispatch.”

Avers kept his eyes on the acrobat, concentrating on keeping his body relaxed as he lounged back on one leg. He laughed again at the antics of the performer.

Dartois hailed him. “Your Grace.”

Avers broke off laughing and scanned the crowd, surprised pleasure lighting his eyes as they fell upon the genial looking Dartois, and an aloof looking Mademoiselle Cadeaux.

Aloof—was that the look? He couldn’t quite make it out. She had fixed a polite smile onto her countenance, but it held no warmth, and she looked less than inclined to strike up a conversation with the English Duke.

This was not a good start.

“Mademoiselle Cadeaux,” Avers said, making a leg and bowing. “Dartois. What a pleasure to see you this fine day. Have you watched this man?” He turned immediately from them and gestured with his cane at the performer. “Never seen the like. I’ve half a mind to employ him just for entertainment at supper.”

It was a good feint. His coming across the pair in the large city of Paris was convenient to say the least. He hoped faking an interest in something other than his object would set them at ease.

“How luck smiles her radiant face upon us to be fortuitous enough to bump into you twice in one week, Your Grace,” Dartois said very prettily. “I have half a mind to think it fate.”

“Then fate is a kind mistress to me today,” Avers replied in a similarly hyperbolic style. “It seems Your Grace gets around Paris at a rate of knots,” the Marquis continued. “Was it not you I saw at the Salles des Machines last night?”

Avers tensed. He had not seen Dartois at the theatre, but then again, once he had identified the Comte and his mistress, he’d had eyes for no one else.

“Oh yes, I followed a recommendation from Mademoiselle Cadeaux.” Avers inclined his head towards the petite woman. “Unfortunate that the family box was inhabited when I arrived.”

He had to reason away his meeting Wakeford and to play on the lie that it was happenstance seemed the only way to go.

“Ah! You have been recommending your theatrical friends to the Duke, then?” Dartois asked Mademoiselle Cadeaux. “A pity you were not there at the end, Mademoiselle, or you could have introduced His Grace to the famed Saint-Val Cadette.”

“Oui,” she answered, not returning Dartois’ gaze, hers remaining fixed on the acrobat. “But I returned home early—the headache.”

Avers allowed no change to come over his expression at the falsehood.

“Alas, I also had the headache,” he said smoothly. “So I left early, though not before I could see the reason for Saint-Val Cadette’s fame.”

At this admission Mademoiselle Cadeaux turned to observe him, her dark eyes piercing, the look measuring.

“It’s the result of my cousin’s sermons,” Avers said, pursuing the topic of his headache and using it to further embroider his false lineage. “I shall forever be an errant parishioner in his familial church.”

“And where are you off to this morning?” Dartois asked. “Might you venture to the ?le de la Cité to see some of our medieval architecture and sate that historical bent you have—or are you on your cousin’s business?”

The mention of the Parisian island caused another sharp look from Mademoiselle Cadeaux. It was a coincidence, no doubt, Avers’ alter-ego was known for his historical interests.

“A fine suggestion,” Avers replied. “I have been told the chapel was one of the wonders of medieval Paris, so I must make time to pay it a visit—I still have some interest in antiquities—but for now I am in search of a spot of gaming. If I do not find something to line my pockets soon, I fear I shall expire from ennui before the week is out.”

Was that a wrinkle on Mademoiselle Cadeaux’s nose? Excellent. She was back to despising him, and that was better than fearing him discovering her philanthropic endeavours. If he was viewed as a threat, he may attract undue attention. He must appear the lazy, debauched Duke of Tremaine to make his way into the Comte’s confidences.

“And you?” Avers replied in an easy drawl. “May I return the interrogation?” One brow rose slowly up in question.

“Nothing that will alleviate your ennui,” Mademoiselle Cadeaux said, a little too quickly.

He had hit a nerve then, with the mention of his leaving the theatre early and Dartois speaking of the island in the Seine. She wished to be rid of him.

“Oh, don’t mind Mademoiselle Cadeaux—the Comte is busy this morning and she is feeling neglected. I am sure we might entertain you for a little while.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Dartois. I have no such feelings.”

“And,” the Marquis said with emphasis, ignoring her interjection, “her little devil of a dog just bit a monkey for which she was forced to pay the owner three sous.” His handsome face broke into a smile, and when she glared back at him, he began to laugh.

“He is not a devil,” Mademoiselle Cadeaux snapped. “He did not draw blood. He only wished to play and the owner was entirely too sensitive. His monkey threw a piece of fruit at Lutin. How else would he react but to try and catch it in his mouth?”

“Le petit diable,” Avers murmured, crouching down and reaching towards the canine in question.

Dartois chuckled and gave a wry smile. “You risk your limbs.”

“No, don’t—” Mademoiselle Cadeaux protested.

Avers ignored both, and Lutin, in response to the human offering him succour, trotted merrily forwards and presented his ears to be scratched.

Mademoiselle Cadeaux cursed under her breath. When Avers looked up in response, she pursed her lips, and abruptly turned to face Dartois.

“You see, my Lord,” she said. “I told you before, my Lutin is a good Lutin, not a bad one.”

“A bad one?” Avers said, ceasing the ear-scratches, to the chagrin of Lutin, and rising to join the humans again. “Surely not—merely spirited.”

“Yes, that’s—” Mademoiselle Cadeaux broke off when she realised she was agreeing with him, then carried on a little less forcefully. “That’s what I keep trying to explain to Dartois, but he will not listen.”

“The evil imp can sense that there is room for only one devil in charge and when I am around, it is me,” Dartois said, bowing mockingly and then sniffing at the little dog in question.

“A devil, eh?” said Avers.

Dartois shrugged. “So some have said.”

He grinned in that disarming way of his and Avers believed him the last man who could ever be compared to such a creature.

“Now, to answer your question, I am instructed to entertain Mademoiselle Cadeaux until the Comte is finished with his business.”

“The Comte de Vergelles is a busy man.”

“When opportunity arises. And there are opportunities aplenty at present.”

Avers was just wondering whether to push his luck and offer an obvious overture, when Dartois spoke again.

“You’ve mentioned your interest in business opportunities—perhaps the Comte’s interests may align with yours. Why don’t you come to the Café Procope a week Thursday? I know he’ll be meeting with several of his associates then and may have something to tempt you.”

“Dartois,” Mademoiselle Cadeaux interjected, “I am sure His Grace would rather find a gaming table than a business opportunity while he is here in Paris.”

Interesting. Had she really bought into Avers’ persona of a wastrel aristocrat, or was she trying to keep him away from her master?

“I’m interested in both,” he said, hedging his bets. “Amusement is a necessity, but so is lining one’s pockets, and if business is the means, then so be it.”

“There, you see? His Grace is interested, and he will come a week on Thursday.” Dartois took Mademoiselle Cadeaux’s hand onto his arm again and began to move off. “Adieu, Your Grace. Until next time.”

Avers tipped his hat to the couple. A most productive morning. He had ruled out any connection between Mademoiselle Cadeaux’s late night visits to the ?le de la Cité and the stolen papers, and been offered a way into the Comte’s circle by Dartois.

He was just about to move off when a commotion broke out to his left and he turned to see the wispy-haired Lutin trotting towards him, his red leather lead trailing on the floor behind.

“Lutin, no! You little devil!” Mademoiselle Cadeaux’s cry sounded above the crowds that separated her from her pet.

Making a rapid decision, Avers stepped to the right as Lutin ran past him, his foot descending squarely on the trailing lead, and the dog jerked to an unceremonious stop. His quarry caught, Avers bent down in a leisurely fashion to take up the lead firmly in his hand.

As he did so, the dog made use of the sudden slack, and darted towards his target—a biscuit lying on the floor to the left of Avers’ feet where Mademoiselle Cadeaux had lately been standing.

His mistress caught up with him just as Lutin crunched the biscuit and swallowed it nearly whole. “Pardon, Your Grace. I must have dropped the treat by accident. The little terror took his first opportunity to escape.”

“Not at all.” Avers inclined his head and handed the lead over to her. “I’m glad I could be of assistance.”

“It is not the first time you have aided me with my petit diable, and for that I am thankful.”

Avers was taken aback by the sincerity in her voice. Was this the same woman who had rebuffed him more than once?

“He does not see, like I do, the dangers all around him,” she continued. “It would be the same if you did not realise the world is much bigger and nastier than you first thought. That you might be taken… taken advantage of…”

Mademoiselle Cadeaux trailed off and it was obvious to Avers she was not talking about the mischievous Lutin at all.

She held his gaze rather than avoided it, and Avers realised just how dark and deep those eyes of hers were. A man could get lost in them. He wasn’t sure he understood the woman who stood before him at all. He had thought he did—that she was a hard-nosed mistress—but she had travelled alone through dangerous streets to give to the poor and now she was… warning him.

Dartois was approaching behind her and when she saw Avers’ gaze flick over her shoulder, she gathered up Lutin’s lead and made to leave.

“Bonjour,” she said, turning on her heel, and meeting her escort while he was still a way off.

Avers stared after her, only breaking his reverie to return Dartois’ wave before the couple went on their way. Mademoiselle Cadeaux’s words echoed in his mind,

The world is much bigger and nastier than you first thought. That you might be taken advantage of…

As he dwelt on her words, Avers deduced two things. One was that Mademoiselle Cadeaux had not dropped that biscuit by accident. The other, that she had been warning him.

But of what? And why would she do such a thing?

Her attempt to deter him was in vain. All she had done was confirm that Avers was pursuing the right lead with the Comte. She truly believed he was some gullible nobleman of whom the Comte and his allies might take advantage. And so he would be.

Avers would allow the snare to close in around him until it looked as though they had caught themselves a plump bit of game, and then he and Wakeford would turn the tables, and the Comte would become the prey. The game was afoot.