Page 30 of Master Wolf
When Drew got backto Rankeillor Street, it was to find Marguerite up and dressed and pacing the parlour. She exuded an angry energy that was entirely at odds with her sunny yellow-and-white striped gown and frivolous primrose-trimmed bonnet.
“Where have you been?” she snapped, only to immediately raise a peremptory hand and add swiftly, “Do not answer that. We have an appointment at the City Chambers in half an hour with the bureaucrat who is in charge of the skeleton and I would rathernotbe later than we can help. Go and change your clothes. You look ridiculous!”
Drew glanced down at his borrowed too-tight coat and pantaloons. His cheeks warmed. “They’re not mine,” he said. “They’re Lindsay’s.”
“Obviously,” Marguerite bit out, her gaze withering. “Now, go. We leave in five minutes.”
She really could be quite high in the instep.
Drew obediently turned on his heel and left the parlour, then took the hallway stairs to his bedchamber two at a time. As soon as he was inside, he tore off his borrowed clothing and yanked on the freshly pressed—and far more sober—suit that had already been laid out for him. He spent a few precious moments taming his hair with some pomade, then smoothed a rueful hand over his bristly chin and decided—since his blond scruff wasn’t too noticeable—not to do anything about it. Moments later, he was on his way back downstairs where Marguerite was waiting.
She canted her head to one side, assessing him, lips pressed together. She had plainly simmered down now. “You will have to do, I suppose,” she said at last. “Come on.”
The carriage was waiting outside.
“We’re not walking?” Drew asked, surprised. It wasn’t far at all, and with all the traffic the carriage would probably be slower.
Finally, she quirked a smile at him. “Madame Giordano—sorry, MadameNivennow—does notwalk. She would rather die than besmirch any slippers as pretty as these ones.” Hitching up her gown, she offered him a glimpse of primrose-yellow satin slippers, decorated with ivory ribbons.
“I see your dilemma,” Drew murmured. “Of course we will take the carriage, my dear. Whatever you wish.”
She laughed then, amused. “I see you have been practising your role as my devoted slave.”
“It’s not such a difficult part to play—I simply agree with you on everything, do I not?”
She grinned. “Indeed.”
“In which case, no acting is required,” he said, offering his arm. “I wouldn’t dream of contradicting you.”
She raised a brow at his effrontery, then tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow and said conversationally, “Very wise.”
It was only once they were in the carriage that it occurred to him.
“When did you make this appointment?” he asked, frowning. “I only agreed to come the day before we left London.”
“If you had not come, I would have had to find someone else,” she admitted. “But I’m glad you decided to do the right thing. Now let me tell you how we’re going to play this.”
* * *
James Muir—thebureaucrat—turned out to be rather different than Drew was expecting. Instead of the middle-aged town official he had pictured in his mind, he was presented with an energetic young man who appeared to be in his early-to-middle twenties. Short in stature and stocky in build, he fairly bounced on his heels, as Drew introduced himself and Marguerite.
“It’s good to meet you, Mr. Niven,” he said, pumping Drew’s hand with both of his own, then turned to Marguerite, his eyes glinting with appreciation. “And Mrs. Niven of course.Enchanté, madame.” He bowed to her, and what he lacked in elegance he more than made up for in enthusiasm, not to mention surprising flexibility—his forehead was very near brushing his knee.
“Monsieur Muir,” Marguerite murmured when he straightened. “C’est un plaisir—excuse me, I forget my English. It is a great pleasure to meet you.” She was playing up her normal faint French accent to great effect, and when she treated Muir to a look that Drew could only describe as smouldering, the man visibly swallowed.
Drew bit his lip to hide his smile, although in truth he could have danced a sailor’s hornpipe naked without fear of drawing Muir’s attention from Marguerite. The man was smitten.
“The pleasure,” Muir breathed, “is all mine, madame.”
Drew allowed several moments to pass before he cleared his throat and mildly interjected, “Well, now that the introductions have been performed, would you be kind enough to show my wife and me this, ah,exhibitof yours?”
Muir flushed, quickly averting his gaze from Marguerite to meet Drew’s. “Yes, of course, Mr. Nicol. Please, follow me. It is in a room next to my own office—just a little further down the corridor.”
He set off and they fell into step behind him, Drew offering his arm to Marguerite who laid her hand there and said breathlessly, “I ’ope I do not swoon,mon amour. Do you think it will be terrifying?”
Drew chuckled indulgently. “Are you having second thoughts, my dear?” Muir had his back to them so Drew couldn’t see his face, but he could tell from the tension in the man’s shoulders that he was listening to them.
“I do not know,” Marguerite said in a hushed, fretful tone, just loud enough for Muir to hear. “Per’aps. I do not want to be a coward, but I confess, I am a little afraid. Do you think me a pathetic creature?” She looked up at him with limpid eyes and he had to bite his cheek, he wanted to laugh so badly. This woman, so bloodthirsty in battle, playing the timid rabbit.