Page 10 of Sir Hugo Seeks a Wife (Cinderellas of Mayfair #1)

As the hackney rolled away, Hugo came forward and swept off his hat in a bow. “Madame Lebeau, we had a problem with Lord Alfred Plunkett. I brought Miss de Smith here at her request. She didn’t feel safe in her rooms.”

“ Zut, it’s Sir Hugo, n’est-ce pas?” She was back to sounding like the Gallic proprietress of Sweet Little Nothings. “ Très gentil of you to bring Aphrodite to me.”

“We have a few things to discuss. I’m hoping you’ll allow us a moment’s privacy somewhere we won’t turn into icicles.”

He watched Madame Lebeau stiffen in astonishment. She turned to Miss de Smith. “Is this true?”

Hugo braced for Miss de Smith to insist that she wanted nothing more to do with him. But after a pause, she nodded. “Yes. Only a minute, Sylvie. Then I’m hoping I can stay with you tonight.”

“Bien s?r, ma petite.” Madame Lebeau stepped back to allow them both to enter. Behind her, a narrow stairway extended upward. “I’ll ask Joseph to sleep in the shop over the next few nights.”

“I’ve warned Lord Alfred off, madame, but I’d appreciate that,” Hugo said.

“Sometimes a word from a large adversary is enough,” she said.

“I don’t need you to look after me,” Miss de Smith said under her breath, as Sylvie climbed the steps ahead of them.

“It’s my pleasure. Every man loves playing a knight in shining armor now and again.”

“Some men like playing a knight in shining armor all the time,” she muttered.

Madame Lebeau reached the landing and another door. When she opened it, light flooded out. Hugo followed Miss de Smith down a corridor to a sitting room, as Madame Lebeau closed the door to the stairs.

The room was toasty warm and a fire burned in the grate.

After visiting Sweet Little Nothings, the stylish space didn’t surprise Hugo.

The cool blues and grays calmed the soul and a number of excellent pictures decorated the walls.

Two tall windows looked out onto the street, and a large bookcase covered one wall.

As Miss de Smith paused in the doorway, Hugo saw her clearly at last. She was ruffled and her bonnet was crooked. That storm of kisses left her lips red and full. Not one button of her clothing was undone, but a shrewd woman like Sylvie Lebeau would know that her friend had been in Hugo’s arms.

“ Bienvenue to my home,” she said. “I’ll go into the kitchen and leave you the sitting room. Aphrodite, call if you need anything.” It was a warning to Hugo that if he pushed Miss de Smith beyond what she was willing to concede, she wasn’t unprotected.

“Thank you, Sylvie.” Miss de Smith took off her gloves, bonnet, and pelisse and laid them over the back of a chair. “I know we’re disturbing you.”

“Not at all.” She poured two glasses of wine from a decanter and passed them to her guests. “You’ve added un peu excitement to a dull evening. Anyway, you’re always welcome, ma chère.”

“Thank you,” Hugo said, sipping his wine and appreciating the warmth. It was a fine vintage. Sweet Little Nothings must be prospering.

Madame Lebeau headed down a short corridor, leaving them alone together.

“Shall we sit?” Hugo asked.

“No.” Miss de Smith remained standing in the middle of the room. “I just wanted to ask you to keep my secret.”

He set his glass on an elegant mahogany table and took off his hat and gloves. “Which one? That you want me, too?”

Her lips flattened. “That’s no longer a secret.”

She wasn’t coy. He loved that. “Or the secret that Sylvie Lebeau is no more French than I am?”

She looked hunted. “I thought you’d heard that.”

He shrugged. “It’s none of my business. She can pretend to be from the moon for all I care. You’re the one I’m interested in.”

She shifted from one foot to the other under his concentrated regard. “You heard more than Sylvie’s accent.”

“Yes, I did. But then, I always knew Aphrodite wasn’t your real name.” He paused. “Athene suits you.”

She looked even more on edge. “If you knew more about me, you wouldn’t say that. It’s laughable that I share a name with the goddess of wisdom.”

“Don’t be too hard on yourself.” He unbuttoned his heavy greatcoat. “I’ll be much happier calling you Athene in my dreams than Aphrodite.”

Athene frowned, as he took off the coat and tossed it over a tapestry-covered chair. “Don’t get comfortable.”

“I’m hoping to kiss you again.”

“But Sylvie—”

“Is sharp enough to know I’ve kissed you already. And that I want more kisses.”

Her blush charmed him. Away from the office where she was so clearly in charge, she displayed a beguiling innocence. “You must know we can’t.”

“I know nothing of the kind.” He took pity on her. She looked bewildered and lost. “But I’m happy to talk first.”

She mustered a glare. It wasn’t up to her usual standard, but he commended the effort. “All I’d like from you, Sir Hugo, is your assurance that you won’t say anything to reveal that Sylvie and I are not what we seem.”

“You have my word.”

His ready agreement made her frown. “Thank you. I’ll show you out.”

He didn’t budge. “Not so fast, my girl. We have a proposal to discuss.”

“I refused you.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“Well, I’m refusing you now.”

Another thing he ignored. “What you said was that you were no fit bride for me.”

“I’m not.”

“I assume there’s a man in your past.”

“Damn you, assume what you like.” Flashing dark eyes sparked heat in his blood. “I don’t have to explain myself. I don’t owe you anything. You’re a stranger.”

“Not so.” He withstood her scolding. Did she but know it, her agitation betrayed how badly he rattled her. “Unless you’re in the habit of kissing men you don’t know.”

She squared her shoulders. “How do you know I’m not?”

He cut the air with one hand. “Because you kiss like a woman who’s out of practice.”

This time, her glare came close to setting him on fire. “I apologise that I’m not up to your usual standards.”

He responded with a wry laugh. “You know as well as I do that I loved kissing you. Just as you loved kissing me. You’ll love it when I take you to bed, too.”

“Sir Hugo, I refuse to—”

“Don’t get all prim on me now. I want you. You want me. Nothing could be simpler. What’s complicated is that you’re torturing yourself about your supposed past sins. You’re convinced they put you out of the running to become Lady Brinsmead.”

She went back to looking stern. “You’re a rich man.”

“Middling,” he said. “You won’t suffer for the lack of a good warm coat or a hearty meal on the table.”

“That’s not what I mean. You’re a rich man from a good family.”

“Well, Aunty May is a trifle eccentric, and a cousin who’s a vicar lost his living when he pawned the church silver to back a nag at Epsom. Otherwise, yes, the Brinsmead name is respected in North Yorkshire.”

His nonsense didn’t make her smile. “Take me seriously, blast you. You’re in London to find a suitable woman to marry. A woman fit to bear the next generation of Brinsmeads and bring them up to be good citizens.”

“I suppose so.”

“Rich, well-bred men want sweet little wives who have led exemplary lives.”

She was right. Or at least that had been his plan when he arrived in London.

But since he’d encountered a fiery, dark-haired woman who was set on resisting his attentions, his plans had changed.

Hearing Athene list the qualities most men sought in a bride, he couldn’t help but feel that the conventional choice sounded intolerably dull. Dull. Dull. Dull.

“Is that so?”

“It is so,” she responded with unhidden impatience.

“In fact, I can’t imagine a less appropriate wife for you than me.

Rich baronets from prominent families don’t marry shady wenches who work for their living.

They don’t marry shopgirls. They don’t marry women who lie about their identity. Women closer to thirty than eighteen.”

Athene suited her. Even as she outlined her unsuitability to become his wife, she looked like such a goddess. Her words might be humble. Her manner was as proud as an empress’s. “You seem to be an expert.”

Her chin tilted with the defiance that had caught his attention from the start. “More than you can imagine.” Her voice hardened. “Most of all, men like you marry girls who are virgins.”