Perhaps he could just make her disappear. Surely, she had done something heinous in her lifetime. Starved helpless children. Trampled old men with her carriage. Drowned puppies whilst laughing maniacally. Or who knew, maybe she was the blackguard he had been looking for this whole time. He doubted it, though.

The waltz ended seconds after he had stepped away from her, and the guests were now shuffling back. They filed in around the pillars, chairs, and refreshments, brushing by him on their way.

With a sizable audience now at hand, he managed the few steps required for a normal speaking distance with the woman who, for some strange reason, was still standing between the confounded drapes.

“I am afraid I must go.” He smiled apologetically. Before stress drives me to strangle either you or myself. “’Twas lovely, Lady Dumonte. Good evening.” He bowed over her hand.

“What? You have given up so soon?”

His jaw tensed. “Pardon?”

“What a cream puff,” she muttered, a half smile pulling at one side of her lips.

“A cream—” He blinked, surprised. By gad, the lady was toying with him. “You are, indeed, a cruel woman, my lady.”

“How am I to know what kind of a man you are if I do not see how you act under pressure?”

He still couldn’t quite believe it, but it was true. The lady had played him for a fool.

“Did I disappoint you?” Nick asked, his brows rising with a reluctant hint of amusement.

“No, not really,” she mused with a blush so slight Nick almost missed it. “I thought you might try to seduce your way out. Although, I certainly did not expect the desperate attempt at a sonnet.”

“That was not my best moment,” Nick admitted. He pulled his quizzing glass from his waistcoat pocket, swinging it in tiny circles around his hand. “But since you have played cruel games with my pride and lured me into showing my true colors, do you now plan to slay the wolf?”

“I was not aware you were attempting to hide your colors.”

He raised his quizzing glass to his chest and knit his brow. “It has been a trial, but I have managed to behave myself tonight.”

“That was behaving?” she asked incredulously. “I am surprised you came at all.”

“Yes, well, I could not very well turn down an invitation from the most beautiful—” At Lady Dumonte’s raised brow of serious doubt, he stopped and chuckled. “A favor to a friend.”

“It must have been some friend for you to risk so much.” She glanced over him dispassionately. “I do not like you.”

“You are too kind,” he drawled.

When she swept past him, Nick followed and fell in beside her.

“We elite are not a kind people, Lord Pembridge.”

“I must disagree with you,” Nick said. “I have the good fortune of knowing many very kind people.”

“Then you are very fortunate, indeed,” she replied. “I only know two.”

“Between you and Béarn, I begin to wonder where Parisian society meets their friends.”

The music changed pace again and struck up the first chords of a country-dance.

The crowd along the outer wall began to thin as the couples took their positions once more.

“They are good ton, and if they have unsavory habits, they keep them to themselves. Whether I find them kind or not is irrelevant,” she said simply.

“If I chose my comrades based on social status alone,” Nick warned, “I might find myself surrounded by a worse sort than the kind you are fighting so desperately to weed out.”

“I highly doubt it.”

“I have known rakes and racketeers who were more honorable and trustworthy than some of your fellows here.”

“Honorable rake,” she drew out. “Does that not sound contradictory to you?”

Nick grinned. “Only to those who are not familiar with the skill.”

“That wouldn’t take skill,” she said flatly. “It would take magic.”

“Take the duke, for example,” Nick went on, ignoring her sarcastic remark. “Béarn is a gentleman to his very bones. In fact, if he were alone with a lady, he would be more likely to preach politics than love. Still, he understands the phenomena of the honorable rake.”

“Does he?” she asked. “Perhaps he simply indulges you.”

“He wouldn’t dare!” Nick returned with mock horror.

She donned a secretive smile. “Speaking of my dear friend Béarn, you were right before. I was acknowledging the duke. Perhaps you should determine where your friend’s loyalty lies before you grant yours so blindly. Good evening, my lord.”

Without another word, she turned to join a group of chatting tabbies several feet away, a group in which he was obviously not welcome, and that was fine with him.

A few things were immediately very clear. First of all, this whole mess was Béarn’s fault. The only satisfaction: a round of fisticuffs. Secondly, Nick had needlessly made a fool of himself whilst somewhere that double-dealing traitor watched. He was sure of it. Having a good laugh, too, Nick would wager. Thirdly, Lady Dumonte was the most aggravating woman he had ever met, and he hoped never to meet her again.

He turned around and weaved his way through the crowd to the exit. The night was young, but he had been working long days and could use a few extra hours of sleep, especially after this evening. Once he was rested, he needed to focus on the Comte de Chouvigny, the man he and Béarn suspected of organizing the prostitution ring and the kidnappings.

On the street, he whistled loudly in a short burst. Thirty seconds later, he was in a carriage and on his way to his temporary home of five years now.

Nick had the esteemed privilege of residing at the Soubise. It seemed the Home Office claimed Nick was a historian and collector who would be best placed over the Imperial Archives during his stay in Paris, however long. Receiving a little bribery was never on Nick’s list of unforgivable sins, and since they had offered, it would have been rude of him to refuse. He had to work this prostitution case in exchange, but he felt it was a fair trade. It did not interfere with his own private reasons for being in Paris—his self-assigned mission to find the Bonapartists who had conspired with his father against England.

Nick was thoroughly impressed with the arrangements, even more so once he had seen the place. Very few could compare with its elegant beige and gold plated walls, ceiling murals, marble fireplaces, and incredible attention to detail. The only residence he had noticed that came close to its splendor had been Lady Dumonte’s, of course.

A chuckle caught in his throat when he realized his traitorous mind had slipped back to thoughts of the woman.

He whistled a lighthearted tune as the carriage stopped, and he alighted to the grand building.

“Good evening, my lord.” An elderly man in a black coat and trousers took Nick’s hat, greatcoat, tailcoat, and cane.

“Good evening, Jacques. Is André here?” Nick turned to a large mirror and straightened his waistcoat and shirt points.

“In the kitchens, your lordship,” he replied with a sniff of disdain.

Nick’s lips twitched, but he said nothing. He had the stuffiest butler in Paris, but the poor man would simply have to adapt. For all Nick’s fashion, he wanted his home to be a haven of comfort, which meant if one wished to eat in the kitchens with the servants, they may. If one wished to walk about without one’s coat on, so be it. Nick had few rules at home: be clean, be comfortable, and—above all—be a gentleman.