Nick had used those very words when asked the same question. It was usually punctuated with a veiled insult to the inquirer’s mother, because the question itself was more often than not a jab at his masculinity or an accusation of the lack thereof.
“In fact,” Nick went on, undaunted, “some may be here solely to observe your talent. It is known you set the trend for all of Europe. Gad, there must be over two hundred gawking in this room alone.”
Lady Dumonte continued her leisurely gait beside him in silence. She had not looked at him since they had started walking, and it was strangely unnerving.
“It must be rather embarrassing,” he went on with raised brows, “to smile at one’s beloved. The poor lad might receive several propositions by the end of the evening.” Nick chuckled quietly. “One could only hope the lady would be forgiving.”
Nick slanted an assessing glance at her, but her expression was stoic. Today was not his day for getting people to talk, it seemed.
“Speaking of misinterpretations and forgiveness, I am afraid I was a lad who was too cautious. I certainly did not intend to slight you. Naturally, I assumed your attention was for the duke.”
“So, you wish to be certain I was not offended by your accidental slight,” she confirmed.
“Just so. How was I to believe such a lovely creature would notice me?” he asked, the glint of amusement in his eyes belying his beseeching expression. “Had I realized, I might have fallen instantly in love with you, and what a scandal that would cause! Then where would we be?”
One ebony brow winged up. “You were obviously on the guest list,” she reminded him coolly. “Tell me, do you think me a woman of poor manners or poor memory?”
Nick’s amusement faded. “Neither, I assure you,” he answered. “I am a good friend of the Duc de Béarn as well as his business associate. I assumed he procured my invitation. A plus one, you might say. I cannot imagine you writing my name on an invitation.”
“Perhaps you think me prejudiced against the English? Is that why you think I would not have invited you?” Now both brows were furrowed in the most delicate of black looks. “Even had I lost someone in the war, my lord, I could not very well blame you. I doubt you have ever stepped foot on a battlefield, and politics is a tricky skill to master.”
Nick’s brow knit as the insult hit its mark. “You do me an injustice. I meant only that, because of my reputation, I am not a popular guest to some moral and principled crowds.” At least one or two had refused to extend him invitations in Paris, believing him a veritable Sade.
They obviously had never met either him or Sade.
“No, you are not,” she agreed. She stopped, turning to face him fully as they entered the alcove behind one of the large pillars. “I doubt anyone would be with your social ineptitude and complete lack of morals.”
Apparently, Lady Dumonte was one of those who confused him with Sade.
Nick took a deep breath and stepped toward her. “My social habits were accepted just swimmingly before you decided to crusade against living, my lady.”
“You call ruining a woman’s life living? I call it dishonorable, despicable, and completely unacceptable for society.” Her eyes flashed behind the calm fa?ade, but still, she stepped back when he advanced, keeping at least two steps between them until she was backed against the pillar.
He had apologized, spouted ridiculous compliments, and nearly walked a marathon around the ballroom with her. What more did the woman want? Should he beg on one knee and recite poetry?
Nick leaned to look around the three-foot wide pillar. She had inadvertently stepped back between the drapes. Now she was cornered between the pillar, the drapes, and him. If anyone happened to walk behind the pillar, it would look as though he had trapped her there. If it hit the papers, he would either be run out of Paris or locked up in an asylum.
Nick had never been fond of asylums. They were cold and dark, and they always smelled as atrocious as their century-old décor. Along with all that, one must not forget the lunatics who might stick a knitting needle in one’s neck at any moment.
Nick shuddered.
He wanted to turn around and never step foot in this house again, but if he did, he would be leaving much more than this ballroom. He would be leaving Paris, his mission. She would destroy any chance he had at gaining entrance into Parisian high society, and his investigation would be over.
It was worth a short stint in an asylum to keep any more children from being taken.
He took another step, closing in what little space was left and completely disappearing behind the drapes.
Little wrinkles appeared between her eyebrows.
“Ruining a woman’s life is dishonorable, despicable, and completely unacceptable for society,” he repeated her words back to her. “I agree with you on that point. I have never left any woman ruined, only satisfied.”
Nick waited for her to reply, but she turned her face away from him.
He cocked his head to catch her attention again, and let out a frustrated breath when she still wouldn’t face him.