Silk Is For Seduction - Loretta Chase [48]
Noirot turned around and saw him standing, like a man at the window of a peepshow, entranced by a foreign world, unable to look away.
He collected his wits and took a step toward them. “Mrs. Noirot, perhaps you’d be so kind as to make me known to the young lady.”
The child looked up at him, eyes wide. They were not her mother’s eyes, but b1ue, vividly blue. They seemed vaguely familiar, and he tried to remember where he might have seen those eyes before. But where could that have been? Anywhere. Nowhere. It didn’t signify.
Noirot looked from the girl to him and back to the girl, who said, “Who is it, Mama? Is it the king?”
“No, it isn’t the king.”
The child tipped her head to one side, looking past him at the carriage. “That is a very grand carriage,” she said. “I should like to drive about in that carriage.”
“I don’t doubt that,” said her mother. “Your grace, may I present my daughter, Miss Lucie Cordelia Noirot.”
“I beg your pardon, Mama,” the child said. “That isn’t my name, you know.”
Noirot looked at her. “Is it not?”
“My name is Erroll now. E-R-R-O-L-L.”
“I see.” Noirot began again. “Your grace, may I present my daughter—” She broke off and looked enquiringly at the child. “You’re still my daughter, I take it?”
“Yes,” said Erroll. “Of course, Mama.”
“I’m relieved to hear it. I had quite grown used to you. Your grace, may I present my daughter Erroll. Erroll, His Grace, the Duke of Clevedon.”
“Miss . . . erm . . . Erroll,” he said. He bowed gravely.
“Your grace,” the girl said. She curtseyed. It was nothing half so stunning as her mother’s style of curtsey, but it was gracefully done nonetheless. He wondered at it and at her remarkable self-possession.
Then he recalled whose daughter she was, and wondered why he wondered.
Then he recalled who it was who had a child.
A child, Noirot had a child!
How had she failed to mention such a thing? But what was wrong with him that he was so shocked? She was Mrs. Noirot—and while the title “Mrs.” was used, cavalierly enough, by unwed shopkeepers, actresses, and whores alike, he needn’t have assumed she wasn’t a married woman, with a family and . . . a husband . . . who did not seem to be in evidence. Dead? Or perhaps there was no husband, merely a scoundrel who’d fathered and abandoned this child.
“Do you ever take children for a drive in that carriage?” Erroll said, calling him back to the moment. “Not little children, I mean, but proper grown-up girls who would sit quietly—not climbing about and spoiling the cushions or putting sticky fingers on the glass. Not them, but well-behaved girls who keep their hands folded in their laps and only look out of the window.” The great blue eyes regarded him steadily.
“I—”
“No, he does not,” her mother said. “His grace has many claims on his time. In fact, I am sure he has an appointment elsewhere any minute now.”
“Do I?”
Noirot gave him a warning look.
“Yes, of course,” he said. He took out his pocket watch and stared at it. He had no idea where the hands pointed. He was too conscious of the little girl with the great blue eyes watching him so intently. “I nearly forgot.”
He put the watch away. “Well, Erroll, I am pleased to make your acquaintance.”
“Yes, I’m glad to meet you, too,” she said. “Please come again, when you’re not so busy.”
He made a polite, non-committal answer, and took his leave.
He climbed into his coach and sat. As the vehicle started to move, he looked out through the louvered panel. That was when he finally took notice of the other two women, a blonde and a redhead. Even through the wooden slats, at this distance, he discerned the family resemblance, most especially in the way they carried themselves.
He had mistaken her. He’d formed an idea that was entirely wrong.
Her shop was not a little hole-in-corner place but a proper, handsome establishment. She had a family. She had a child.
She was not to be trusted. Of that he was quite, quite sure.
As to everything else—he’d misjudged, misunderstood, and now he was at sea again, and it was a rough sea, indeed.
“Well done,