Jane Austen Made Me Do It by Laurel Ann Nattress

his tone that was unmistakable.
    Mademoiselle clasped her hands protectively over her bosom, her dark eyes flashing. “You are jealous,
hein
? You play the fool,’ Arry. I do not like these rages! They are not
English
.”
    â€œThe paper, Desirée. Or must I summon the Duke of Clarence to fish it out of your stays?”
    With a movement so swift I barely saw it, Mademoiselle de la Neuve raised her hand and struck Lord Harold a stinging blow to the cheek. He remained immovable; he did not deign to acknowledge the hit; but Lord Cecil Harcourt was galvanised to activity. He thrust himself between the Frenchwoman and the Rogue.
    â€œSir, you trespass too far!” he muttered between his teeth. “Honour and reason will not bear such an insult. I beg you will name your Seconds.”
    Lord Harold smiled. For an instant, his glittering gaze met mine. “I should never betray such shockingly bad
ton
at my niece’s betrothal party, Harcourt. I shall wait upon you tomorrow. If you are still in Bath.”
    â€œYou may find me at the White Hart. I breakfast at nine.”
    Mademoiselle de la Neuve grasped Harcourt’s jacket furiously.
“No!”
she cried. “You will
not
fight him! He will of a certainty kill you!”
    â€œDo not worry your pretty head, my sweet.” The rake bowed with exquisite grace. “The man has not yet been born who may put Harcourt underground.”
    A rustle of silk in the doorway brought all our heads around; Eugènie, Dowager Duchess of Wilborough.
    â€œDesirée,
ma chère
,” she called gaily, “we long to hear you! Will you not sing a little?”
    The Witch drew a single breath, squared her shoulders, and stepped into the torchlight with a smile upon her face.
    â€œBut of course,
ma tante
. Anything you would ask—for you, who have been so good to me!”
    â€œI think,” Lord Harold muttered in my ear, “we should repair to the library, Jane. Would you care for a few lobster patties and champagne?”
    â€œIs she
really
your mother’s niece?” I asked, as Lord Harold closed the library door upon the sound of Mademoiselle de la Neuve’s glorious singing, and set a plate of supper before me. I was established on a sopha in front of the blazing fire, surrounded by the rich leather binding of books; the room glowed from the numerous branches of candles the Dowager had caused to be lit. Rain had begun to tap at the windowpanes, and I was alone with the Gentleman Rogue; I was deliciously conscious of behaving in a manner Mamma should not approve at all.
    â€œShe is the granddaughter of my mother’s oldest friend—who perished in the Terror, along with her parents and brothers,” Lord Harold said. “Desirée was in Switzerland at the time, enrolled in a convent school; she should not have survived else.”
    â€œHow does she come to be in London?”
    The grey eyes glanced up at me; the Rogue was preoccupied with opening a bottle of champagne. “On a visit to my mother—who, despite fifty years’ residence in England, preserves a fondness for all things French. Tho’ I must believe the fair Desirée was despatched on an errand of espionage,” he said calmly. “A ravishing girl with a beautiful voice and friends highly-placed among the
ton …
such opportunities do not often fall in Buonaparte’sway! She has been going on exceedingly well, too, until this evening. I have observed her progress these many weeks—and aside from a trifling few articles I have managed to intercept, I should judge that Desirée has set the entire Admiralty by the ears!”
    â€œBut how is this?” I wondered. “A girl whose family was murdered by the mob—and she would dedicate herself to Buonaparte’s cause?”
    â€œTo the
Emperor’s
cause,” Lord Harold corrected. “He is quite the darling of the younger set in Paris, you know,