The Courtesan's Bed by Sandrine O'Shea Page B

love.”
    Molly took the crown back to its box. “You can afford to let a little magic into your life, miss.”
    Régine cared as much for Luc as she had for any man, but truth be told, life with the stodgy older man had certainly lacked magic.
    â€œBefore I take up with the earl,” she said, “I had better inform Monsieur Valendry that our liaison has come to its sad but inevitable conclusion.”
    â€œDo give the poor man some warning. Men being the proud creatures that they are, there’s no telling how he’ll react to being given the boot.”
    Régine had endured a number of acrimonious partings in her career and had no desire to repeat the experience.
    â€œHe’s a sophisticated gentleman, Molly. He’ll accept my decision with good grace and wish me well.”
    â€œI hope you’re right, miss.”

    The following morning, Régine awoke refreshed and optimistic, humming a sprightly tune she’d heard in a cabaret. Last night, she’d finished her letter to Luc, enclosed Odile’s riding crop, and sent them by messenger to the Valendry house, with emphatic orders to deliver the package directly into Monsieur Valendry’s hands.
    How would Luc feel when he realized she was ending their association? He might allow himself a brief twinge of tristesse ,but it would vanish. He’d accept her decision and find himself another lover with a strong arm and a taste for satisfying his particular desires.
    When she arrived at Luc’s bank to close out her account, she was shown to the offices of the aptly named Monsieur Poisson of the thick, pursed lips and pinched, sour face. She recognized his type at once, the disapproving prude who always made love to his wife in the dark.
    He didn’t smile and wouldn’t look her in the eye when she presented him with her bank book that recorded every deposit and withdrawal.
    He flipped through it, rose to consult his files, sat back down and cleared his throat. “Mademoiselle Laflamme, this is most embarrassing. I’m afraid this account does not exist.”
    Régine felt a solid lump of fear settle in the pit of her stomach. “Of course it exists. You are holding the evidence of its existence in your hand.”
    He flicked his wrist and sent the book slithering toward her across his desk. “This is an obvious forgery.”
    She snatched back her precious bank book, her only proof that she had money deposited here. Blood rushed to her face and she saw red. “I don’t know what game you are playing, monsieur,but I have regularly patronized this bank for the last year and deposited a goodly sum each time under the personal direction of Monsieur Valendry himself.” Her voice rose. “And now you have the audacity to tell me my account is empty, and my life savings are gone ?”
    â€œThat is exactly what I am telling you,” he said, “because according to my files, this account does not exist, which means that you have never patronized this bank.”
    â€œDoes Monsieur Valendry know of this—this outrage?”
    â€œMonsieur Valendry does not concern himself with nonexistent accounts or patrons.”
    She bolted to her feet. “Evidently I’ve been dealing with a pack of thieves.”
    Monsieur Poisson turned purple. “Mademoiselle Laflamme, I resent your accusations.”
    She leaned forward and braced her hands on his desk, looking at him with murder in her heart. “I demand to see Monsieur Valendry. Now!”
    Fear flickered in the banker’s eyes, and his mouth worked like a fish out of water. “Monsieur Valendry is a very busy man. I doubt if he can be disturbed.”
    Régine took a deep breath and straightened. “Monsieur Poisson, you seem like a reasonable, intelligent man. I have friends in high places, many of whom do business with this very bank. If I don’t see Monsieur Valendry at once, I shall tell my friends