Sandrine smiled. “That’s very kind of you.” As the hot flames of her anger and hurt burned down to smoldering embers, she realized something dreadful. “Oh no,” she moaned.
“What’s the matter?” asked Mrs. McGovern as they waited for her carriage.
“Don’t you see why this is doubly horrible? I’m here in London to petition the Duke of Rydell on behalf of the Squalton Historical Society. Why didn’t I think of that before I threw punch in his face?”
“Oh dear, I quite forgot. That does complicate matters,” said Miss Hodwell.
“I can’t face him. I must go back to Squalton.” And she’d have to marry Mr. Pilkington and endure his endless sermons and his bony body pressed upon hers. Her thoughts spiraled deeper into the fathomless pit of a dreary, predictable future.
“Listen to me, Sandrine.” Francesca held her shoulders. “You can’t allow Lord Dane to drive you away. I know men like him, and they’re always playing games. They only respect worthy opponents. If you want something from him, you’ll have to play his game to get it.”
“How can I be a worthy opponent to a ducal heir? I’m a girl who was raised in a tiny village. I know nothing of the games wicked rakes play.”
“Perhaps not, but now you have friends who do. The Pink Ladies will help you seek revenge on Lord Dane and win him over to your property scheme in the process.”
“I don’t think your other friends much liked me.”
“They can be a bit sharp, especially Roslyn, but she’s quite soft inside, you’ll see, and if I know her, she’s already devising a plan to help you have your revenge upon Lord Dane. You need a night with the ladies. I’ll invite them over tomorrow evening.” She turned to Mrs. McGovern. “May she come stay the night at my house, Aunt Eve?”
“Certainly, dear, as long as your mother is there.”
“We’ll have ever so much fun, Sandrine. You can be an honorary Pink Lady until you leave London. We won’t allow him to mock you again.”
Dane was still stewing over the reprehensible way he’d treated Sandrine as he and the boys followed their familiar path to Madam Avalon’s Silver Palace, a house in Covent Garden that hosted a nightly salon where artists, courtesans, and noblemen gathered for decadent pleasures.
He didn’t feel like carousing tonight. He’d only agreed to accompany his friends because he wanted to speak with Madam Avalon. She was notorious for her role as queen of London’s demimonde. He’d ask her to keep her eyes and ears open for any sign of a patron with animosity toward him or his family.
There was no way he could lose himself in empty pleasures this evening. He was still in mourning, and not just for his brother. For Danny Smith. For the dream of being good enough for Miss Sandrine Oliver. He could still taste the sticky sweet punch on his lips and hear her accusatory words ringing in his ears.
I wish I’d never met you.
Madam Avalon, a beautiful woman in her fifties, silver hair piled atop her head and ruby drops in her ears, proffered her cheek to be kissed upon arrival. Her blue eyes shining, she held him at arm’s length.
“Lord Dane, it’s been too long. But what’s happened to you? Your hair is all sticky and you smell like a confectioner’s shop.”
“I angered the wrong young lady, and she splashed me with sugary fruit punch.”
Madam Avalon laughed. “Always the rake.” She accepted the elbow he offered. Her eyes were the same color as Sandrine’s, a steadfast blue. “I was very sorry to hear of your brother’s death. He was far too young.”
“I still can’t believe he’s gone. And now I’m to be the family representative, God help us.”
“Oh, you’re not so bad as you pretend to be.”
“I am though.” What he’d done tonight was unforgivable. He’d never be anything but bad. He’d proven as much this evening.
You’re nothing but a charlatan and a scoundrel!Sandrine’s voice echoed through his mind and made his stomach heave.
“I suppose with all your new duties, I’ve lost you as an artist’s model?” Madam Avalon asked.
“Would you take Kenwick in my place?” Dane thrust his friend forward.
Madam Avalon eyed the tall, solidly built earl, her gaze lingering on his groin. “Do you pad your trousers, Lord Kenwick?”
“What the devil kind of question is that? Of course I don’t. This is all God-given.”
“Turn around, Lord Kenwick.”
He glowered at her but turned as ordered.