“Daughter,” her mother said in French, casting him an assessing glance, “you did not tell me that you and the earl were friends. He’s a handsome one, I’ll give you that, but can we trust him?”
Trust him with what, for God’s sake?
“He is Jon’s friend, Maman, so that makes himourfriend.”
“Please do introduce me to your lovely mother,” he told Mademoiselle …MissBernard, in English, fighting to hide his sarcasm. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”
Miss Bernard did so with aplomb, proving she was already learning to be at home in English society. Her mother, on the other hand, clutched her cane and flashed dark glances at her daughter the whole time.
Still, Heathbrook could tell where Miss Bernard’s beauty had come from. Madame Bernard’s skin showed few lines, and she had the fine bones of a small bird. Her hair was jet black, probablydyed with one of many treatments French hairdressers used, but it did make her look more youthful. Except for the cane she gripped, of course.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Madame Bernard,” he said in French as he bent over her hand.
Her light brown eyes narrowed. “You speak French, my lord?”
“Un peu.”
Miss Bernard eyed him askance and said in English, “You didn’t speak even ‘a little’ French when I knew you.”
That was because he and his father had found it advantageous in the camp to hide how much they could speak. But his father had made sure his son was schooled in French from the time Heathbrook was young. Part of the family legacy. Still, she didn’t need to know that.
He shrugged. “There wasn’t much to do in the dungeons of Bitche but learn French and fisticuffs.”
Sympathy crossed her pretty features. “Jon has told me the same thing, although he did not learn French and fisticuffs. I believe he was more intent on helping my father.” When Heathbrook blinked at her, surprised that she would call Morris “father” so readily, she raised an eyebrow and added, “Jon said he revealed the truth of my lineage to you and Captain Scovell.”
“He did. And may I say, if I haven’t before, that you have my deepest condolences for the death of Dr. Morris. He was one of the finest gentlemen I’ve ever met.”
Her lower lip trembled. “Thank you.”
“But surely you haven’t come here just to speak of Morris and exchange pleasantries with me.”
She swallowed, her delicate throat undulating as she did so. “You have guessed correctly, my lord.” After murmuring a few words to her mother and helping the tiny, cantankerous woman sit again, she approached him to say in English, “Perhaps you would be so good as to give me a tour of your lovely home while Maman rests.”
“Of course.” He offered her his arm.
She hesitated before taking it and allowing him to lead her from the room. “Forgive me for imposing,” she said in a low voice, “but although Maman speaks little English, she can understand some,and I would rather she not hear any of what I am about to tell you. She is vaguely aware of our situation, but not the specifics. As you can probably tell, she is generally suspicious of strangers, and it would alarm her to hear me tell you everything.”
That gave him pause. “Go on.”
“First, is there somewhere we can speak privately? This must remain between the two of us.”
Now he was definitely intrigued. “Will my study suffice?”
She cast him an arch glance. “As long as I can trust your lordship to behave.”
He smiled faintly. “I shall do my best.”
“If my father were here,” she said as they walked down the hall, “he would make sure you did.”
As he did before?he was tempted to say. But it was unwise to remind her of that one reckless kiss. “If your father were here,” he drawled, “I suspect we wouldn’t be having this conversation at all.”
She looked sad. “Probably not.”
They’d reached his study, so he stood aside to let her enter. When he came in behind her, he closed the door.
Her gaze shot to his.
“You said you wanted privacy.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “This is the only way to ensure it. Every town house in London has ears.”