They gathered around a little table as Mrs. Pariseau shuffled and cut and Mrs. Locksley peered with what was apparently bated breath.
“Oh, my! Would you look at that! We’ve pulled ‘The Sun’! Why, it means good fortune and happiness is shining all around you!”
This surprised no one at all. It was met by “ooohs” and murmurs of approval.
The next card required very little interpretation; it involved an illustration of a man and woman beneath a florid angel.
“Oh, my goodness, my dears, it’s the ‘Lovers!’ My dear, I would suggest this means your sojourn to London could prove more interesting than you an-tic-i-pated...” She sang this teasingly.
Mrs. Locksley’s lashes lowered as gazes ricocheted around the room.
Mrs. Pariseau was matter-of-fact. “Let’s just take a look to see who you might keep an eye out for...”
She pulled a card featuring a tall, lean, stern-looking, regal man.
“The ‘King of Swords!’ Oh, my goodness, you areinfor a time. I would look for tall, very dark, very handsome, mysterious and powerful, a bit unyielding, full of himself, a force to be reckoned with indeed.”
“Oh, my,” Mrs. Locksley breathed, as anyone understandably might after news like that, and her hand reflexively rose to her heart, and she lost her grip on her ball of yarn.
It bounced off her knee, then rolled merrily and speedily across the room as if making a yearned-for break for it. It was nearly out to the foyer by the time Mrs. Locksley was able to leap to her feet to give chase.
And then all at once there appeared in the doorway the shining toe of a boot.
Which gently and firmly, with a tap, halted the speeding yarn.
A hush fell as, slowly, gracefully, the entire man came into view in the doorway.
Then gracefully, casually bent to retrieve the yarn.
Mrs. Locksley remained frozen in place. Her fingers were curled into her shawl, and her eyes were enormous. She seemed mesmerized.
Then Lucien took three slow steps into the room and held out the ball of yarn as if he were handing Mrs. Locksley the world.
“Does this belong to you?” he said gently.
For a long moment she seemed unable to speak.
“Mewp.” This little sound was apparently all she could manage after a second or so of being held in Lucien’s gaze.
And then before everyone’s eyes Mrs. Locksley turned scarlet to her hairline, gradually, dramatically, and inexorably as though she been dipped in dye like a bit of wool.
Lucien looked about the room, getting a sense of what everyone was doing.
And his gaze, as usual, passed just above Angelique’s head.
Though she’d been transfixed with cold horror for the duration of his exchange with Mrs. Locksley.
And then his gaze returned, as though to safe harbor, once again to Mrs. Locksley’s enthralled, upturned blue eyes.
He smiled.
“I intended to go out again this evening,” he mused, “but now I think I will like to linger a while.”
Chapter Thirteen
Her father—a surgeon, well-read, and curious about the world—had kept a small but cherished library of books, all of which he’d encouraged her to read. Which was how Angelique knew all about Dante’sInfernoand the nine circles of Hell.
If she were to write her own epic poem about Purgatory, one of those circles of Hell would involve doing nothing but watching Lucien Durand docilely hold a ball of yarn for Mrs. Locksley while she knitted and prated happily, and other guests stopped by at intervals to whisper to Angelique and Delilah things like “what a fetching creature!” (Mr. Delacorte) and, horribly, “the ‘King of Swords!’” (Mrs. Pariseau, with a wink.)