her done away with like Langelier," Victor remarked, his gaze jaundiced.
"We're businessmen," Jerome replied, reaching for the sweetbreads. "Nothing more. Not murderers."
"If she happens to starve to death though, that's acceptable."
"Since when did you become a pillar of sensibility, Victor? If I recall, the young woman with child you left in Rouen was rather low on funds."
"I was very young. And I hadn't lived with her for two years, for God's sake.
And
if you must know, the allowance I send her is generous."
"So you don't spend every last sou at the gaming tables. I commend you," Jerome mocked.
"Theo meant for the boy to have his inheritance. You know that, of course."
"How fortunate for us then that you haven't yet reached the age for
your
inheritance."
"Seven hundred days and counting," Victor countered, his voice chill.
"Thankfully, Papa understood your propensity for cards, or you would have gone through your fortune by now."
"Thankfully, I only need appear here on infrequent occasions to collect my stipend. I wish you good day, brothers," Victor coolly said, rising from his chair. "May your greed bring you all the happiness you deserve."
"Kindly try to last til the next disbursement, Victor," Jerome said in a deprecating murmur. "I dislike your moneylenders at my door."
"I'll allow you the last word." Victor was already moving across the room.
"Then kindly do so," Jerome sourly noted.
But the youngest Clouard was gone, exiting without a backward glance.
"He's incorrigible," Jerome muttered.
"Like Theodore."
"Not precisely. Victor has no talent."
"But fewer vices."
"Yes," Jerome gruffly agreed. "Considerably fewer. And if we have the good fortune to be rid of the Englishwoman, the last of Theodore's vices will be eliminated."
"The police are on the outlook for her as well."
"So I've been told. But I don't have much faith in Tulard's efficiency. We'll keep our staff on alert for the rest of the week."
"Until the hearing has passed."
"Yes, until then."
----
Chapter Three
The sun was already up when Pasha rolled over in bed and discovered he was alone.
Instantly alert, he surveyed the room. Had she managed to slip away again?
Softly swearing at his days without sleep that had finally overcome him, he swung his long legs over the side of the bed and came to his feet. He had no intention of letting Trixi Grosvenor walk out of his life—at least, not yet. Already debating the most likely route she'd take to the Calais station, he swiftly crossed the large room and shoved the dressing room door open with the flat of his hand.
"I was going to wake you before I left."
Arrested on the threshold, he blinked against the sun shining through the bank of windows. "Would you have now?" he murmured, taking in her packed valise and traveling clothes.
"Yes, of course. I had an absolutely wonderful time."
He was taken aback. Her response was amiable, courteous—like that of a convivial dinner partner.
"Don't look so shocked. I take it you're not usually thanked."
Standing nude in the doorway, he slowly smiled. "Not precisely in that way. You're very polite."
"And you're a very remarkable man—sensational, actually. I shall
always
remember last night with gratitude and fondness."
"As will I,
chouchou
." He stretched with an unstudied grace, every sleek muscle momentarily in high relief. "But there's no need to leave so soon, is there?"
"I must," she said, picking up her gloves, finding it difficult to remain focused on her priorities, pressing as they were, with such unalloyed male virility before her.
"I'd rather you didn't."
Her body went rigid. "Don't, Pasha." Knowing his strength, she wondered nervously how well she knew him after all. "Don't do this to me, or even think it. Just move away from the door."
"Rest easy, darling," he said, stepping into the room. "I don't intend to detain you against your will." Walking to a nearby wardrobe, he opened the mirrored door, took out a patterned
"We're businessmen," Jerome replied, reaching for the sweetbreads. "Nothing more. Not murderers."
"If she happens to starve to death though, that's acceptable."
"Since when did you become a pillar of sensibility, Victor? If I recall, the young woman with child you left in Rouen was rather low on funds."
"I was very young. And I hadn't lived with her for two years, for God's sake.
And
if you must know, the allowance I send her is generous."
"So you don't spend every last sou at the gaming tables. I commend you," Jerome mocked.
"Theo meant for the boy to have his inheritance. You know that, of course."
"How fortunate for us then that you haven't yet reached the age for
your
inheritance."
"Seven hundred days and counting," Victor countered, his voice chill.
"Thankfully, Papa understood your propensity for cards, or you would have gone through your fortune by now."
"Thankfully, I only need appear here on infrequent occasions to collect my stipend. I wish you good day, brothers," Victor coolly said, rising from his chair. "May your greed bring you all the happiness you deserve."
"Kindly try to last til the next disbursement, Victor," Jerome said in a deprecating murmur. "I dislike your moneylenders at my door."
"I'll allow you the last word." Victor was already moving across the room.
"Then kindly do so," Jerome sourly noted.
But the youngest Clouard was gone, exiting without a backward glance.
"He's incorrigible," Jerome muttered.
"Like Theodore."
"Not precisely. Victor has no talent."
"But fewer vices."
"Yes," Jerome gruffly agreed. "Considerably fewer. And if we have the good fortune to be rid of the Englishwoman, the last of Theodore's vices will be eliminated."
"The police are on the outlook for her as well."
"So I've been told. But I don't have much faith in Tulard's efficiency. We'll keep our staff on alert for the rest of the week."
"Until the hearing has passed."
"Yes, until then."
----
Chapter Three
The sun was already up when Pasha rolled over in bed and discovered he was alone.
Instantly alert, he surveyed the room. Had she managed to slip away again?
Softly swearing at his days without sleep that had finally overcome him, he swung his long legs over the side of the bed and came to his feet. He had no intention of letting Trixi Grosvenor walk out of his life—at least, not yet. Already debating the most likely route she'd take to the Calais station, he swiftly crossed the large room and shoved the dressing room door open with the flat of his hand.
"I was going to wake you before I left."
Arrested on the threshold, he blinked against the sun shining through the bank of windows. "Would you have now?" he murmured, taking in her packed valise and traveling clothes.
"Yes, of course. I had an absolutely wonderful time."
He was taken aback. Her response was amiable, courteous—like that of a convivial dinner partner.
"Don't look so shocked. I take it you're not usually thanked."
Standing nude in the doorway, he slowly smiled. "Not precisely in that way. You're very polite."
"And you're a very remarkable man—sensational, actually. I shall
always
remember last night with gratitude and fondness."
"As will I,
chouchou
." He stretched with an unstudied grace, every sleek muscle momentarily in high relief. "But there's no need to leave so soon, is there?"
"I must," she said, picking up her gloves, finding it difficult to remain focused on her priorities, pressing as they were, with such unalloyed male virility before her.
"I'd rather you didn't."
Her body went rigid. "Don't, Pasha." Knowing his strength, she wondered nervously how well she knew him after all. "Don't do this to me, or even think it. Just move away from the door."
"Rest easy, darling," he said, stepping into the room. "I don't intend to detain you against your will." Walking to a nearby wardrobe, he opened the mirrored door, took out a patterned
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