When Avers turned up on his aunt’s doorstep with a strange woman in tow at gone midnight, it was inevitable he would face a barrage of questions from that relative. They made it to the drawing room, where candles were hastily lit by a bleary-eyed servant, when his aunt descended on them in a swathe of silk and ruffled nightclothes demanding answers. Avers, who was usually inclined to humour his aunt, gave her a curt command to stop, and told her there would be no tale-telling tonight.
“But John, this is scandalous! Who even is she?” Lady Goring’s beady eyes bored into Emilie who stood in the middle of the room clutching Lutin in her arms.
“She,” said Avers in a warning tone, “is Mademoiselle Emilie Cadeaux and under my protection. And you will treat her as such. But for now, we have had an incredibly taxing day, and I need you to take her in.”
“That is all very well, but at midnight—”
“Aunt!” Avers snapped. “You are better not knowing. Please trust me on that. I will not tell you all tonight, so please desist.”
The Dowager Countess opened her mouth to argue, but Avers gave her a warning look. He was so rarely serious that it had the desired effect on his relative and she gave a reluctant nod.
“I shall call on you in the morning,” he said gently, turning to Emilie.
She barely nodded, glancing warily at his aunt.
“I am to play host to that little dog as well?” asked Lady Goring, pointing a finger at Lutin. “Will he not be happier in the stables overnight?”
Whether it was the mention of the stables or the finger pointing, it was unclear, but Lutin’s head popped up from where it had been resting on Emilie’s arm, and he began growling at Avers’ aunt.
The older woman snatched her hand back, a look of abject horror on her face.
“If you will permit me, he will be happy on a blanket at the side of my bed,” Emilie said, her voice small and placating.
“I—”
“Yes, aunt. You will permit that for Mademoiselle Cadeaux, will you not?” asked Avers archly.
“I will permit it,” Lady Goring replied, her eyes narrowing. “And pray tell, what story am I to give the servants, John?” Her brows rose at her nephew and her beady eyes bored into him. “They have already been in here and seen you both at this unconventional hour.”
“That a family friend from outside Paris has arrived to stay with you, aunt. Her parents were dear old friends of yours before they died, and you are lending her countenance while she’s here in London—with her little dog,” Avers added, the corner of his mouth curving.
The Dowager Countess sniffed. “Well, you clearly have a story already spun.” She smoothed the various layers of silk and muslin she was wrapped in and touched a hand to her turban to ensure it was still in place. “And I am to have no more information about a stranger staying in my home?”
“No more information than that Mademoiselle Cadeaux requires shelter, and you are being so gracious as to offer it to her.”
She eyed Emilie suspiciously.
“We should perhaps tell Lady Goring the truth,” Emilie said, breaking her silence and looking pleadingly at Avers and then back at his aunt.
Concern coursed through Avers. They could not reveal secrets of the Crown, especially not to his aunt, of all people.
“Emilie—”
“Your nephew saved me from a cruel fate,” Emilie interrupted in melodramatic accents. “There was a man in Paris…” She trailed off meaningfully and Avers saw the size of his aunt’s eyes double. “A cruel man.”
Was she… spinning a tale?
“He persuaded me to elope with him, but he broke his promise when he brought me to England and cast me off when I refused to become his mistress.”
Avers watched as his aunt drank in every drop of the story which was so artfully close to the truth that it remained believable. He realised, as Emilie leant into the tale, that she had got the measure of his aunt far quicker than he had imagined. She knew exactly what his relative required to be satisfied.
“Your brave nephew has saved me from my fate.”
“John!” Lady Goring gasped. “That is why you wished to know who had come to London? You followed this poor girl here to save her?”
If there was something his aunt enjoyed more than gossip, it was the idea of being a virtuous aid to others… and hopefully, being able to tell everyone about it.
“My dear girl,” Lady Goring said, coming forward, and beginning to place an arm around Emilie’s shoulders only to retract it when Lutin started growling again.
“I’m sorry,” said Emilie. “He’s overwrought with everything that has happened.”
“And no wonder, my dear, no wonder. He is only protecting his poor mistress. Come, we will draw you a warm bath to ward off this night chill and get you into bed. John, you may call on us in the morning.”
Avers bowed as the women passed him. “Good evening, Mademoiselle Cadeaux,”
“Yes, yes, John! Now do go—the poor girl must rest.”
Before his aunt could take Emilie away entirely, Avers reached out. His fingertips traced down the length of her arm and her dark eyes flicked up to catch his gaze. Her expression was one of pure gratefulness. Her lips curved into a trembling smile and tears welled in her eyes. Avers’ touch grew firmer, pressing her arm, and it took everything within him to stop from pulling her into his arms and kissing away those tears.
“Be gone, John!” his aunt cried again.
He relinquished his touch and saw the veriest hint of humour appear in Emilie’s eyes. She would be safe here at last. His aunt would see to that.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Avers returned to his aunt’s house in time for breakfast, eager not to leave Emilie to face her ladyship’s questioning alone.
