On Bond Street, Theo exited the carriage, choosing to clear his head with a walk in the cold London air. He couldn’t bear the thought of being stuck in his library. Not with her scent filling every nook and cranny. Memories of Giselle beneath him on the settee; her fingers playing with the white chess pieces. God, how he wanted her. Missed her. And after only one night. It was unfathomable.
One night—and he with plans to marry another, for god’s sake. Theo strode with his eyes pinned on the walk, until someone jarred him. “My pardon,” he said quickly, looking up.
The man growled his discontent.
Theo reached Weston’s just as his eye caught sight of a tall blonde several feet away. Giselle. Stunned, he quickly changed direction and hurried after her. “Giselle!” he called out.
The woman stopped and turned, her expression one of confusion.
Two things hit him at once: She didn’t recognize him; and she could be Giselle’s twin but for the slight age difference.
“Monsieur, is something amiss?” she asked in French.
“No,” he whispered. He cleared his throat and tried again. “No, madam. But I wonder… do you have a… sister by the name of Giselle?”
The minutest flinch flashed across her face that paled, stark even, beneath the light powder she wore.
“I…” She started walking away. “I-I must go.”
Theo followed, started to reach for her, but thought better of it. He didn’t wish to frighten her. “Please, madam. I mean no disrespect.”
“Giselle,” she repeated as if she couldn’t believe he’d said the name. “My daughter… her second name is Giselle.”
Theo’s insides crashed to the ground. “Who is your daughter?”
She stared at him with an intensity that mirrored Giselle’s, shifting the axis of his world. “You don’t know?” she asked.
“She told me her name was Giselle. That was all.”
“Oh, and where did you meet this… Giselle who looks just like me?”
Theo stopped. In no uncertain terms could he mention la Sous Rose. “It’s, er, not—we—” His breath stuck in his throat. He grappled for some explanation that didn’t condemn both he and Giselle. The mysteries surrounding the situation intrigued and begged more questions. The only way to find Giselle was through this woman’s assistance, not only her assistance—it hit him—but her insight. “Perhaps you’d care for tea?”
There was a moment of indecisiveness on her face while his heart completely stopped. He would never find Giselle without her help. “That would be acceptable,” she said slowly.
Relief hit Theo with a cannon ball to the chest, and he quickly led her into a shop at the corner of Bond and Stratford. He found a table near the back and conspicuously away from the prominent seating at the windows. “Allow me to introduce myself,” he said. “I’m Theodore Millburn.”
“Millburn.” Her mouth gaped momentarily then snapped shut. “Oh, my,” she finally murmured, switching to English from her previous rapid French.
“I see you know the history of my father’s demise,” he said grimly. Would he ever be able to talk about the past without wanting to pound something or someone into the ground?
“Dear heavens. This is incredible.” Her gaze moved around the area but didn’t appear to focus on any one thing, before turning back to him, stunning him by eyes the exact color of Giselle’s. Sapphire blue. “Oui.”
A cup of tea appeared before him, but he didn’t touch it lest it slip from his grasp. “About Giselle,” he said, attempting to steer the conversation back to the issue at hand.
Her eyes flashed. “You have seen my daughter?”
The heat crawled up his neck, his mind going straight to the settee in his library. “I believe so. You and she…” He shook his head to rid himself of the image. “The two of you look very much alike.”
A wistfulness passed over her face, disappearing as quickly as it appeared. “What are your intentions for my… for Giselle?” she asked tapping her spoon against the delicate China of her cup.
There was something about her question that heightened his senses. He added sugar to his own cup, stirring slowly before meeting the eyes so similar to Giselle’s he had to force himself to sit still. What were his intentions? He had no answer. “What do you know of my father?” he asked instead.
“Not much, I fear. It was a long time ago.” She dropped her gaze, shifting back to French. “I suggest you ask the Duke of Winsome.”
That was the one thing he couldn’t do. “Perhaps I shall,” he murmured.
She let out a sigh. “Ah, revenge. I should want that myself,” she said with a cryptic smile.
The hair at his neck prickled. “What have you against the duke?” He straightened as the several scenarios he and Giselle spoke of trickled through his mind. He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “It occurs to me that you haven’t introduced yourself…”
“Je m’appelle Olivia Marchand.”
“Olivia.” He smiled. “I seem to remember Winsome’s mistress’s name was... Jesus, you were—” He shot forward, and his hand hit his cup, sent it crashing to the floor. “And that makes Giselle—”
“Our daughter,” she said.
“Your daughter is Winsome’s daughter... Damn, I should have known.” He was an idiot. She had been running from Winsome that night at la Sous Rose. He’d thought it just him. God. He’d called her a lightskirt, a dove. He’d taken her virginity.
Another thought slammed his abdomen. His vengeance was being handed to him on a golden salver. He didn’t need Sophia. He could have Giselle. He looked up to see Olivia staring at him. “What are you doing in London?” he asked her.
“An acquaintance from years ago invited me. He offered an irresistible opportunity to see my daughter. I haven’t seen her in some time.”
“How much time?” he asked softly as an inkling of unease drifted through him. “Did you come from Paris?”
“What is it you truly wish to know, Mr. Millburn?” she asked gently.
“I-I wish to find her.”
Her eyes hardened. “For what purpose? So that you may treat her as your paramour?” She gathered her bonnet and reticule. “Thank you for tea, Mr. Millburn. I find I must be on my way.” She was gone before he could come up with words to reassure her.
Theo sat there for a long time after her departure. Olivia Marchand was Uncle Percival’s plan to ruin the duke. His stratagems would also hurt Giselle and suddenly Theo could not allow that.
He strode out of the shop into the cold air a changed man; as if he’d awakened from a long sleep; as if he’d received a kiss from a princess, jarring him to life from a slow death. He was the damsel in a blasted fairy tale, he thought grinning.
Percival would not be happy with this change in their scheme. The first thing to do was speak with Percival. He needed to know the extent of his uncle’s plans for Winsome.
Theo switched his direction on Bond Street to that of St. James. The walk gave him time to articulate his thoughts before he reached number 25. He strode into the house without waiting to be announced, affording Percival the same level of respect he’d shown Theo.
His uncle raised his head, irritation crossing his expression. “Theo? What in god’s teeth are you doing here?”
“How polite you are, Uncle.” Theo handed off his coat and hat, strolled into the formal drawing room, and helped himself to a spot of brandy. “Where is your houseguest? I thought to meet her.”
“She is out visiting friends.”
“Who is she, Uncle?”
“You needn’t concern yourself with who she is, nephew. All you need do is ruin Lady Sophia, just as we’ve planned.”
“I’m having second thoughts.”
“Ridiculous,” he scoffed, his annoyed tone belying the hard look in his eye.
“Is your houseguest, perchance, Olivia Marchand?” He didn’t wait for confirmation. “If you must know, sir, I don’t like that our scheme will hurt the new duchess and their children. They have nothing to do with old business.”
“What care do you have of that?”
“I’ve met the man’s eldest daughter.” Theo couldn’t believe how defensive he sounded. “She’s very nice. I like her.”
“Perhaps you can ruin her,” he said.
Theo quickly turned away and swallowed the whole of his brandy, poured another glass and downed that one too. Heat inundated his face.
“God’s teeth, you already have,” Percival breathed. A second later, his face split with a grin, Theo had a difficult time not planting a fist and knocking that grin away. “Brilliant. I’m proud of you, my boy. Still, nothing changes. You will ruin Lady Sophia and announce your engagement.”
In that one moment, Theo knew he was capable of murder. He strode to the door, but turned back, facing this man who’d raised him from the time he was six. “No one will be ruining anyone, Uncle. I shall be offering for Winsome’s eldest daughter.” With those words the weight of a boulder lifted from Theo’s shoulders. Never had anything in his entire life felt so right as in that moment.
“Marry a bastard? You will do no such thing, Theo. That is my final word on the topic.”
Theo laughed, shaking his head. It was futile arguing with Percival. “Hear me well. No one will be ruining anyone, sir.” Thirty minutes later, Theo strode into his study with renewed determination. The prospect of living his life for the present and the future, not the past, sinking deep within. “Darby, coffee.”
“Certainly, sir.”
Theo’s went to the chessboard. Slowly, he picked up the white queen and ran his fingertip over her crown. The queen was the game’s most powerful piece. Her light color reminded Theo of Giselle’s legs without the warmth beneath. The ivory burned in his hand, and he squeezed the piece until it bit into his palm.
Percival was unpredictable.
Winsome needed warning, and Theo appeared the only one at hand.