Free Louisa Rawlings by Stolen Spring Page B

pay it back. She’d be Torcy’s creature forever. But how else could she save Tintin? The threat to have her branded for cheating—perhaps it was only Torcy’s bluff, and couldn’t be proven. On the other hand… She shivered with fear. And it would kill Tintin to be thrown into debtor’s prison. It was too late now to sue the king for a small pension; Torcy would surely block that move. Oh, heaven, she thought, fighting back her tears, what am I to do?  
    “Rouge!”  
    She turned. Chrétien was coming down the passageway toward her, a bright smile on his face. It was only when he neared that she could see his eyes were filled with apprehension because of their recent quarrel.  
    “I haven’t seen you all day,” he said. “I’ve missed my sweet Rouge. But I thought of you. I won at cards today, and I thought of you. ‘Chrétien,’ I said to myself, ‘your pretty little Rouge should have a new fan to wear to Monseigneur’s fête!’ And so I hurried out this very afternoon to find the prettiest fan in the shop! Voilà! ” He pulled from his pocket an ivory and parchment fan with a picture of cupids and cherubs painted on it, and trimmed with several streamers of pale rose silk.  
    She gulped back her tears. “It’s so pretty. And pink ribbons.”  
    “Of course! I remembered. To go with your new pink petticoat.”  
    “It’s very lovely, Tintin.”  
    He frowned. “How sad your eyes look. Who has made my Rouge so unhappy?”  
    “’Tis nothing, Tintin. A passing cloud.” How could she tell him? Hurt him? And she was sworn to secrecy. Torcy’s horrible threat still rang in her brain.  
    “Do you remember when you were a little girl, and filled with some grief, you would come and sit upon my lap? And I’d tell you that nothing could harm my dear Rouge?”  
    She nodded, too overcome to speak. She had lied and cheated for him. And now she would be a spy. Trafficking in a devious, murky underworld so that nothing would harm her dear Tintin.  
    He smiled sheepishly and kissed her on the forehead. “Are we friends again?”  
    She threw her arms about him. “Oh, Tintin,” she cried, “I do love you!”  
    Of course she had to lie to him when the tailor came the next morning to fit her new gown. She smiled mysteriously. “I have my ways,” she said. “As you have yours! And the fan will look lovely with this gown.”  
    They spoke of the gown and the coming fête and Nathalie de Chambault. But not of Arsène. Though she had begun to think of him more and more. One hundred and twenty-five thousand livres was not a great deal of money for the wife of Arsène de Falconet. Indeed, no.  
    Married to Arsène, she could pay off Tintin’s debts, hire a lawyer to clear her of the charges of cheating, and tell Torcy to find another fly to trap in his web!  

Chapter Three
    “You have the eyes of a cat, señorita. They tip up in a most enchanting way. Secretive and mysterious. It is very charming when you look upon a man with those eyes!”  
    Rouge laughed softly and fanned herself, smiling seductively up at the moon-shaped face of Don Lopes de Gongora. “They are secretive and mysterious, señor, only for a man who cannot read what they say!” She smiled again. Mon Dieu! she thought. Her face was beginning to ache from so much grinning! And still the dolt refused to understand her meaning. She had contrived to have him lead her out for the branle , the processional dance that had opened Monseigneur’s birthday party; she had leaned close to him as they watched the play that Louis had arranged for; she had flirted outrageously with him for the last two hours, while they supped. Was he blind as well as stupid? She’d never known a man—and a Spaniard, at that!—to be so dense in affairs of the heart.  
    She looked across the large drawing room. Tintin was frowning at her. He must think I’ve taken leave of my senses, she thought. Throwing myself at Don Lopes this way! Poor Tintin.