Free Humbled by Renee Rose Page B

dismayed and pleased by her passionate defense.
    “He made it for you?” he probed.
    She stilled, not breathing, staring at him. “For my mother,” she admitted.
    “Who is your mother?”
    She hesitated. Armand frowned and shook his head.
    “Does your mother know you have her ring?”
    She lifted her delicate shoulders. “She and my father were in Bourges when the revolution began. I have no word of their safety.”
    “I see. And so you decided to marry Citizen Armand and set sail for La Nouvelle-Orléans?” When she did not answer, he turned to Armand. “You made the ring?”
    The young man gave a single, wary nod.
    “You have the muscles of a blacksmith, not a silversmith,” he observed.
    Armand’s lips curled at the edges. “Is it idle curiosity that motivates your interest, or do you have another game to play out?”
    He returned the smile. “My game is finished. And I suppose I am indulging idle curiosity. Were you her father’s blacksmith?”
    “Silversmith,” the lady interjected.
    “Yes. I believe he made the ring,” he said slowly, putting the pieces of the puzzle together. “Have I guessed correctly?”
    Armand gave a single nod.
    He sat back in his chair and crossed his legs. “You will find the social classes in La Nouvelle-Orléans to be more mobile than those in France. It would be easy for a man with ambition to position himself at a silversmith, no matter what his background.”
    He saw the glint of interest in Armand’s eye and the lady sat up straighter in her seat.
    “And while I cannot say with certainty, I doubt the same terrorizing of aristocracy will occur there. A silversmith with an aristocrat for a wife would do well.”
    Armand appeared troubled.
    “Unless you are not actually married?” He watched closely. They both sat and blinked at him, rather than dismissing his guess. “In which case, a recommendation from a known member of la noblesse would go far in securing a new silversmith’s reputation.”
    The lady’s eyes darted to Armand’s.
    “Either way, I recommend you declare yourselves at port in the manner you wish to be recognized by society. Do not disembark as a married couple if you wish to marry in the future. Give your real name so you may use your aristocracy to your advantage—and I do believe it will be of great benefit in La Nouvelle-Orléans. There will be no revolution there because of the social mobility I already mentioned.”
    Armand stared at him. “If only I knew whether your advice can be trusted.”
    He grinned, liking the young man.
     
    * * *
     
    True to his word, Moreau offered them their own private cabin, where he had left a trunk of various articles of lady’s clothing. The fashions were several years old, but they were of fine quality and there were even hoops to wear under Corinne’s skirt.
    “I do not like it,” Jean-Claude said, pacing the room. He gestured at the gowns. “You are nothing but a puppet on a string to him. First he wants to see you grovel like a dog, lowered from your station, now he gives it all back to you, as if he were the King of France, conferring a title. I do not trust him.”
    She took the dresses out of the trunk and laid them on the bed, one by one, examining them with a critical eye. “What do you think about his advice for when we arrive? Is it a trick?”
    Jean-Claude sighed and sank on the bed, running his hand through his hair. “I know not,” he said miserably. “It sounded reasonable. Yet I cannot see his game, and that worries me.”
    Finding a comb in the trunk, she unwound her hair from its knot and began to run the teeth through her long tangles. When she turned, she found Jean-Claude gazing with a wolfish expression. She recalled the way he had stared the night they had spent at the inn, the last time she had combed out her hair.
    She stood and walked toward where he sat on the bed. “You like my hair down, do you not?” she murmured in what she hoped was a seductive tone.
    In a flash