Free The Ardent Lady Amelia by Laura Matthews Page B

she certainly did not. She was unaware that her nose twitched, but she was aware of her voice answering, “If you wish, milord.”
    His intent, she soon found, was to place them next to Peter and the lovely Veronique.
     

Chapter 6
     
    Mlle. Chartier’s English was perfect, with only the faintest trace of an accent. Oh, but that trace was delicious. It even appeared, somehow, in her laughter, which was warm and spontaneous. Without the least observable effort to do so, she had all the gentlemen in the set hanging on her every word. Her excitement about being at the ball, about being in London, about meeting all these fascinating people, was more than evident—but not in a naive gushing of childish phrases. No, it showed in her eyes, which glowed with the thrill of it all. Her healthy pink cheeks radiated it and her voice echoed with its undercurrent.
    Not that she put herself forward in any way by speaking out of turn, or by speaking at all unless spoken to. But Peter questioned her, gently probing into her background and her interests. Verwood, too, though it was none of his duty, addressed remarks to her. Which of course meant that his undivided attention wasn’t aimed at Amelia, who couldn’t have cared less. She was not, however, quite used to being ignored by her partner and had an insane desire to flirt with one of the other gentlemen in the set, except that such a course of action would have discomposed some other lady.
    And she was curious to hear what the French girl had to say for herself. Amelia was convinced that M. Chartier was up to no good, and this introduction of his sister (was she really?) into society merely made her more suspicious. True, there was some similarity between the brother and sister, the same brown hair and blue eyes, a resemblance even in the delicate molding of the faces. On the other hand, her eyes weren’t the least shifty. Her gaze met that of each gentleman who addressed her with a becoming shyness which managed still to be open and friendly.
    Peter was at his most adroit, a blend of sophistication and charming wit. Yet Amelia could see real interest in his eyes as he asked, “Have you lived near Bournemouth long, Mlle. Chartier?”
    “Almost four years. My cousins are English and their family has lived there for hundreds of years.” Her cheeks dimpled as she smiled at him. “I thought at first the place must be haunted, with all the strange noises at night, but it proved to be only the sea.”
    “Is the property right on the coast, then?” Verwood asked with a great show of indifference.
    “Oh, yes. I can look out my bedroom window and see the water.”
    “How delightful,” Amelia contributed. “There are only a few rooms at Margrave where the water can be seen, and none of them are the major bedchambers. But we can hear the sound. I find it immensely soothing.”
    “Margrave is in Sussex,” Peter explained.
    Mlle. Chartier nodded her understanding. “I believe Sussex is quite lovely.”
    “Have you never been there?” Verwood asked.
    “Oh, no. I’ve scarcely been out of Hampshire since I came to England.”
    The dance separated the two couples and Amelia studied Verwood’s face for some sign of his reason for questioning Mlle. Chartier. He had adopted a rather peculiar expression, one Amelia assumed was meant to convey to any interested observer that he was rather taken with the young girl. But he had it all wrong. Probably, Amelia felt, because he had no idea what it was like to feel smitten by anyone.
    “I had no idea you were so intimately acquainted with M. Chartier that he would seek your advice on his sister’s introduction to London,” she remarked.
    He gave her a sharp glance but said nothing, so she continued. “I find it rather odd that he would consult you. After all, what could you know of a young lady’s introduction to London society? You’ve only come here recently yourself and presumably know nothing of such matters as a debutante’s