Free Hearts Beguiled by Penelope Williamson Page A

to have that is yours?"
    "My ring!"
    His brows drew together in a frown. "But I paid for that ring. Five hundred livres. You offered to wrap it for me, remember?"
    "Not that ring, you fool. The other one."
    "Which other one?"
    "But you . . ."
    She searched his face. He watched her thoughts revealed in the purple pools of her eyes. Thoughts that changed from fear and righteous anger to confusion and doubt.
    "Mon Dieu. Is it possible it wasn't you who stole it after all?" she said, more to herself than to him. She sucked on her lower lip in consternation, which made her look like a pouting child, and to Max's eyes quite adorable. "I think perhaps it's all been another silly mistake, monsieur ..." She began to scuttle sideways like a crab, trying to get around him.
    "No, you don't, ma mie. " His hand snaked out, grabbing her. He swung her around, flinging her onto the end of the bed. She stared up at him, and he saw fear darken her eyes and the pulse jump in her throat. Or perhaps she wasn't afraid at all; perhaps it was something else that he didn't want to put a name to.
    "Oh, to hell with it," he said aloud, taking a step toward her with some vague idea of taking her in his arms and kissing that pouting mouth. It was, he decided, the only thing to do with her that so far made any sense.
    She misunderstood the determined expression on his face and cringed away from him. "Please, monsieur . . . don't. I can explain."
    He stopped. "All right then ..." Leaning against the bureau, he folded his arms across his chest. "Explain." He didn't expect to believe much of what she told him, but one valuable lesson he had learned over the years was that the lies one told often revealed as much, if not more, than the truth.
    "It was the sapphire ring, monsieur," she said. "The one you so admired this morning. I noticed it was missing shortly after you left the shop, so naturally I assumed ..."
    "That I had stolen it."
    Splashes of bright red dotted her cheeks like rouge and she lowered her eyes. "Yes. I'm sorry."
    "Never mind. I've been accused of worse." And done far worse, he thought.
    "It's just that the ring was given to me by my husband," she babbled on, desperate now to atone for her mistake. He studied her face whole she told him a tale he didn't believe, about a husband who had been a wigmaker's apprentice at Versailles before his untimely death, who had given her the ring during the first and only year of their marriage.
    "He left me destitute, monsieur. There were debts—he had his professional image to maintain, you understand—but then he died, and with a little one on the way . . . what could I do?" she finished with a shrug. "I borrowed some money from his uncle, Simon Prion, and in return I gave Monsieur Prion the ring. I never really meant to sell it, you see. It was only out of foolish pride that I insisted it be displayed in the case until I could redeem it, and now that it's turned up missing ..."
    Her voice trailed off and she licked her lips nervously. Max thought about those lips, about how sweet they had tasted. He didn't want to question her any more, didn't want to hear any more lies from those lips. He wanted to kiss them.
    "Your wigmaker's apprentice must have had a generous master," he said instead, "to afford such a ring."
    "It was given to him as a "gift by a rich patron at court. He invented a new wig style that was full but weighed little and he had a light touch with the powder paste. The patron was pleased, and he wanted to show it with a small token, you understand. Such a thing happens all the time." She clenched her hands together in an unconscious supplicating gesture that moved Max more than her words ever would. "Oh, why can't you believe me?"
    "But I do believe you," Max lied. "You plead your case so convincingly." He took her hands in his, drawing her to her feet to face him, and his mouth curved into a soft, teasing smile. "I'm sorry you lost your ring, but you didn't need to go to this elaborate