Free The Curious Rogue by Joan Vincent

own name before the fall occurred.
    “Oh, well, Louis has been out of sorts of late and this has cheered him. He seemed much more like his old self this eve.” Tretain chuckled.
    “But tell me, what did you do today.”
    “I did the shopping I had mentioned. While I was out I happened to meet Sir Henry Jeffries.”
    “That’s why the woman’s name sounded familiar.” Tretain snapped his fingers. “Old Sir Henry... how is he?”
    “Doing very well. He is visiting here with his sister. Brought his niece with him also,” Lady Juliane noted. A sly smile appeared on her lips.
    “There is something you are not telling me, Juliane.” The earl eyed her carefully.
    “Only that I invited the three of them to our ball next week,” she laughed.
    “Good, I shall enjoy a visit with Sir Henry.”
    “Oh, I think it will be very interesting,” she continued. “I am especially looking forward to meeting his niece... and to seeing you introduce her to Louis.”
    Tretain cocked his head suspiciously.
    “I did neglect to mention the ladies’ names, didn’t I?” Juliane remarked, attempting to assume a serious air. “They are Lady Waddington... and Miss Elizabeth Jeffries.”
    “Make certain there is no hair powder present,” the earl laughed.
    “As you wish, my lord.” Lady Juliane pursed her lips. “But don’t you fear our ball will be dismally dull, then?”
    Tretain drew his wife into his arms. “Minx, I wonder if it will be safe to let you attend it,” he said gently. “Let us leave Louis to his just deserts... and you to yours.” His lips claimed hers as he drew her into his arms.
     

Chapter Eight
     
    The theme of the Tretains’ ball on the first May eve was appropriately that of a May fair. Bunting and streamers of all colours abounded in the grand ballroom. The entire area was ringed with potted tulips, hyacinths, daffodils, and violets, all in full bloom. Large vases of roses stood on pedestals beneath the wall sconces, and boughs of newly leafed oaks completed the sights and aromas of spring.
    Lady Juliane had dressed earlier than usual so that she could make one last inspection of the ballroom’s decor before the guests arrived. Pausing just inside the huge double doors, she scanned the room.
    Lady Tretain walked to the centre of the room while a footman, who had just finished lighting the many candles in the wall sconces and overhead chandeliers, left. Laying a hand on the gaily painted red-and-white-striped pole, she glided about it to survey the total effect of the decorations. A smile of satisfaction came over her face. An even brighter smile filled her features when her eves lit on Lord Adrian.
    “My dear,” Tretain scolded lightly, “you should be resting. The evening will be long enough as it is.” He approached her slowly, openly admiring her.
    “The most beautiful woman in London shall be at my side this eve.” He bowed. “A dance, my lady?”
    “But there is no music.”
    “We shall make our own,” Lord Adrian said, holding out his hand.
    Lady Juliane curtsied deeply and accepted. They began to dance slowly about the ballroom. Halfway through the movements of the set they kissed.
    “La, such happy domesticity,” the Comtede Cavilon’s droll voice disturbed them. “Mayhaps there are virtues to the wedded state I have overlooked,” he noted with a demure air as he approached them with his peculiar swaying walk.
    With feigned shock, Lady Juliane put a hand to her breast. “‘Pon my soul, the man sounds serious. I will have to warn all the eligible ladies to beware.”
    “ Certainement , if they are as lovely as you.” The comte took her hand and kissed it. “Très belle.”
    “I feel absolutely sinful wearing this,” Lady Juliane fingered the sea-blue French silk gown, the material a gift from Cavilon. “Even though you insist it was not smuggled into England.”
    “I promise you, my lady, it was handled by no common smuggler,” Cavilon smiled.
    “Women,” he turned