Haviland’s head snapped back, taking the force of the blow. He vaguely registered Alyssandra’s scream, but he was too enraged to heed it. He charged like a bull, burying his head into the midsection of the Frenchman. Julian went down, Haviland on top of him, delivering a few equalising punches.
‘Haviland! Enough!’ He was aware of hands tugging at him, trying to pull him off Julian Anjou. Alyssandra’s hands. Some of the rage ebbed out of him at the realisation she was safe. There was no need for more violence unless Anjou chose to jump him again. He rose, straddling Anjou and dragging him to his feet. From the look on Anjou’s face, Haviland wasn’t so sure Anjou wasn’t going to do just that.
‘What do you mean by attacking a man without warning?’ Haviland barked.
‘That is hardly the greater crime here! You were all over her!’ Julian roared. Haviland released him with a shake. It was a mistake to let Julian go. It gave the man a chance to focus on Alyssandra. ‘And you!’ He jabbed a finger her direction. ‘You let him. That makes you a—’
Haviland stepped between Julian and his view of Alyssandra. ‘I’d advise you to stop before you say something you regret.’ His voice held unmistakable steel. He wouldn’t mind punching Julian again—the slightest provocation would justify it.
Julian backed away, throwing one last threat at Alyssandra. ‘Your brother will hear of this and he won’t be pleased.’
With Julian gone, he could focus on Alyssandra. Haviland turned towards her. She was pale, but not entirely from fear or shock. There was anger in her eyes. ‘Alyssandra, I am sorry—’
She cut him off sharply. ‘Do not apologise. Neither one of us is sorry about what happened, only that we got caught. An apology makes at least one of us a hypocrite.’
True as that was, he knew better and to carry on so in a public place was unconscionable. One moment he’d been stealing a kiss, the next, things had progressed far beyond what he’d intended, but not beyond what he minded. Although perhaps he should mind if the consequence was getting hit in the face. His cheek was starting to throb now that the adrenaline had receded, and his lip was split.
‘Julian had no right,’ Alyssandra insisted, still fuming as she gathered up their picnic.
‘Doesn’t he?’ Haviland crossed his arms and leaned against the tree trunk, watching her, thinking. He knew so little about her and yet he’d risked so much in those unguarded moments. ‘It seems to me that he felt he did. Is there an understanding between the two of you?’ He’d not considered that. Up until now, he’d been focused on her as merely the sister of his fencing instructor. He’d not thought of her as belonging to another. An Englishwoman would never have invited his attentions the way Alyssandra had if she was claimed by another. Maybe that was his mistake. This was France, after all, the country where husbands begged guests to flirt atrociously with their wives.
She stood and faced him, hands on hips, looking gorgeously defiant. Her hair had come down and now it hung in a long chestnut skein over one shoulder. ‘There is an understanding between Julian and me, but not the sort you think.’ She slid the basket on to her arm and handed him his discarded coat. ‘Thank you for the afternoon.’ Her tone was terse, perfunctory. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me? I have to go home and clean up this mess.’
‘I’ll come with you. Perhaps I can explain.’ Haviland shrugged into his coat. His split lip and bruised cheek could wait. He owed her this much. A gentleman didn’t let a lady face scandal alone even if the scandal wasn’t likely to leave the house.
She gave a harsh laugh. ‘What do you think you’ll explain, exactly? It’s not as if Julian misunderstood what he saw. No, I don’t think an explanation would improve the situation.’ She stepped away from him, her voice quieter now, but no less sharp. ‘It would be best if I did this alone. I am sorry if that thwarts your plans yet again to meet my brother. Au revoir.’
It didn’t occur to Haviland until after she’d disappeared from sight that he might not see her again. Ever.
* * *
‘She doesn’t trust me,’ he groused to his friends in the common room of their apartments, a cold rag held to his cheek.
‘And you don’t trust her. She hid her identity from you on purpose,’ Archer reminded him, handing over another cold rag to replace the one he held. ‘It seems you have something in common.’
‘She thinks I am using her to meet her brother. Even today when I offered to walk her home and explain, she refused on the grounds that I was manipulating the situation into a meeting.’ Lucifer’s stones, he’d made a mess of things. He’d never been so ham-handed with a woman before. Usually, he was discreet, masterful, charming. His affaires were smooth associations. Women could and did trust his lead.
Brennan snorted from his corner of the room where he lounged casually in a chair, his shirt open, his waistcoat undone. It was nearing evening and he looked as if he’d just risen. ‘What did you think you were going to explain? The angle of your tongue in her throat?’
Haviland threw him a quelling look and winced. It hurt his face to move. ‘Don’t be crass. It’s not funny.’
‘I disagree.’ Brennan laughed. ‘It’s hilarious. It’s the sort of the thing that happens to me, not you. I am going to enjoy the shoe being on the other foot. Thoroughly.’ He pushed himself out of the chair. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I have to get dressed. I’m anticipating a busy night at Madame Ravenelle’s.’
‘Stay in the Marais, Bren,’ Haviland cautioned out of habit. He couldn’t go with Brennan tonight, and Brennan was in the routine of slumming in the more dangerous parts of the city. At least in their more aristocratic neighbourhood, Brennan would be safer. Although ‘safe’ was always a relative term when it came to him.
Brennan clapped him on the shoulder as he passed. ‘I can take care of myself, old man. Don’t worry. Take care of you. You’ll have quite a bruise in the morning. I’m an expert at these things.’ Then he grinned. ‘Was she worth it?’
Haviland chuckled even though it hurt. ‘Yes.’ God, yes, she’d been worth Julian’s fist in his face. Julian would look worse, though. It was a male sort of consolation.
Nolan raised his head from his book. ‘She was worth it? Truly? I find it interesting you would say that about a woman you don’t trust. It is as if you are saying “I trust whatever you are keeping hidden from me will not be damaging to me”.’
‘This is exactly why I like horses.’ Archer sighed. ‘Horses don’t require cynicism. Your thoughts on human nature are so uplifting.’
Nolan shrugged. ‘I’m sorry if the truth offends you. Humans require more cynicism than others in the animal kingdom.’
‘More than wolves? I would have thought...’ Archer began.
Haviland stood, grabbing a spare rag to take with him. He didn’t particularly want to hear what Archer thought. He wasn’t up to listening to Nolan and Archer debate wolves, horses and humans. He wanted to retreat, nurse his cheek and think in the privacy of his room where his friends couldn’t voice their well-meant opinions.
Alyssandra Leodegrance had him spinning. She was beautiful and intriguing. It was the latter that concerned him most. What drew him to her? Where did the intrigue come from? Some women could naturally affect an air of mystery. Was she one of them or was there truly a mystery about her?
Haviland lay on his bed, eyes closed, his thoughts turning inward. He suspected the mystery had to do with what she wanted with him. She wanted him and yet she didn’t. It was as if she was afraid to get too close. Her actions where he was concerned were things of contradictions. She’d signalled him to approach at the musicale, she’d gone into the garden with him knowing who he was. She’d