The Complete Regency Bestsellers And One Winters Collection. Rebecca Winters

philosophies that governed other cultures and countries. Alyssandra suspected that was simply the justification wealthy families gave for sending young Englishmen abroad to rut and gamble and drink so they couldn’t cause trouble at home.

      Alyssandra grabbed her pelisse from a hook on the back of the door and her shopping basket. It was hard to imagine Haviland fitting the standard mould, however. He looked to be a few years older than the usual fare they saw. Most of those men were in their early twenties and far too young to appreciate any of the cultural differences they might encounter. In contrast, Haviland had a polished demeanor to him, a sophistication that could only be acquired with experience. And the way he’d talked about freedom in the park hinted at depths behind those blue eyes. But that changed nothing. Even if he turned out to be different than the usual passer-through, what could he offer her but a short affaire and a broken heart? He would leave. They needed him to leave.

      Perhaps a short affaire is best. What do you have to offer him or anyone for the long term? No one will want to take on an invalid brother-in-law, the wicked argument whispered, tempting. She’d been so focused on Haviland, she hadn’t spent much time thinking about her part in this equation. Alyssandra pushed open the door leading into the back alley behind the salle and stepped into the afternoon light. She couldn’t leave Antoine in the immediate future. She might never be able to. Didn’t Etienne prove as much?

      ‘Alyssandra!’ The sound of her name startled her out of her thoughts. The sight of the man who called it startled her even more. Haviland leaned against the brick wall across the narrow alley, his coat draped over one arm, his clothes slightly rumpled as if he’d changed in a hurry. He stepped towards her. ‘I didn’t mean to frighten you.’ He took the basket from her arm. She could feel the heat of exertion through his clothes. He had indeed made a quick departure. How had he managed to escape Julian?

      ‘I came down to bring my brother lunch. I just dropped it off.’ Alyssandra improvised and gestured to the basket to give the fabrication credibility. ‘Shouldn’t you still be working with Monsieur Anjou?’ According to the schedule, he was supposed to be with Julian for an hour to give her plenty of time to change and leave the building without this happening. Not that it mattered, she reminded herself. He didn’t suspect anything. It wasn’t unusual for a sister to want to bring her brother lunch.

      ‘I had enough fencing for one day.’ Haviland shook his head and gave a half smile. ‘The lesson didn’t go very well. Monsieur Anjou assures me I wasn’t concentrating. I didn’t stay long enough to hear everything else I did wrong.’

      ‘Perhaps you weren’t,’ she teased, looping an arm through his and beginning to walk. It did occur to her that Julian and her brother were still inside. If they concluded their meeting, they would come out this door—this discreet door that hardly anyone knew about or paid attention to. She needed to get Haviland away from the exit before something happened she couldn’t explain away.

      ‘Your brother got me in the same place he got me on Tuesday, right in the centre of my shoulder. I must be doing something to leave myself open for it.’ Haviland looked back over his shoulder towards the door. ‘In fact, I was hoping to catch your brother afterwards and speak with him.’

      She’d guessed as much. She gave him an exaggerated pout. ‘I’m not sure that’s what a girl wants to hear—that you’ve come looking for her brother, but not her.’

      ‘I didn’t know you would be here.’ He smiled back and gave up on the door.

      ‘Now that you do know, perhaps you’d like to accompany me on a few errands?’ She told herself she was doing this for Antoine. If she didn’t, he would exit the building sans mask, hefted in the arms of his manservant, and Haviland waiting to witness it. Haviland would learn the error was not in Antoine’s face, but in his legs. Yes, all this was to protect the great ruse. But her pulse still raced at his nearness, at the thought of spending the afternoon in his company.

      This would be new territory for her. She had not been in the company of such a gentleman. Most of her encounters had been at balls and soirées—in short, events that were heavily scripted, where everyone was expected to be on their best behaviour. She’d never been out in public, at a ‘non-event’ where there was no script except for the one the participants wrote between them. It was a new kind of freedom, and Alyssandra liked it. Even without the requirements of a ballroom, Haviland was solicitous. He carried her basket. He didn’t show impatience when she debated, perhaps overlong, which bread to purchase at the boulangerie. He held the shop doors open for her. He walked on the far side of the pavement to shield her from any traffic.

      It was all done effortlessly. Alyssandra hardly noticed, so easily were these little tasks performed. Maybe she wouldn’t have noticed at all if she’d come to expect such treatment. As it was, it was new to her. Etienne had never had an opportunity to do these things for her. Their meetings had always been at events or carefully chaperoned in her home. Antoine might have done such things for her if he could have. But this was clearly not new to Haviland. These choices were ingrained in his being and it was intoxicating, a further reminder of his polish, his sophistication. This was no boy wet behind the ears. If he was this polished in public, how he must shine in private.

      She shot him a saucy, sideways glance, wanting to flirt a little. ‘You’re very good at a lady’s errands. Is this part of your “persuasion”?’

      He laughed. ‘A master never tells his secrets.’

      ‘I can think of other ways a gentleman might prefer to spend his afternoons,’ she teased.

      ‘Really?’ He gave her one of his raised-eyebrow looks. ‘I can’t.’ He could melt ice with that look.

      What was it the old wives said about flattery? It got you everywhere? There was definitely some merit in that when done right and, in her estimation, Haviland was doing it right indeed. It was hard to resist his charm even when she knew she so obviously should.

      They crossed a street, skirting the edge of the gardens. They were just a few streets from the hôtel, and a few streets from the end of her glorious afternoon. Shopping had never been this much fun. Her stomach growled. Instinctively, she pressed a hand to her middle, trying to squelch the embarrassingly loud reminder that she hadn’t eaten since breakfast and not much at that. Breakfast had been a hard roll and cheese.

      ‘Are you expected back soon?’ Haviland asked, his hand falling to the small of her back, guiding her towards the park entrance instead of home. ‘I was thinking we might stop and try some of that bread you debated over for so long and some of that cheese. Maybe even some of that wine if you don’t mind drinking straight from the bottle.’ His motions suggested he was not expecting any resistance.

      She liked that—confidence in a man was always attractive. Not Julian’s over-confidence, which was really a combination of ego and arrogance, but the assumption that he knew they were enjoying their time together and would mutually like to continue it. She was also wary of that confidence. She’d not forgotten he’d given something up to be with her this afternoon. Maybe he thought this would be another avenue for getting what he wanted: a meeting with her brother. She’d warned him about such a ploy once before.

      They found a patch of grass away from the path in enough shade to keep their eyes from being blinded by the sun. Haviland made to spread out his coat for her, but she declined with a laugh. ‘I’m not so delicate as to need something to sit on. The grass is fine.’ To prove it, she sat down and tucked her legs beneath her. She welcomed it actually, this chance to sit on the ground and just be.

      Haviland reached into the basket and took out the wheel of cheese. ‘You might as well take out the sausage, too,’ Alyssandra said and then realised the flaw in their impromptu picnic. Bottles could be drunk out of in the absence of glasses, but they absolutely could not sit there and simply bite off hunks of sausage and bread with their mouths. ‘Oh, no! We don’t have a knife.’

      Haviland grinned and dug into his pocket. ‘Yes, we do.’ He flipped open a small silver knife. ‘It won’t be elegant carving, but it will do.’ In that moment,