in the Passage de la Bourse, if I have that correctly.â
âPerfectly, madame. â
The dark-haired sword master took the hand Soniaoffered, his bow as brief as her curtsy. The look he turned on her as he stepped back was searching, though his expression gave away nothing of his conclusions. His brows were dark slashes above deep-set black eyes, his features harsh yet noble in some ancient fashion, and his hair, innocent of the pomade that controlled the locks of most gentlemen, had the sheen of black satin. The curl of his well-formed mouth as he glanced at his friend at the end of his perusal seemed to have an element of pity in it.
The Kentuckian was not attending. His gaze was on Sonia, she saw, his lips parted as if he would speak. She thought he meant to ask her to dance. The sensation that entered her chest, like the dry fluttering of butterfly wings, was so disquieting that she swung, abruptly, toward her previous partner who had followed to stand just behind her.
âYou know these gentlemen, I believe, Monsieur Ducolet.â
Tante Lily gave a small laugh. â Mon Dieu, chère, such an introduction. Monsieur Wallace, Monsieur Lenoir, this is Monsieur Hippolyte Ducolet.â
During the exchange of bows and acknowledgments of past fencing bouts, the next waltz began and the moment passed for joining the dancers. The Kentuckian seemed to forget the impulse, though his gaze that traveled over Sonia was dark before he turned back to Tante Lily. âCall me Kerr, if you please, madame. To stand on ceremony seems foolish when we will be thrown together in close quarters within mere hours.â
âI fear my friend considers any formality absurd,â Christien Lenoir said in dry tones.
âAnd so it is. People might as well not have first names here. A man and woman may share a bed for forty years, have a dozen children together, comfort each other in sickness and grief, and still call each other monsieur and madame when one of them lies at deathâs door. What could be more ridiculous?â
âMonsieur!â
Kerr looked at Tante Lily with a raised brow. âWhat did I say? Oh, the part about a bed and children. Youâll forgive me, I hope, but surely thatâs the most telling point of all. Only consider if in the throes ofââ
âWe will not consider it, if you please!â Tante Lily tapped him on the arm, the words censorious though her eyes sparkled. âThis politeness you so despise makes possible a pleasant life, nâest-ce pas, particularly in marriage. Where would we be if everyone said exactly what they thought and felt with no manners, no reserve or regard for the consequences? Why, men and women could never live together without quarreling. If they were not at each otherâs throats a week after the wedding, I should be very surprised.â
Kerrâs bow was courteous, but lacked the depth of true humility. âI stand corrected, madame. Iâm sure your experience in such matters goes beyond mine.â
âImpudent scoundrel.â She gave him a darkling look. âBut you mentioned imminent close quarters just now. Pray, what did you mean?â
That was a question Sonia wanted very much to hear answered herself.
âNothing scandalous, I promise. I only intended to convey that the steamer for Vera Cruz has completed her unloading, taken on new cargo and now awaits only her orders for departure.â
âOh, dear.â
âYouâre certain?â Sonia could not keep the sharpness from her voice.
âOh, quite,â the gentleman from Kentucky said at his most urbane. âAll things being equal, we will board tomorrow afternoon and sheâll sail with the following dawn.â
âHow kind of you to keep us informed.â She thought he relished being the bearer of the news, no doubt because he knew her reluctance to hear it. Not that he was crass enough to make an overt show of it; she would allow
Learning to Kill: Stories