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in a bed of white satin.
    â€œIf you’ll allow me, mademoiselle…” Monsieur de Groument took out the necklace, and Régine turned around so he could fit it around her neck.
    She smiled at Darius to show her delight with Luc’s gift, and once the necklace was secure, she walked over to a mirror and studied her reflection, delighting in the way the stones caught fire and sparkled.
    She turned to the Frenchman. “I am most pleased with Monsieur Valendry’s gift.” Worth a small fortune, if she was any judge of diamonds.
    De Groument looked bewildered. “But—but the necklace is not from Monsieur Valendry, Mademoiselle Laflamme. It’s a gift from Count Serge Dragomilov.”

Chapter Six
    Darius watched the color drain from her face and a spark of anger light her eyes. She fumbled impatiently with the necklace’s clasp, and when she couldn’t undo it, he stepped forward. “Allow me.”
    She turned and lifted her hair away from her long neck, releasing the faint scent of some beguiling floral perfume. As he unfastened the clasp, his fingers touched her nape, and the brief, intoxicating connection made him yearn to kiss the places his fingers had brushed.
    â€œDone.” He stepped back.
    Régine caught the necklace as it slid down and thrust it at the jeweler’s man as if the sparkling stones were a handful of snakes.
    â€œTake this back to Count Dragomilov with my regrets,” she said coldly. “I cannot possibly accept such an extravagant gift.”
    â€œBut—but you must!” The Frenchman put it back in its case. A sheen of sweat appeared on his forehead, which he blotted with a handkerchief. “He will be very displeased with both of us if you don’t, mademoiselle.”
    She gave de Groument a look of haughty disdain. “I am the Queen of Fire. Only my current lover is allowed to give me gifts.”
    â€œYes, yes, of course, Mademoiselle Laflamme. As you wish.” He backed toward the door, bowing obsequiously. “I will return the necklace to Count Dragomilov.”
    He turned and fled.
    When Darius and Régine were alone, he said, “Are you sure that was wise?”
    She folded her arms and glared at him. “The Russian cannot buy me.”
    â€œI would be careful, if I were you.”
    She returned to the settee. She looked so fresh and delectable with her anger and heightened color. “What do you mean?”
    He remained standing. “He’s a dangerous man. I saw his face when you refused his bottle of champagne in Maxim’s last night. He looked as if he wanted to lay you across the table and force his attentions on you in front of everyone.” She started, as if he’d shocked her. Good. “And if he did try, I doubt that the old gent you were with—Valendry, is it?—would’ve joined the rest of us to intervene.”
    A faint, guilty blush stained her cheeks, and her direct gaze slid away. “I control my own destiny and can take care of myself.”
    He smiled wryly. “By definition, my dear, a protector is one who protects.”
    She dismissed his concerns with a blithe wave of her hand. “You still have not told me why you’re here, and your half-hour is almost up.”
    He walked over to the tall window and looked out at the empty doorway where he’d stood in the soft rain last night, watching her house.
    â€œI didn’t learn of your dismissal until I returned home for the summer. My stepmother had forbidden my sisters to write to me about the event, and when I arrived, I found the girls very upset that you had gone without so much as a goodbye. You’d been replaced by a strict, middle-aged woman who offered no temptation to my father. I felt like strangling both Blackwall and his cold, vindictive wife.” He looked at her. “You’re right. If he couldn’t offer you marriage, the least he could’ve done was set you up