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words amused him. She could tell by the droll look he tossed in her direction as he sat heavily on the bright red cushion, though he didn’t comment. She gracefully lowered her body into a small parlor chair near the window, facing him directly across a tea table.
    He waited for her to begin, and she didn’t waste his time. “I met your brother at a soiree celebrating the birthday of our gracious Empress Eugenie. Of course she wasn’t in attendance, but it was in her honor, and everyone who is anyone was there.”
    â€œNaturally,” he drawled.
    Olivia realized she was in danger of rambling, her nerves making her resemble a typical capricious miss rather than the intelligent lady she was raised to embody. She shifted her bottom in her chair so that she satever more regally, then clasped her palms together loosely in her lap, concentrating on keeping to the point. “Edmund is quite a charming man and he flattered me, your grace. I’m certain you’re aware of his skills and his reputation as a rake. I was not entirely ignorant of his spurious adoration, you understand, but he also seemed quite fascinated by my work for the empress, and that impressed me —”
    â€œFascinated by your work for the empress?” he cut in as he crossed one leg over the other and stretched his arms wide across the back of the settee.
    She tried very hard not to stare at the muscles of his chest as they instantly pressed against the whiteness of his tailored shirt, pulling the buttons taut. The man had a…healthy physique. Or so she suspected. She refused to look him over brazenly to be sure.
    â€œYes,” she replied after clearing her throat. “I think it was the central reason I quickly became…enamored of him.”
    â€œWhat type of work do you do, Lady Olivia?” he asked, his amusement now coupled with a bit of genuine intrigue.
    He didn’t know. Which meant he hadn’t checked what he could of her background after her appearance at the ball. For a few seconds she felt a tad insulted that he didn’t seem concerned about her veiled threats of three days ago, but then not that many in London knew her now that she was grown and living in France. It did, however, give her an odd sense of satisfaction to inform him that “her work” had nothing to do with menial labor, nor was she talking about volunteering for one of Eugenie’s good causes. In truth, she adored watching gentlemen squirm when she told them she ran a business for profit, and that she was quite successful at it.
    â€œI’m the proprietor of my late stepfather’s manufacturing company. In essence, I am the sole manager of the House of Nivan in Paris.”
    It took only seconds for her to realize he had no idea on earth what she was talking about. She’d wondered about that the night of the ball as well, when she’d mentioned Nivan and he’d given her a blank stare. She now understood why.
    Sighing, she eased lightly into her stays and expounded. “The House of Nivan is a company that produces perfume, your grace, and is considered one of the best in all of France. We also make fragranced soaps, scents, and smelling salts, and ship our product all over the civilized world, as we’ve done for more than forty years.”
    If she’d surprised him with that announcement, he seemed as staid about it as she was proud. His brows drew together slightly and he glanced up and down her sitting form again, this time with calculation. That made her warm beneath her silk gown, her face flush with heat, but Olivia ignored it, hoping her cheeks weren’t overly pink.
    Finally he drew in a long, slow breath. “So, I’m assuming you—or rather your business—makes a perfume for the Empress Eugenie?”
    â€œExactly,” she replied. “We serve the French elite along with three or four other good quality fragrance houses in France. However, the one the