The Art of Seduction Read Online Free PDF Page A

altar?”
    â€œBetter that than a life of regret brought about by the wrong decision. Just go to Falconier and say, ‘I’ve changed my mind. The sale is off.’”
    She cast a glance at the gallery owner who was unlocking the door, then back at Garrett.
    His gaze pierced her.
    â€œYou’d best hurry,” he stressed, “before it’s too late.”

Chapter 2
    S top the sale? Before it even got started? On the advice of a complete stranger?
    After all she’d gone through, shouldn’t she just be grateful to be selling anything at all?
    But then…this wasn’t just any stranger. It was almost as if he’d been sent here by destiny to hold up a beacon to her future. Could there be more in store for her than selling a few paintings at bargain prices?
    She had no way of knowing. Her life, since that tumultuous night on the Pont de l’Alma, had been a kaleidoscope of bizarre events that had taught her one thing: What had seemed like the worst catastrophe of her life might well have turned out to be the best thing that ever happened to her.
    Two months ago, on the city’s stormiest night in living memory, Mason was flailing in the Seine when suddenly something cracked her in the head. She’d lost consciousness, assuming those were her last moments on earth. But when she awoke sometime later in the night, she found that she’d somehow managed to hook her arm around whatever flotsam had struck her. Either she’d managed to pull herself up with her last ounce of strength, or she’d been saved by a fluke of that same fate she’d earlier cursed. She had just enough presence of mind to heave herself on top of it and out of the frigid water before she’d blacked out once again. After that, there was a sense of moving in and out of consciousness as the rapid current carried her cascading through the night.
    When she awoke—God only knew how many hours later—it was in a warm bed under a fluffy down comforter. A woman’s face appeared above her and a kind voice asked, “Are you awake?” Mason tried to respond but couldn’t. She didn’t have the strength to move her lips. A moment later, she sank back into the darkness.
    She was vaguely aware of tossing feverishly and kicking off the covers to cool her burning skin. She had bleary memories of moving in and out of the light and of some sort of vile medicine being forced down her throat, bringing with it another heavy sleep.
    Then one morning she awoke to a room full of sunshine to see the woman sitting in a chair, mending a stocking. Mason tried to push herself up, but was so weak she fell back into the pillows, exhausted and lightheaded. Finally, she asked, “What happened? Where am I?”
    She heard a cry. “She’s awake! She’s all right!” Then the shuffle of footsteps as the family quickly gathered round her bed—the parents, two boys, a little girl, and a toothless grandmother. They all spoke at once, making a fuss, rejoicing in her recovery.
    The woman who’d been sewing said, “Dr. DuBois says something hit your head in the water. He says it was a miracle you didn’t drown.”
    â€œWhere am I?”
    â€œRueil-la-Gadeliere.”
    Groggily, Mason placed the name in her mind. Renoir had painted there. But it couldn’t be! It was fifty miles downriver!
    â€œHow long have I been here?”
    â€œIt has been nearly four weeks since the good Lord brought you to us.”
    â€œFour weeks!”
    Again, she tried to sit, but her head swam sickly. The kind woman helped her back, adjusting her covers as she introduced her family. They were the Carriers, farmers who lived at the edge of the river. They’d chanced to spot her sprawled on top of the massive tree limb as it had floated by the morning after the storm. In their launch, they’d pursued and rescued her. They were a poor and simple people, and seemed to her blurry