He moved subtly closer. “You were attractive. You seemed interesting and intelligent, and by the way you were making all those other men laugh, I knew you had a sense of humor.”

“Giving me your room key was supposed to be funny?”

His brown eyes turned to molten chocolate. “Not at all. The ball was ending. I wanted to get to know you better.”

Charlotte couldn’t believe his gall. Aside from being young and naive, she’d been on official business that night, and she’d never dishonor her grandfather nor the ambassador’s office by leaving the party with a strange man, particularly a man with Alec Montcalm’s reputation. He was still one of France’s most notorious bachelors. His dates were lucky to stay out of the tabloids.

“It didn’t occur to you to ask me for coffee?” she asked tartly.

“I’m not a patient man.” He paused, and she checked an impulse to gaze into his dark eyes, or to contemplate that rakish slash of a mouth, or the tilt of his square chin. Which left her his nose-straight, aristocratic, slightly flared, as if he was drinking in her scent.

He continued speaking. “The direct approach is sometimes the most effective.”

“You’re telling me that room-key thing works?” She couldn’t really be surprised. There had to be plenty of women who’d give their eye teeth to hop into Alec Montcalm’s bed. Charlotte simply wasn’t one of them. And she never would be.

His quirk of a smile confirmed her suspicions. But then he seemed to tire of the game. He straightened, his expression turning more businesslike. “In my sister’s absence, is there anything I can do for you, Ms. Hudson?”

Charlotte instantly remembered her mission. She also realized she’d made a colossal error by arguing with him. She forced herself to calm down, to step back from the web of emotions he seemed to evoke, and to focus on the reason she’d come.

“When is Raine expected back?” she tried.

“Tuesday morning. She was called to a photo shoot on Malta for Intérêt.”