Tonight or Never Read Online Free

phrase c'est la vie as a personal motto.
    "Yes, why be upset on this glorious day when we should be dining?" Turning, she took the marquis's arm. "Come along, John, we have had a place set at the table for you."
    Desultorily, John ambled down the stairs. "How did you know I was coming?"
    Maurice raised an eyebrow at him. "Ho ho !"
    John glared at him.
    The marquis wasn't fooled. Singing a silly country tune in French under his breath, he led the countess into the dining room.
    A smattering of the lyrics reached John. Some nonsense about a mouse that ate a cat…
    "Shall we go, John?" Chloe said amiably.
    The viscount wasn't fooled by her act for a minute. The minx had the audacity to bat her eyelashes at him.
    He took a deep breath and exhaled it. "We are not through with this, you and I."
    "Oh, I should hope not! Why, I have only just begun," Chloe murmured mysteriously as she took his arm.
    " Mmm . I was afraid of that."
    Twice he tried to trip her as he led her into the dining room.
     
    When they entered the dining room, the man known simply as Deiter was already seated at the table.
    This was no great surprise.
    Despite the strange man's unfortunate tendency to fall asleep at the oddest times, he never missed a meal.
    Simply put, Deiter was family, although no one was quite sure exactly whose family. He had been with them for so long, it was naturally assumed he belonged on someone's side.
    Deiter greeted Lord Sexton with his customary grunt. It was one of two responses the man possessed, the other being a piercing stare.
    Both expressions, John had to admit, accessorized the man's constant wardrobe of black to perfection. He nodded to the squat German as he took his seat across from Chloe.
    Schnapps, an exceedingly ugly pug dog— who was never far from Deiter's lap—provided the piercing stare. The one tooth the dog possessed stuck out of its mouth at an odd angle, lending a maniacal impact to the sentiment.
    Between the two of them, we are sure to get the entire range of emotion . An amused dimple curved John's cheek.
    John rather liked the presence of Deiter .
    Not because he was fond of the man himself—one would have trouble admitting to a fondness for Deiter —it was rather because Deiter represented to John everything unique that he had come to associate with Chacun à Son Goût .
    He had always had a special attachment to this house. It was one of the few places where he felt comfortable down to his toes. That the countess was a consummate hostess was an indisputable part of the reason.
    But it was more.
    There was for John a sense of happiness about this house. A sense of life and laughter that he had rarely seen elsewhere.
    What was more, the countess always kept a room ready just for him. The same room. Since John was a rather impoverished viscount, having no estates of his own, the gesture she made, fueled in part by her affection for Maurice, touched him deeply. Chacun à Son Goût was the closest thing to a home he would ever likely know.
    Luncheon was served.
    Years before, the countess had brought her cook with her from
France, stating seriously that one would give up the coat of arms before one gave up a good French chef. Therefore, the table at Chacun à Son Goût was exceptionally well laid. So why had he suddenly lost his appetite?
    John gazed across the table to the young woman cheerfully scarfing down her coq au vin . Prosaically, he acknowledged the source of his problem. Cherchez la femme .
    It wasn't Chloe's ridiculous pronouncement that she intended to imitate his manner of life that had startled him the most. Obviously she wasn't serious and had only been goading him—a thing Chloe always took great pleasure in doing. No, it was Chloe's seemingly innocuous observation that had unnerved him. All of these lovers… must bring you great satisfaction .
    The truth was… they didn't.
    Oh, he enjoyed himself, to be sure. In fact, he was very pleased with his life. But great satisfaction? Somehow