A Dangerous Masquerade (31 page)

Seeing that the inn had a pretty garden, Constance went outside and walked in the fresh air for a few minutes.  It was quite warm despite a ruffling breeze and she found a seat where she could sit in privacy, needing to be alone with her thoughts for a short time.  Somehow, she had not expected Moraven to tell her so much of his inner thoughts.  It was easy to see that recounting his mother’s past and her unfortunate death had been an emotional journey for him.  His feelings must have been bottled up inside him for many years – why had he decided to tell her something so personal?

             
It was almost as if he were testing her, discovering just how far she was willing to go before her good opinion of him was shattered.  Why would he do that – unless he was regretting his decision to offer her marriage?

             
He had told her more than once that marriage was not something he’d planned on or wished for; he would, she believed, have preferred to make her his mistress.  However, discovering that she was a virgin when he took her and that she was from a decent if not important family, he now felt obliged to marry her. It must be so, because despite his manner towards her, which was both considerate and caring, she could not imagine what benefit their marriage would bring him.

             
Yes, they had been passionate lovers and they liked each other well enough, but that was surely not sufficient reason for him to give up his prized freedom to marry her.  Unless, of course, he felt the need to get himself an heir and saw her as an obliging and comfortable companion?

Yet she sensed that he wanted more from her.  It had not been put into words but lay beneath the pricking and verbal challenges.

             
Could it be that Moraven cared more than he was willing to put into words – or was she hoping for too much?

             
Constance sighed deeply.  She longed for Moraven to love her, as she loved him, though she felt she asked too much.  He’d made it clear that his proposal had its limitations and she’d accepted them – but then why did he seem as if he was trying to make her change her mind?

             
Unless he regretted making the offer?

             
No, she would not be missish.  She was reading too much into his behaviour.  A man who had been shot in the arm, narrowly escaping death, was entitled to some show of temperament.  Moraven had saved her life, because she would almost certainly have died had he not found her when he did. A little push as the assassin fired was nothing compared with what he’d done for her.  She would not pout or demand or allow him to provoke her no matter what he said to her.

             
Laughing at herself, she rose to her feet and went back into the inn.  She must look in on Moraven and make sure that he was comfortable and had not taken a turn for the worse.

*

She’d saved his life.  Moraven knew that Jim would have been too late to stop the assassin had Constance not spotted the pistol in that rogue’s hand and pushed him aside.  She was so brave and beautiful – and lovely inside.  He hadn’t realised in Paris just how fine a person she truly was, for the person she’d seemed to be while wearing the Comtesse’s gown had fooled him.  Or had he seen it but simply not wanted to admit that she was perfection…the kind of woman he had hoped to marry when he was a young man and filled with ideals?

             
He moved his hand to his arm, feeling the soreness beneath the bandage.  It was a damned nuisance for the loss of blood had left him feeling weaker than he liked.  Had he not felt that movement might bring him crashing down, he would not have been prepared to lie here this way.  It was annoying when there was so much he wanted to do and say.  If there was one thing he disliked it was being obliged to lie here like an invalid, especially when he wanted to take Constance to see her new home – and to buy her the new gowns and the trinkets she deserved to have.

             
When he thought of the way she had been treated by others, he felt as if he might explode with anger.  The comtesse had shown contempt rather than gratitude for all that Constance had done for her.  Had Constance simply taken what she was due for her wages and walked away Madeline would have found it difficult to retrieve what was hers from her husband’s relatives.  She might even have been charged with deserting her husband and contributing to his illness by her absence.  Constance had nursed the man, even though she disliked him, and she played out that dangerous masquerade for the sake of the nuns and their rescued children.  She was brave and fine and lovely all through and he…wanted her more than he could ever tell her.

             
Damn it, he loved her.  Moraven finally admitted it in his heart.  It wasn’t just respect or lust or the fact that he needed an heir – or even that he needed to look after her and keep her safe.  He was in love, a situation so new and shocking that he hardly knew how he felt about it.

             
As a young man an arranged marriage with a young woman he’d known from childhood had seemed likely.  He’d felt tenderness and concern for the frail Angela.  Angie, as he’d called her when they played as children, had been the victim of Rheumatic fever and it had left her much weakened.  He had spent much of his time at her bedside, reading to her, trying to make her laugh, taking her small gifts.  In a way he had loved her, but it was the love of an elder brother or a dear friend.  Their fathers had thought it the ideal marriage, a way of seeing two estates joined as one, and Angie had wanted it too.

             
‘I can’t marry anyone else,’ she’d told him when he’d asked if she truly wanted to marry him.  He’d been concerned that she was being pushed into it, as he was, but she’d smiled and held his hand, clinging to him as if her life depended on it.  ‘If you won’t marry me I won’t marry anyone, Laurie.  No one is as kind as you, even Papa doesn’t understand me the way you do.’

             
He’d agreed because there was no one else he wanted to marry.  He was lonely, as she was, and he’d felt it would be all right – not wonderful or exciting, but comfortable.  Then she’d taken a walk on a damp day and the fever had set in again.  He’d been with her at the end, holding her until she breathed her last.  Her father had been in tears when he’d thanked him.

             
Moraven had left home that evening for London.  He’d wanted to get away from all he knew, everything that reminded him of the delicate sweet girl who had not deserved to die so miserably.

             
He’d still been angry with an unjust God when he saw the man who had ruined his mother and he made up his mind to ruin him.  The man was a greedy fool and it had been easy, much easier than he’d expected.

             
After he discovered what happened to the man, he’d felt some regret but by that time the die was cast.  Having joined the army with some friends, been recruited as a spy and then cast off as a traitor by his friends, he had found the creeping coldness that came over him impossible to throw off.

             
His careless manner had every woman in society running after him.  He was propositioned by so many married ladies, bored wives dissatisfied with their husbands whispered in his ear and sent him lascivious glances.  He would have had to be a saint to ignore or refuse them all – and he was far from being above temptation.  He gave them what they wanted but he remained untouched and because it pricked their pride they whispered of his cruelty.  Coupled with his success at the card tables his reputation grew darker and the men who had been his friends believed all they heard.

             
He wasn’t sure when he had become the man everyone thought him, but over time he’d become harder.  In his dealings with spies, rogues and assassin’s he’d learned to think the worst of everyone he met – and to feel nothing.  Women were charming and he adored them for the short time that they amused him, but none ever touched his heart.  Until…he met a woman in a black velvet gown who was not all that she seemed.

             
Had Constance been the adventuress he’d thought her, they would have dealt well together for a time, but in the end they would have parted to go their separate ways.  The realisation that she was something very different had come to him slowly, drawing him in little by little without his realising that the barrier he’d kept in place was slowly disintergrating.

             
It had fallen away now, every last scrap.  His heart was open to her and vulnerable.  He wanted to tell her how he felt.  He wanted to take her in his arms and kiss her until she melted into him and lost herself in sweet abandon – but all he could do was to lie here and prick at her because of his frustration.

             
A wry smile touched his lips.  He was not as evil as he’d once thought of himself, but he was no white knight.  Could Constance love him for himself?

             
He hoped so because he did not know what he would do if he lost her now.

‘Are you awake?’  Constance opened the door and peeped round it, her gaze flying to the man lying propped up against the pillows.  His eyes had been closed but he opened them and looked at her.  ‘Are you feeling better?’

             
‘No, I feel awful.’

             
‘What is wrong?’  She hastened across the room, touching her hand to his forehead, fearing that it would be hot and damp but he felt cool.  ‘Are you in pain?’

             
‘No.  I’m feeling lonely.  You deserted me more than two hours ago.  Sit here on the bed and talk to me, Constance.  I’m bored with lying here.’

             
‘You are a terrible patient,’ Constance said and smiled as she looked down at him.  ‘You’ve only been confined to bed a few hours.  You need to rest, Moraven.  I left you so that you could sleep.’

             
‘I don’t need sleep.  I need you – here in my bed, in my arms.’

             
‘Moraven!’  She looked at him in shock.  ‘You are not well enough to…well, you know what I mean.’

             
‘If you mean make love to you I am well aware of it,’ he said ruefully.  ‘But I want you here beside me, Constance.  I want to hold you and touch you, feel you lying next to me.’

             
‘Do you, my dearest?’  She bent down to touch her lips to his and he caught the back of her head with one hand, holding it there as he kissed her, exploring her lips and her mouth with his tongue as she opened to him.  She touched one hand to his cheek, stroking the slight roughness where his beard was beginning to grow through.  ‘Are you sure this is wise?’ she asked when she drew back at last.

             
‘Most probably not.  I’m as weak as a damned kitten,’ he said.  ‘But that doesn’t stop me thinking, Connie my love.’

             
‘Connie?’  She arched an eyebrow at him.

             
‘Don’t you like it?  I think it suits you.’

             
‘My father called me Connie sometimes, usually when he was in a good humour.’

             
‘I shan’t use it if you’d rather I didn’t.’

             
‘I don’t mind.  It will take some getting used to though – but what should I call you?  Moraven is formal but I don’t know your Christian name.’

             
‘I have many.  Laurence is one my family often used – or Laurie.’

             
‘Laurie?’  Constance shook her head.  ‘I don’t see you as a shy youth and that is where the name belongs I think.  Laurence is nice, though.  I think I might use that – if you permit?’

             
‘You may call me by any name that suits you, my dearest Constance.  I will answer to most, though some are sweeter than others.  I’ve been called a bastard many times, not true literally, of course – but rogue, coward, traitor…they’ve all been levelled at me in my time.’

             
‘By fools one presumes,’ Constance said and laughed.  ‘You cannot fool me, you know.  I understand that in the course of your work you may have done things that you feel were wrong or harsh, but that is not you, my love.  Taunt me as much as you like, I shall not turn from you, Laurence.  Besides, I do not look for a knight in shining armour.  I want a man I can be comfortable as well as rely on and admire – and you have proved your worth to me many times.’

             
‘Then you will marry me – and take me as I am no matter the past or what people may say of me?’

             
‘I shall not listen to slander against you.  I know you for what you truly are.  You did so much for those children and the nuns – and you saved my life.  How could I not feel admiration for such a man?’

             
‘Supposing I told you that I wanted much more?’

             
Constance sat back, her gaze narrowing.  ‘I am not sure what you mean.  You told me that you wanted me but you said…you said I was not to expect love for it was not in your nature.’

             
‘I’ve said many foolish things in my time,’ Moraven said and gave her a wry look.  ‘The man I had become for various reasons denied love.  He shut out all feelings of a softer nature, because he was afraid of being hurt again – but I am no longer that man, Constance.  You have broken through the barriers I built to protect myself.  You and you alone have shown me what it is to love truly.’