A Dangerous Masquerade (9 page)

             
‘What a waste of beauty and spirit such as yours,’ he replied, finishing his soup and reaching for cheese butter and more bread.  ‘I have known some very happy and honourable liaisons of the kind I suggest amongst my friends.  Some are fortunate enough to have a pleasant arrangement that will last for years – or even a lifetime.’

             
‘Indeed?’ Constance gave him a steady look.  ‘Why do your friends not wed the women they profess to honour and care for, may I inquire?’

             
‘I suppose in most cases they are already married.’

             
‘Yes, I thought as much,’ Constance said.  ‘Tell me, sir – do you have a wife?’

             
‘Are you hoping to hold out for marriage, Constance?’  Moraven looked amused.  ‘You place a high price on your virtue – yet I am not certain you are the modest innocent you would have me believe?  The woman who took my purse seemed to be a polished sophisticate – the kind of lady who would relish the idea of carte blanche with a rich protector.’

             
‘Madeline’s husband liked to see her wear gowns that revealed her charms,’ Constance replied with a blush.  ‘When I became the comtesse in company, I tried to look as he wanted her to appear.  I thought an innocent girl would have little chance of fending off the adventurers and fortune hunters.  It was a game I played.  You know my reasons.’

             
‘Yes, I know your reasons, though I am not sure an innocent girl would have taken such a risk.  Supposing one of the rakes you fleeced at the tables had come calling?’

             
‘I seldom won large sums.  One night I was fortunate, but usually I was careful not to arouse anger or suspicion.  Until I lost and…’

             
‘Helped yourself to my purse?’ Moraven supplied helpfully.  ‘How fortunate for you that it was not one of the other more ruthless gentlemen you chose to steal from.  Some of them would not have been as lenient as I, Constance.’

             
‘I know.  It was foolish – and wrong.  I shall not make that mistake again.’

             
‘I am glad to hear it.  You need not gamble again for the nuns’ sake,’ Moraven said.  ‘I have set up a fund for them, which, if added to over the years should support their work for a long time.’

             
‘Thank you.  Perhaps Helene was right when she said that God would provide for them.’  Constance took an apple and bit it, the juice running down her cheek.  Moraven reached towards her and wiped it off, putting his finger into his mouth and sucking. ‘Oh…try one of the apples; they are delicious.’

             
‘So are you,’ he replied, his eyes burning into her.  ‘You are afraid of me and what you feel, Constance, but I know you feel something.  I shall not rush you, but I sincerely believe that you belong with me.  I would protect you and care for you, teach you so much about life – and if we parted you would not need to worry about money.’

             
‘You are very persistent, sir.’

             
‘I know.  It is a fault, I own – but when I want something I usually find a way to get what I want.’

             
Her gaze fell away.  His words made her heart pound and her mouth was dry.  She drank some of the water from the well at the back of the house, which was served by a spring and fresh, untainted with impurities, as, unfortunately was much of the water in the city.

             
‘I shall not tease you for the moment,’ he said as she was silent.  ‘We must not fall out with one another until this business with Renard is finished.  He will make his move against you or perhaps both of us in time, though I think he may try to take back the children the nuns rescued from his clutches first.’

             
‘It would kill Lucille if he ever took her back,’ Constance said.  ‘He is such an evil man, my lord.  You have no idea of what he caused to be done to that poor child.’

             
‘Oh, I think I might,’ Moraven said with a grim smile.  ‘That is why I intend to kill him.’

Constance washed the dishes in the big stone sink.  Heloise would have done them had she left them, but she did not wish to cause the old woman more work than necessary.  The look in Moraven’s eyes when he’d spoken of killing their mutual enemy had sent a chill through her entire body.  She did not doubt that he would do so given a chance; he was not a man for idle words.  His offer to make her his mistress had not been made lightly.

             
It was a way out of her predicament.  She could when this dangerous masquerade was over leave Paris and take Heloise with her.  He had spoken of a small house in London, where she would have her own servants and make friends.  When he spoke of it as an enduring partnership she could not help feeling that it might indeed be a pleasant way of life.  He had not answered her question about whether or not he was married, but she supposed she had her answer.  Her dangerous masquerade had made him see her as an adventuress; a woman whose modesty was already gone, her reputation tainted.  Constance had not thought of her own future when she embarked on her masquerade, but she could see how it must appear to him.  She had used her charms, taken her mistress’s name and her jewels to gain an entrée into the kind of circles that would never admit her as Constance Hatherstone, ladies maid.  In a way she had forfeited her right to expect respect, she had compromised her honour – and she did not have the kind of prospects that her birth as the daughter of a lady of quality entitled her to expect.

             
What would her mama have thought of her present situation?  Merely by allowing the marquis to have the freedom of her house she had lost all right to reputation and honour.  Her grandfather would think her as lost and depraved as he had named her father, though that was unfair and unkind.  Papa might have been a gambler but he was also the son of a baron and of good blood.  For some reason he’d parted with his family long before he met Constance’s mother and was forced to earn his bread as a teacher.  Once when she’d inquired if he had any family living he’d told her that they were all dead.

             
‘I have no one that cares a fig for me,’ he’d replied and kissed her cheek.  ‘If I die, dearest child, you must look to your mother’s family.  Your grandfather is a tartar but I think he might help you if he knew that I was no longer in the picture.’

             
Because of her father’s hopes, Constance had written a letter, which was far from a begging letter, but more a plea for recognition.  No answer had come and she would not write again.  She would work for her living somehow.  Madeline had been a friend as well as an employer.  She knew the truth of Constance’s birth, but although she spoke of writing to Lord Malvern, she had never done so.  Life had become hard for her and she could not bear to part from her only friend.

             
‘I do not know what I should do without you,’ she’d said only the day before she fled into the night, taking hardly anything with her.

             
Constance wondered what her despicable husband had said to her to make her run away so suddenly without a word even to her maid.  At times she thought that Madeline might even be dead, as Heloise maintained was the case.

             
Perhaps she ought to go away, leave this house and all that threatened her.  After all, the nuns and their children no longer needed her help as much – and if Moraven kept his word to destroy their enemy… Once again, she shivered as she remembered that look in his eye.  She suspected that he could be ruthless.

             
How could she even consider becoming the mistress of a man like that?  And yet there was something about him…something that had made her think that it might be very pleasant to be his lover.

             
She laughed softly.  The word lover appealed to her so much more than being a mistress, which sounded sordid and greedy to her innocent mind – but a lover was something very different.

             
A sigh left her lips.  She was unlikely to find happiness in marriage.  Why should she not look for it outside the marriage bed?  If they were discreet no one else need ever know and if he deserted her she could live quietly as a respectable widow…but she would know the truth.  She would lose her self-respect.

             
A hot colour stained her cheeks.  What was she thinking?  How could she ever contemplate giving herself to a man outside marriage?  Yet the alternative might be a sterile life of work without love.

             
Feeling suddenly angry at the unfairness of life, Constance banged the pot she had just washed down on the dresser.  If she had a fortune the men would fall over themselves to put a ring on her finger –  why did the rules of society mean that a girl such as she was not fit to be the wife of a lord?

             
It was unfair and wrong, but she knew that such love matches happened only in fairytales.  Mrs Fitzherbert had married a prince only to be forced to keep his secret.  Constance had no intention of letting herself be used by a man.  Yet there had been a moment as they ate their meal together when she’d been tempted to take Moraven’s offer.

*

Time to activate the men he had in waiting, not the hounds the English intelligence service had offered, but his own men, loyal to the core and willing to serve him to the death.  They had faced danger together many times and he knew they would risk anything for the comradeship they shared – six men who knew the truth of these past years; all of them either men he’d taken out of poverty, rescued from neglect in field hospitals and patched up or men he’d known as a lad.  None had rank or education but all were fearless and ready to take his orders at a moment’s notice; they were his sleepers: Sam, Ferdi, Hammer, Jim, Rush and Dodds.  From now on he would have them watching both Constance and the nuns’ house round the clock.

             
A little smile touched his mouth as his shadow slid into place behind him.  It no longer mattered if he was followed, because once the sleepers were activated the rogue would be dealt with.  Renard played dirty and Moraven’s men were as ruthless as he when dealing with murderous traitors.

             
Moraven had seen the flicker of doubt in Constance’s face when he’d spoken of killing their enemy. Once upon a time, he might have felt queasiness at the need for such action, but over the years he’d grown harder and stronger.  His masters in the English government expected him to be ruthless in protecting Crown and country and there were times when his duty left an unpleasant taste in the mouth, but he’d learned to ignore it – and he could usually sleep at night.

             
It was the reason he had never married.  What kind of a woman would want a man like him?  Certainly not the kind he needed to provide an heir for his family.  The ladies he’d made his mistresses in the past had never wanted more than the pleasure he gave them in bed and the lavish gifts he made them when in funds. None of them had delved beneath the surface, content with what he was willing to give – but a wife would demand so much more.  His fortunes had fluctuated over the years, but now he was secure, his estate prosperous enough to warrant a change in his lifestyle.  Even so, he knew that a simpering miss would probably drive him to desperation within a sennight.

             
He needed a woman with courage, who would not be disgusted by the occasional nightmare; a woman who knew him for what he was and still loved him – a woman who loved him enough to sacrifice her life for his.

             
A wry smile touched his mouth as he recalled the duel he’d fought with Harry Pendleton.  His fiancée had rushed between them, trying to save the life of the man she loved, and the ball he’d meant to deliver a glancing hit to the arm of a man he respected, despite the feud against him, had struck her instead.

             
He had regretted that, by God he had.  The nightmares had haunted him then until he knew she was well again.  He’d watched her wed Pendleton from the shadows, silently wishing her well.  He thought she’d seen him bow his head to her, his way of telling her that both she and her husband were safe from him.

             
His feud with Pendleton and the others was over as far as he was concerned.  They probably still though of him as a traitor, though a truce had been called.  Once his need to keep his work secret and hold his peace despite the scorn in their faces had made him bitter and angry, but somehow it no longer mattered.  He’d done them all a service when he helped protect Gerard’s wife from a madwoman, though he suspected the suspicions lingered in their minds.  It no longer mattered.  When this business was finished he intended to end his service with the English government and spend the rest of his life looking after his estates and perhaps in the getting of an heir…

             
Frowning, he entered an inn, knowing that his shadow would wait outside until it became obvious that he wasn’t coming out.  Meanwhile he would slip out into a back alley and continue his journey in secret.  Renard might be a ruthless devil but he wasn’t as clever as he thought himself.  He’d made a mistake when he’d given the order to have Moraven followed, because next time the rogue would be followed in his turn – all the way back to his master’s lair.