Lady of Shame (21 page)

A knock at the door. The maid. ‘Come in.’

‘You can start on the gowns in the clothes press,’ she said, folding the ribbons neatly into the box so they would not become unduly wrinkled.

‘That’s the oddest request I have ever had.’

She swung around. Her heart practically jumping out of her chest and she pressed her hand flat against her ribs to make sure it stayed in place. ‘André?’ The bruises on his face had faded a little, but there were dark smudges beneath his eyes.

‘Are there other gentlemen you let into your bedroom?’ His eyes danced. His charming smile made an appearance. She didn’t trust it.

But her heart was beating hopefully.

She turned, pressed the lid on the hat box and set it on the floor. ‘So, you came, after all. I had quite given you up.’

‘You are leaving.’

‘Yes.’

‘You gave me three days.’

She turned and sat on the edge of the bed, giving him a knowing smile and a sultry glance. She’d practiced it all day the first day, when she had hoped he would come to her. ‘It was very foolish of me. If you did not know your mind within the hour of my leaving you, then it was obvious you were not going to come.’

‘I am here now.’

She tapped a finger against her chin. She’d seen some very naughty ladies flirt in this way with their beaux. It seemed to work well for them. ‘Better late than never, I suppose. But why have you come?’ She held her breath.

He tossed the gloves resting in his hat, like a pancake in a frying pan, watching them rise only to fall back into the depths of his hat. ‘I owe you an explanation.’

Her heart sank to her shoes. Justification for his actions was not what she had hoped for, even now, even as she was preparing to give him up.

She shrugged. ‘There is no need.’ She slid off the bed with a cheerful smile. ‘On your way out, could you please see what has happened to the maid?’ She opened the dresser drawer and busied herself sorting ribbons she couldn’t see for the blurring of her vision.

‘Claire, I’m sorry.’

‘What? Is it beneath your dignity to check up on a maid? Then I will ring the bell.’

‘I don’t mean that. You know I don’t.’

‘All right. You are sorry. And I am sorry. But there really is no need for it. We both agreed it was nothing.’

‘It wasn’t nothing,’ he said softly. ‘Not to me.’

She turned and leaned against the table edge, feeling the wood digging into her hips. ‘Then what was it?’

He swallowed as if his mouth was dry. ‘It was wonderful.’

Wonderful was good. But not good enough. Only all or nothing was good enough now.

‘There are some things you don’t know about me,’ he muttered, his cheekbones staining red. ‘Things I should tell you.’

Oh, there went the whole dipping sensation again, only this time it was her stomach. ‘Tell away.’ She knew she sounded hard, brittle, but she couldn’t let him see she was hurting, not if all he had for her were explanations. She’d gone to him, placed her heart at his feet—well, almost—and he’d kicked her offering aside. She wouldn’t do it again. Not lightly.

She folded her arms across her chest, and almost jumped when she felt how hard her nipples had become. Anticipating a romp on the handy bed no doubt. What a wanton. Well, it was not going to happen.

He set down his hat and gestured to the two chairs in front of the hearth. ‘Might we sit?’

‘I really don’t have long. The maid is due to arrive at any moment.’

‘I will be fast.’

She sauntered to the upholstered chair and sat down, primly crossing her ankles. He eased into the wooden armchair opposite.

‘The title I used at the assembly,’ he said.

Goodness, he was probably involved in some sort of scheme to con people. He probably used it to part gentlemen from their money at the gambling table. George used to do it all the time.

‘It really is my title.’

She laughed.

He met her gaze steadily.

She gasped. ‘You mean you really are a French count?’

He nodded.

She felt ill. ‘So all that talk about being a lowly chef was a lie?’

Horror filled his face. ‘The title is an empty shell. The land went back to the people.’ His face spasmed with distaste. ‘My family was obscenely wealthy. They didn’t deserve all that for themselves. No one does.’

‘So why tell me about it?’

He glanced at her face and then away. ‘When I was old enough to understand the abuses of the
ancien régime
, I wasn’t sorry to see it gone. But I didn’t believe in the killing. Not of my parents or any of the others. My parents weren’t bad. They had instituted many reforms. Not enough, but more than some others.’

‘The reign of terror.’ Her chest tightened. ‘You were lucky to escape.’

‘Yes, I was one of the fortunate ones.’

‘You hid? You were spirited away by some faithful servant? You know émigrés have been dining out on those tales for years.’

‘I had the help of a priest. I didn’t know him. And he died protecting me before we could get wherever it was he was taking me. He showed me how to hide in plain sight and I lived on the streets just like so many other street urchins of the time. Stealing. Drinking. Running messages. I was picked up by a soldier and dragged off to dig latrines.’

She wrinkled her nose.

He gave a wry laugh. ‘Actually, it was the best thing that could have happened. At first I did menial tasks. I was big for my age and some of the soldiers liked to pick on me, so I badgered the company prizefighter to teach me how to box. I even won a couple of matches. I also wormed my way into the good graces of a cook and discovered I had a talent. That lasted until the troop captain learned I could read and write and ride a horse after a fashion. Then I was back to fighting. I worked my way up to the rank of colonel. But I spent all my spare time with the cooks. I hoped when the war ended it would be something I could do. That or box. The great Carême took me under his wing for a while. I think he saw something of himself in me. I left France when the emperor abdicated. I had heard good things about England. The best of it, that it was peaceful and French chefs were in demand.’

‘You weren’t tempted to go home when Napoleon returned?’

He shook his head. ‘I had established myself as a chef at Grillons.’ A wry smile twisted his lips. ‘I never agreed with the republic of France having an emperor. It was not what the Revolution intended.’

She leaned back in her chair. ‘But what has all this to do with me? With us? Indeed, your title might have made you an eligible
parti
. Had you thought of that? Or are you only thinking of it now that you have spent all your money on me in some fit of madness? To which you seem prone, by the way.’

A quick rueful smile curved his lips. Heavens, she loved those smiles, but she wasn’t going to let them worm their way into her heart so easily. It was already too sore from his earlier rejection.

The muscles in his jaw worked. He was clearly having trouble forming his words or his thoughts. It didn’t bode well. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, staring down at his boots as if he wished they would grow wings and fly him away.

Claire folded her hands in her lap and waited.

‘I’m not a marrying man.’

Ah. ‘I see. Well, that certainly puts the whole in a nutshell.’ She started to rise.

A gesture of his hand held her still. ‘I have always lived alone. I’m not like you. I am selfish. I go after what I want. Once I have it, I move on to the next thing.’

‘Or the next woman, I suppose.’

His expression darkened. Then he sighed. ‘In the past, yes. Claire, it is not that I don’t care for you, but you deserve someone who knows how to love. You know how to love, I see you with Jane. I saw Lord Giles with Miss Lily too. I never had that.’

‘You don’t remember your family?’

‘I try not to.’

Shock rippled through her. Horror. ‘They were cruel to you?’

He frowned. ‘I was a spoiled little prince as far as I recall. Dandled on my papa’s knee, cosseted by my mother. I had nurses and governesses who petted me. I even remember a pony. Never do I remember anyone hurting me or denying me anything.’

‘Then they loved you.’ She couldn’t see what more he could have wanted.

‘A mother does not leave the child she loves to the fury of the mob.’

He spoke so matter-of-factly, with so little emotion, she could only stare at him.

‘Would you leave Jane to save yourself?’ he asked harshly.

‘I hope not,’ she whispered, seeing the hurt in his eyes, the bleakness in his heart, the loneliness in his soul. ‘Really though, I can’t be sure what I would do in such terrible circumstances.’

‘I can. You would never leave her behind. I needed her, and she left me.’

‘But you survived.’

‘I wish I had died with her.’

‘Oh. She died later?’

‘No.’ He shook his head and a shudder ran through his body. ‘They followed, ran after her down the drive with pitchforks and shovels. They caught her at the gate. Pulled her off the horse. She disappeared beneath them. And then we were running. Out of the back of the house. Across the fields. Days. Nights. I barely remember how long we ran.’

‘You must have been terrified.’

‘I was angry. Angry that she left without me. Angry that she died. She did what she had to. That’s what the
curé
said. I needed her, but she left me. To save herself. But she died. Why didn’t she wait and come with us?’ Agony scarred his features alongside the anger.

The thought of him as a small boy deserted by his mother, losing everyone he knew, twisted a knife that seemed to have lodged itself in her ribs. It hurt to breathe.

‘André, when your mother rode away, did all the people follow her?’

‘All of them,’ he said bitterly. ‘She sat there on her horse, the sunlight in her hair, taunting them till they ran at her foaming at the mouth like dogs scenting blood. She whipped them into a frenzy of hatred, then rode off.’ Bitterness twisted his lips.

Claire pictured it in her mind, only she was the one on the horse. She nodded. ‘Yes, that is exactly what I would do too.’

He raised his head and stared at her, fury flashing in his eyes. ‘You would never leave Jane.’

‘I would,’ she said, her throat thickening, her eyes blurring until she could scarcely see him. Her voice broke. She sniffed. ‘I would. If I thought I could lead them away from her.’

Chapter Eighteen

‘N
o.’ The word exploded from his lips like cannon shot and left a smoky haze in its wake. The images he’d avoided for so long wavered and changed. He could no longer hold them in place.

‘No,’ he said again. ‘She left me. I stood at the window peering behind the curtains, the priest’s hand on my shoulder, watching her go.’

‘And then you ran the other way.’

The gentleness in her tone, the clarity of her eyes, made it all seem so simple. So logical. And his world turned on its head. ‘I remember the way she sparkled on that horse in the sunlight. She was wearing all her jewels. She must have known they would come after her.’ His stomach roiled. ‘She was twenty-two.’

‘Where was your father?’

‘Not there. Later I saw him guillotined in Paris. I couldn’t understand why she kept hugging me earlier that day, holding me when all I wanted to do was play.’ A groan left his lips. ‘She must have known they were coming. The priest must have warned her. She was saying goodbye.’ The pressure of tears burned behind his eyes. He clenched his fists, willing them back. ‘I kept trying to think what I had done wrong. Thinking if she had loved me, she would have taken me with her.’

And then Claire was holding him, her small arms around his shoulders. He pressed his face against her sweet breasts and, heaven help him, he cried. Sobbed like a child. Shed tears he’d buried for so long beneath his anger. The rage and the pain that she’d left without him.

Slowly the storm inside him died away, leaving him drained, but not empty. He was full of a warm kind of light. A quiet kind of peace. The old need to strike out at the world was gone. ‘Oh, Claire,’ he breathed. ‘I never understood.’

She stroked his hair back from his temple, her smile soft. ‘You were her baby. She loved you. She did what she must. What any mother must. She gave you a chance at life.’

‘Damn it all.’ He pulled out a handkerchief, blew his nose and wiped his eyes. ‘
Mon Dieu
, what happened? I feel such a fool.’

‘No. No. There is no reason to feel foolish. Hush.’ She kissed his cheek. ‘I think the little boy who was lost just found his way home, that’s all.’

She stroked his arm, patted his back. Nothing sensual or arousing. Just comfort. And he let it wash over him and through him while he tried to find himself.

Finally she got up and poured him a glass of wine. ‘Only sherry, I’m afraid,’ she said as she put it in his hand.

He took a sip. ‘It is perfect.’ He swallowed a mouthful. ‘Not as perfect as you, but excellent, nonetheless.’

She laughed. ‘Thank you, kind sir.’ She bobbed a curtsey that reminded him of her daughter’s funny little efforts and he smiled.

‘Can you forgive me?’ he asked, suddenly wanting to say the things that were bubbling inside him, but not sure he had the words.

She tensed. ‘Forgive you? For what, pray?’

Curse it, what had he said? What did she think he was talking about? ‘
Chérie
, come here.’ He held out his hand and drew her down on his knee; he looked into those clear grey eyes and felt like a new man. ‘Claire,
chérie
,’ he whispered, ‘without you, I am hollow.’ He’d lost his English again. He wasn’t making any sense. ‘
Je t’aime.
I love you, Claire.’

‘You do?’ She sounded so doubtful it pressed down on his chest like a heavy rock. He deserved her doubt. He’d treated her abominably.

‘I came here tonight to explain why it could never be. Why you deserve so much more than me. And you do.’ The truth seared his soul. ‘Until tonight I was afraid to admit I needed anyone. When my mother left me, I told myself I was better off alone. Better to be alone than to be betrayed by someone you love. You freed me from a hell I didn’t realise held me in thrall. I can never express the gratitude in my heart.’

‘André, it is all right, you don’t owe me anything.’

‘That isn’t it.’ He opened and closed his hands, staring at knuckles still raw from his bout in the ring the day before, seeking the words he needed. It was so much easier to express anger than love. He took her face in his hands, looked into her eyes. ‘I need you, Claire. I need your generous heart. I need you more than I need air to breathe. You cannot know how scared that makes me feel inside. But it makes me feel free too. You gave me that freedom. The freedom to love again. It doesn’t matter if you can’t love me back. I will always love you.’

‘Oh, André,’ she sighed, reaching up to clasp her hands at the back of his neck. ‘We both have our dragons to defeat. My heart knew you were the right man for me the moment I saw you and Jane in your kitchen. But my heart has been terribly wrong in the past.’ A smile lit her face. ‘It is not wrong this time. I love you, André.’

Joy filled his heart and flowed over and he kissed her until he was dizzy with longing and the bed beckoned, but there was more to tell and tell it he would.

‘Oh,
chérie
. What can we do? I don’t have the money to support a wife. I may not have it for years.’

‘Because you used it to save me.’

‘Because I could not bear to see you unhappy. Will you wait for me?’

‘For ever, if need be. But, André, dearest, it won’t be necessary.’ Her eyes gleamed with a wicked light.

‘What plot are you hatching?’

‘Crispin wrote to the regent telling him about a new hotel he planned to invest in and wishing he could let the prince be a part of it, but that all the shares were taken up.’

He couldn’t grasp her meaning. ‘What hotel?’

‘Hotel du Valière. The prince insisted on putting up three thousand pounds, for a tenth of the profits.’

‘What? Are you jesting?’ It was the amount he needed. The amount he had given to pay Claire’s debts. ‘You never said anything of this before.’

‘No. Giles would have written and told you. After we returned to Castonbury, if you had not come today.’ She hesitated. ‘I did not want you to feel obliged. I wanted to know what was in your heart.’

‘And now you do.’

‘Yes,’ she said, smiling. ‘I do. Your title will give our hotel great cachet with the
ton
.’

He groaned. ‘I swore I would never use it. That I would make it on my own merits.’

‘Now that’s just plain silly.’

He started to speak but she put up a hand. ‘If that is what you want, then it is up to you.’

What he wanted was to make her as happy as she had made him. ‘If you think it will help us, then I will be a count.’

She looked surprised. ‘You would take my advice?’

‘
Bien sûr
. Why would I not if it is good advice?’

‘André, you make me feel very happy.’ She pressed a hand to her breastbone. ‘In here.’ Tears glistened in her eyes. ‘Truly. You will let me help you with your hotel too?’

‘
Chérie
, I can’t think of anything I want more, except to relieve this overwhelming need to kiss you.’ And he did, most thoroughly until she could scarcely remember how to breathe.

A knock sounded on the door and he cursed.

She laughed. ‘It must be the maid come to help me pack.’ She made to jump up.

He held her fast with a grin. ‘You are not the only one with secrets. Come in.’

It was Giles who walked in. He frowned at them.

André laughed when Claire wriggled on his lap, trying to stand up. ‘You find your aunt compromised, my lord. There is nothing for it but for us to marry.’

‘Is that a proposal, André?’ Claire asked, nudging him with her elbow.

He kissed her cheek. ‘It is.’

‘I accept.’

Giles gave them a comical look. ‘And I suppose you now expect me to inform my father.’

‘If you wouldn’t mind,’ Claire said.

‘I suppose it is the least of my worries.’

The man sounded so harassed, André felt a pang of guilt. ‘I am sorry to impose on you.’

Giles drew in a deep breath. ‘No. I’m only too glad to see Claire looking so happy at last. She deserves it.’

‘That is what I have been telling her.’

She gave his arm a squeeze. ‘You too.’

Giles rolled his eyes. ‘A little decorum please, Aunty Claire. You need to set an example.’

Claire’s laugh made him glow inside. He kissed the tip of her nose. ‘I must go. It seems I have a hotel to organise and you have a daughter who needs to know you are getting married in seven days’ time.’

‘Seven days!’ Claire squeaked.

‘I’m sorry, but that is how long it takes to get a special licence.’

‘Only a week? Oh, my goodness. We have to get the house ready. Send out invitations. I need a dress.’

This time André let her get up. He didn’t want to. He would far rather keep her there, close, where he could be sure he couldn’t lose her. But he knew he could trust her and he had to let her see that trust.

He followed her up.

‘I’ll walk with you to Doctor’s Commons,’ Giles said.

‘Because you want to make sure I keep my word?’

‘No. To keep you two apart until after the wedding. We have enough scandals to keep hushed up without another one on top. Claire, be ready to leave when I get back, please.’

André kissed Claire’s hands one at a time and then her lips. ‘I will be at Castonbury before you know it.’

‘And it will still seem too long.’

‘Yes, but it will be worth the wait.’

He turned to Lord Giles. ‘I wanted to talk to you about a man named Webster. He was asking questions about His Grace.’

‘He is Sir Nathan’s man,’ Claire said.

‘I know of him,’ Giles said. ‘He’s been hanging around the Dower House.’

‘Did you know he was interested in the state of your father’s finances?’ André said. ‘At first I thought he had something to do with Claire’s debts. His questions were very pointed.’

‘Really.’ Giles ushered him out of the room. ‘What did he want to know?’