A Dangerous Masquerade (15 page)

             
Despite himself, Moraven found he was warming to the man.  He’d cursed the stupidity of his superiors in sending him a new recruit who was still wet behind the ears at a time like this – as if it were a simple matter of spying on a foreign mission or following a suspected informer.  Did the idiots not know that they could be sending him to his death?  Now, he was amused by the young lord’s confidence in his own abilities.  Perhaps he’d been that way once, when he first joined the army – before he was recruited into a darker game.

             
‘Watch out for a man who calls himself the Comte Devallier.  If he comes calling, don’t let her be alone with him – and make sure every door and window is locked at night.  There are no servants in the house, just an old deaf woman who looks after her – and Constance.’

             
‘Forgive me, is she your fiancée or…?’  A deep flush pushed up from his throat through his cheeks.  ‘Sorry, not my business.’

             
‘No, it isn’t.  At the moment Constance is just a friend – a lady in trouble because of me.  That’s all you need to know for now.’

             
Moraven scowled at his own evasion.  Why hadn’t he told the young lord that she belonged to him, was off limits?  Perhaps because for the moment he had no right to claim anything of the sort.  Nothing was settled between them, though after the previous night he would want to kill any man who touched her.  It was in his mind that he should make it clear he intended to take Constance to England with him, but something held him back.  He might be dead within hours.  Constance would need help - and someone like this man would be her entrée into the world she ought to have known all her life. He was young, untouched by the darkness that had blighted Moraven’s life.  If anything happened to him…he shut the picture out because he wasn’t that philanthropic.  He didn’t want her to find a refuge in another man’s arms, any man – and yet he wanted her safe.  The conflicting emotions raged on and then it was too late, because they had reached the house.

             
‘I’ll introduce you to Miss Hatherstone now,’ he said.  ‘She is English and used to be companion to the Comtesse Dupree – who went missing before her husband’s death, not in mysterious circumstances.  Constance will tell you the rest if she wishes.’

             
The door opened even as Moraven was about to search for his key.  He glanced at the old woman’s sullen face as she admitted them into the house and offered her his hat, which she took and placed on the sideboard grudgingly.  The young lord followed his example, his eager gaze moving about as if noticing that things were a little odd – the signs of neglect beginning to show.

             
‘Is Miss Hatherstone in the kitchen or the parlour, Heloise?’

             
‘She’s about to serve dinner,’ the old woman said and sniffed her disapproval.  ‘If you’ve brought a guest we’ll need to lay another place.’

             
‘If you would wait for a while.  I wish to speak with your mistress in private.’

             
It was the first time Moraven had asserted his authority in that tone.  He saw the old woman’s gaze narrow in resentment but she still retained enough respect to accept that when he spoke thus he meant it, but it didn’t stop her darting a look of dislike at both him and his companion.

             
Constance was in the kitchen.  Her hair was coming down from the tight knot she had fastened it into earlier, and her left cheek had a floury mark, as if she’d brushed her hair from her face while in the midst of baking.  The kitchen was redolent of herbs, baking and a subtle perfume that was rather like wild flowers.  Glancing at Lord South, he saw a mesmerised look in the younger man’s eyes and felt a pang of sudden pain that might have been jealousy or regret.  He’d heard of falling in love at first sight, but he’d never seen it happen in front of him before.  South looked as if he’d been hit by a horse and carriage and was reeling from the shock.

             
‘Constance, this is Lord Jonathan South,’ he said as she looked at him, a hint of surprise in her eyes.  ‘He has nowhere to stay here in Paris and wishes to keep a low profile.  Will you allow him to stay here please?  I may have to leave Paris for a couple of days and he will help to keep you safe, escort you when you go to the market.  He doesn’t know his way about yet and you may help him.’

             
‘You know Pierre comes…’ Constance began, then caught the look in his eyes and wiped her hands on her apron.  ‘I shall be delighted to have you stay, my lord.’  She offered him her hand.  ‘Is this your first stay in Paris?’

             
‘I’ve been once before with my father but I am not well acquainted with this part of the city.’

             
‘Then it will be my pleasure to show you around,’ Constance said.  She smiled, because she’d seen that he was young and unsure and the look in Moraven’s eyes had been a plea for help.  He wanted the young man out of his hair so that he could be free to do his work as he saw fit.  ‘I fear that we live very simply – but there is plenty of good soup, bread and cold ham, if that will suit you.’

             
‘You are asking me to dine with you?’  A look of such pleasure broke over his face that Constance almost laughed.  He was still a boy at heart.  She understood all that Moraven had not told her.  He didn’t need a green youth to cramp his style and so he’d given him the job of looking after her – which meant he believed she was safe for the moment.

             
‘Yes, of course,’ Constance said.  ‘If you are to stay here, sir, you must take us as you find us.  I keep the kitchen and one parlour plus our bedrooms in usable order, but I have only Heloise to help me.  I do not know what Moraven has told you of my circumstances?’

             
‘Very little, Miss Hatherstone.  I understand your employer has gone missing?’

             
‘Yes.  Madeline was like a sister to me, you understand.  I shall return to England in the future but I have been the guardian of her things until she returns.  It is my hope that she will do so.’

             
Constance moved to the large oak dresser and took down another bowl, plate and glass, then fetched a knife, two-pronged fork and a spoon from the drawer and set them on the table.  They were all good quality silver, though did not necessarily match in pattern, but the china was good and not chipped.

             
Heloise entered and began to serve the soup into bowls.  Constance sliced more bread and placed a joint of cold roast ham on the table with a carving knife and fork, also two bowls of her pickles.  When everyone was served they all sat at table.  She saw Lord South glance at Heloise as she took her place, but to his credit he accepted it without a blink.

             
Constance smiled inwardly.  Had Moraven warned him of their peculiar arrangements or was he more accomplished than his youth would imply?  He could never have sat down at table with his maid before and must think them all mad, but he gave no sign of it.

             
‘This is excellent soup, Miss Hatherstone,’ he said, giving her a hesitant smile.  ‘Did you make it yourself?’

             
‘My mother taught me to cook but Heloise is French and her soups have something special about them.  If I have captured the essence of French provincial style it is because she gave me her recipes.’

             
‘Then you are both to be congratulated.  My mother would give anything to have as much talent in her kitchen.’

             
‘Then I may apply for the position one day,’ Constance said and smiled.  He laughed, clearly believing that she spoke in jest.  Her eyes moved to Moraven.  He frowned at her, as if something had annoyed him and her heart caught.  Had she been mistaken in the reason for his bank draft?  Had it been his way of saying goodbye after all?

             
‘Perhaps you would carve the ham, my lord?’

             
‘Certainly.’  Moraven and the younger man spoke as one, but Lord South blushed and demurred.  ‘Forgive me,’ he said, obviously confused.

             
‘Please feel free,’ Moraven said, a look of amusement in his eyes.  He pushed back his chair.  ‘A word in private, Constance, if you please – and then I must leave.’

             
‘Must you?’  She looked at him in alarm as she followed him from the kitchen into the hall.  ‘Will you return?’ she asked as the door closed behind him.

             
‘You saw the draft?  You did not think it payment for services rendered?’

             
Her cheeks burned as she looked into his eyes.  ‘I imagined you wished to protect me should…should there be a child, if…if you do not return.’

             
‘Then you have your answer, Constance.  Believe me, I shall never abandon you while I have breath.  If we ever part it will be at your request.’

             
Tears stung her eyes as the relief flooded through her.  ‘I shall not beg you to take care, for I know that you must do whatever is needed.’

             
‘Bless you, my darling,’ he murmured and drew her into his arms.  For a long moment their lips met in a hungry kiss, and then he released her.  ‘Know that no other woman has meant as much,’ he said.  ‘I shall return as soon as I can – if God wills it.’

             
Instinctively, she understood that his words were unlike him, forced in the emotion of their parting.  He could not commit more of himself than he had and for her it must be enough.

             
‘Go with God, my dearest one,’ she whispered but she doubted he heard her for he was already on his way.

If he had not left her then he might never have brought himself to do it.  He was leaving her at a time when he wanted to know her better, to stamp his mark on her, make her his own so that she would never want to leave him.  She’d jested with Jonathan South of applying for a cook in his mother’s house, but he knew that she was quite capable of doing something of the sort.  Fiercely independent, she might refuse his money and go her own way.

             
He wanted to go back, sweep her into his arms and take her somewhere safe, but he had a job to finish.  There was news of yet another assassination plot, but something was not quite right about the way the information had been relayed to him.  His instincts told him that it was not the King of France whose life was in danger but his own.  He was being drawn to a certain place at a certain time and he would need all his wits about him if he were to survive.

             
He must not allow himself to think of Constance.  Jonathan South had fallen instantly in love with her and would undoubtedly give his life for hers if need be.  Moraven had never seen a man so smitten at first glance.  The younger man came from a good family in the North of England, had an unblemished reputation and was wealthy in his own right.  He could offer Constance all the things that Moraven found impossible – and he’d ruined her chances by greedily taking what she had offered the previous night.  He cursed himself for his selfishness.  Had he not taken her virginity she might have been safely wed to a man who clearly adored her should he not return.

             
His feelings at that moment were a mixture of remorse and an unworthy pleasure in being the first with her – in knowing that it was his arms she longed for.  Yes, he wanted to spend his life with her but he would never be good enough for her.  He knew that he had wronged her.  She had deserved better from him.

             
He crushed the emotions that welled up from deep inside.  It was too dangerous to dwell on something that might possess him if he allowed it.  He needed his wits about him in the coming days and nights – and when he returned he would allow Constance to choose what she wanted from him.  Marriage to a man who was worthy of her – or a life with a man who could never be all that she needed.

             
His jaw hardened as he thrust all thought of her from his mind.  He must think only of his enemy, put himself in Renard’s place and try to anticipate his next move.  If he were planning an ambush would he do it enroute to the rendezvous or wait until they met…

             
Suddenly, he realised what was behind the new information.  Renard was throwing down the gauntlet.  He would be there in person.  It was to be a showdown between them – but not a fair fight, never that.  Renard wanted to gloat over him, to threaten and bully and then kill him – but he would never risk his own life.  So Moraven must expect treachery.  Had one of the hounds broken ranks?

             
He implicitly trusted his own men, but those shadowy figures who came when they were needed to clear up the dirty details – what was to stop one of them selling out to the highest bidder?  He must be aware of a man who came to him with new urgent information…

‘Have you nothing better to do with your time, my lord?’ Constance asked, as the young man insisted on carrying her basket home from market that morning.  ‘I know that Moraven asked you to protect me – but my servant would take me to market if you had other more important affairs.’